Zevran burns. His chest blazes – it heaves, clenches, grasping for air he desperately needs, but the cool soothing breeze remains just beyond his reach. There are flames licking at his throat, and his throat is parched. No, not just his throat – his mouth is arid. Every inch of his skin is aflame – his leather armor is blistering against his chapped skin in the searing heat.
Zevran's eyes aren't working right. Golden – white light fills his vision, blinding, sizzling. Its brilliant blaze turns the world flat – basks the world in its garish light of magic. But Zevran doesn't need his eyes to know what's happening. The waking horror he's witnessed is already etched deep into his memory, into his essence. Zevran blindly sees his Warden's body writhing, twisting into knots. His sightless eyes watches as her graceful body contorting into grotesque heap on the stone floor, soaked crimson with blood.
His lungs squeeze out the last of the air remaining inside him, thrusting it out in a bloodcurdling scream as his Warden's body twitches in the death throes he's seen too often in his life. It burns, it burns, it burns!
Zevran's eyes fly open, and his fingers are clawing at his throat, his nails leaving deep gashes in his skin. His body is drenched with cold sweat - his light cotton shirt clings to his body too tightly. But he can't see. He still can't see. Zevran gasps, and this time there's cool air that rushes in, and it's not saturated with blood, screams, and magic. The air is clean. His heart is slamming, and he gulps and gulps the fresh air, washing out the scorching burn still simmering within. But he still can't see.
Zevran whimpers – he can't help it. The pathetic noise has already slipped past his trembling lips before he even realizes he's made sound. He throws his hand over his mouth to stop it, already knowing it's too late.
And his hand is wet. Zevran finally understands why he can't see. His tears are streaming down his face, a constant flow of shameful weakness. He rubs and rubs, but broken sobs shake his entire body, and he knows it's a losing battle. He throws his arm over his eyes, blocking out the cold, unfeeling world, and his other hand bunches up the sheets in his fist. He trembles silently, his fists turning white, nails digging into his palm. But sobs and wails break past his lips, and Zevran bites down hard, drawing blood. But the tears blurring his visions won't stop, it just won't stop. The shameful tears never dries up.
He's crying too hard to notice when she softly pads into the room, carrying a jar of icy water. He doesn't notice her, not until she lays her small, callused hands over his fists. He starts violently, his teary eyes barely seeing her fuzzy outline. But she's there, and she's gently prying his fingers away, unclenching his fists. And she's real, and she's not… she's not convulsing, like she was before, and she's whole, not broken.
Zevran throws himself into her arms, weeping like a small child. He's afraid, so afraid that she'll disappear, that she'll go to the Beyond, leaving him alone in this world. But she holds him tight, lets him cling to her with all his might. He hopes he's not hurting her with his strength, she's so slender it worries him, but Zevran can't control himself, and she doesn't complain. She just draws him closer, hugging him as tight as he hugged her that day, when her lips fluttered in response after the archdemon died. He wonders how she carries such strength in her slim body, but she holds him tight, keeps him from shattering. He softly cries and moans into the nape of her neck, and he is no longer ashamed of the tears falling.
She's whispering things to him, he realizes. Her soft lips are ghosting over his tousled hair, and her musical voice is winding around him. He strains to listen, to hear her words above the gasps and pants breaking out of his body. She tells him she's sorry, for causing so much pain. She says she's so sorry, and that this time, it was only a dream. She tells him she's real, and he doesn't need to worry because she is in no hurry to leave behind her sexy scoundrel of an elf.
He chokes out a broken laugh – Zevran can't help it. And it's better than the body heaving sobs he's been letting out so far. His desperate clutches gradually loses their urgency, and relaxes. His arms are no longer crushing her, but holding her gently, how she deserves to be held. For she is a precious gem, to be handled with care. He lifts his head to look into her dark eyes, wanting to see her. To see her clearly. He feels a pang of regret as his eyes trace the slight bruises forming on her skin, but she waves them off. She says it's nothing worse than bruises she gets when she makes love to him.
She smiles her brilliant smile, genuine and true, and kisses him on the mouth, then on the tip of his nose. She laughs merrily as he rubs his face on her, and traces more light kisses from his cheeks to tips of his ears, lightning fast. He can't help but chuckle, her warm breath tickling his skin. Then, she reaches out and gives him the jug full of icy water. You were burning up, she says, and makes him drink slowly to cool down. He obeys her ministrations, allowing her to slowly tip his head back, gulping down the chilled water gratefully. His body no longer burns, no scorching heat blazing inside him. When he's done, she sets the jug down, and once again holds him tightly. But this time they're holding each other in embrace, and they're lying down comfortably. And together, they drift off into sleep, mingling together in the Fade. And this time, Zevran doesn't burn.