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Title: A Murder of Crows 12/?
Author: Rhion
Rating: M
Summary: F!Surana and Zevran each have their secrets. Some are stranger than others. The trouble with secrets is that they are best kept by only one person. But there's always someone else who knows the hidden things.
AN: Not much to say in general at the moment other than this is beta'd as per usual by splendid bellaknoti, our beloved Comma Fairy.
WARNINGS WARNINGS WARNINGS:
-Herein there are mentions of rape, it isn't directly described, but the after effects are.
WARNINGS WARNINGS WARNINGS
XXX
Murder 12
XXX
Rubbing some of the trail dust from his forehead, Zevran stretched. He was feeling the effects of five days without sleep. Meditation helped greatly, but in the time since he first awoke with Lahar beside him, the Crow had become used to at least an hour of sleep. Perhaps I am simply getting old, mumbling in the confines of his mind, for it seemed as though when he was thirty, a week or two without sleep would earn him nothing more than a mild headache. While now, closer to forty than thirty by far, a mere five days of nothing more than meditation to rest his mind and body, were giving him nothing but ill effects. His temper was shorter, but that probably had more to do with the company. Namely, Wynne's company. That was most likely why he was so tired, and now that he wasn't running on hyper-focused adrenaline, assessing and seeking to secure his position in the party, Zevran had little to use for physical fuel.
Zevran had found himself each morning left to guard Bodahn's cart, and the party's gear, teamed with Wynne, Ser Prize, and Morrigan. Frankly, it felt rather insulting. However, they were just about to stop for the night, and while the Crow had left well enough alone with Lahar, tonight that should end. Or so he hoped. Five days should be long enough for a woman to get over female complaints, he figured, and guessed that that had been why Lahar avoided him these last few days.
Morrigan drew apace with him, her movements sleek as any wild animal's. "Elf, don't you think it is approaching time for us to find a camp?"
Grunting, he arched an eyebrow at her. "A suggestion or a command, my dear?"
"'Tis merely a suggestion, or would you trust the oaf to find something suitable?" she asked, making a fair point.
Sighing, Zevran nodded. "I shall see to it then. When I find one, I'll inform the others." He called to Ser Prize with a slap to his bare thigh. "Come with me, and we shall see if we may find some food as well, yes?"
Ser Prize hopped around before trotting in a circle, barking.
Vaulting into Bodahn's moving cart, Zevran freed his bow and quiver, slinging both over his shoulders before jumping from the cart just as easily. Sandal clapped his hands in pleasure at the display, and Bodahn, used to the assassin's usual methods, hardly reacted. Leaving the others behind, Ser Prize in tow, the Crow slipped through the bramble lining the narrow track that the group had been following – the cart made it so they couldn't simply travel through any which way, but had to follow something that would be kind enough to wheels.
They worked as a team, the large mabari sniffing out water, and Zevran using his being attuned to his surroundings to find a small creek that wended through the much sparser forest at this end of the Brecilian. Crouching beside the stream, he leaned on hands and knees, much like an animal, sniffing the water before scooping some up. Satisfied that it was clean, the Crow nodded to the hound, both in quiet agreement. This had been the way of things since they left the Dalish, and both knew their parts. Usually though, Zevran would have gone off in search for a campsite at Lahar's behest, with Ser Prize showing up during one of the dog's random 'checks' on the forward party, to join him.
Ser Prize chased several rabbits to ground, snapping their necks with a large paw, while Zevran veered off, following some deer tracks he found. They would eat well this night, and he had plans to make jerky from the surplus venison. If he could catch up to the deer, for they were generally semi-nocturnal creatures, contrary to common belief. Luck was with him, and he found a stud along with his harem of several does. Creeping forward silently, remaining downwind, he watched twitching ears and flicking tails. He would only have one, possibly two chances to strike a deer down, but he knew that would be no true trial. Rusty his skills may be, but they were easily reclaimed in his time amongst the clans. Picking out a doe that didn't have a fawn beside her, Zevran took careful aim, squatting at the foot of a tree. While yes, the party would need meat, and if he somehow were able to fell more than one of the deer, it would be a sad thing to do so.
It was not the way of Vir Tanhadal to take needlessly or excessively. And as much as he denied it, the time amongst the Dalish had reminded him of justhow Dalish he truly was, deep down.
With a humming twang, his arrow launched forward, spinning as it cut through the air. The deer all startled at the sudden motion and sound, but the Crow had already guessed a trajectory of their likely flight. Upper lip curling, he was already nocking another arrow, taking aim without blinking even as the first arrow slammed into a doe's rump. Letting fly the second one, it took the doe in the neck. With legs flailing, the animal fell to the ground, bleating frothy saliva mixed with blood. The others had already fled, barking bleats and grunts falling from their tight black lips. His target struggled, her poor sides heaving in belabored agony. Mindful of the sharp hooves – he had had an early demonstration in his aunt's clan of what they could do, and it had left him in the Keeper's care for several days – he drew his sword, knowing he would need the extra length. Swinging the blade down, he cut through the muscle of the doe's neck, severing blood vessels so that she would bleed out faster.
As her struggles faded and slowed down to nothing, Zevran knelt over the deer, holding his hands over her. "Atisha halam'shiral." Dipping a finger in the animal's blood, he touched it to his bottom lip. "Ma serannas."
Doing a quick field dressing, he scooped out the intestines and organs, tossing the more useful bits into a leather pouch he carried for just such a purpose. The heart, liver and kidneys sat next to the rabbits Ser Prize had killed earlier, along with their organs. He figured he could finish skinning the deer and butchering it at camp tonight. I probably should show Alistair how to do that; it should not be beyond him. It also carried the benefit of taking some of the more annoying tasks from his shoulders. Carefully, Zevran hoisted the carcass over his shoulders, mindful of innards that might want to become outers, and made his way back to the campsite for the night.
Setting the deer down, he addressed the mabari. "Ser Prize, guard this while I get the others, yes? And I saved the hearts for you, as payment for your hard work," he added, patting the pouch as he placed it by the deer.
The mabari sneezed, nodding his head in the doing, and set to digging what would most likely become their fire pit for the night. That beast is far too intelligent to be natural. He shook his head in bemused wonder, as he found himself frequently doing in regards to the beast. If the stories he had heard – of mages altering the dogs in times past – were true, that would explain much.
He found his companions not too far from where he had left them. "Campsite, along with a deer and a few hares is a fifteen minute walk to the east. Morrigan-" He turned, addressing the Chasind. "I left trailsigns for you."
The Witch nodded, transforming into a large bear, to break through the brush and make a path for Bodahn's wagon. Wynne frowned her disapproval at the apostate's magic, but Zevran ignored it in favor of jogging off to find Lahar's group. Their tracks were clear, and easy to follow, and he found them rather closer than he had expected. Pausing, he took in the fact that Lahar was healing Leliana, and Alistair was holding a poultice to his head.
Frowning, he walked briskly up to his Warden. "I heard no trouble."
She flinched, glancing up at him and back down, her answer terse. "It just happened."
Alistair clanked as he straightened. "Some wolves decided we might be tasty. Well, we showed them." Clearly concussed, the shemlen swayed a bit. "Looks like I can make some of my famous Ferelden food tonight – lamb and pea stew!"
Snorting, Zevran forced the young man to sit down near bard and mage. "I was never aware of the fact that wolf meat was the same as lamb."
"Yeah, well – wolves eat lamb, so I figure, you are what you eat. So, they're lamb," he said, decisively nodding once.
Falling to his haunches, the Crow grabbed Alistair's face, tilting it side to side, checking pupil reaction. "A bizarre form of logic, but I suppose it works. Do you feel like emptying the contents of your stomach?"
"It's only a little blow to the head, I'm fine," the Templar trained boy - man Zevran had to remind himself – demurred.
"Good, then you can help carry those carcasses back to camp." Grunting Zevran released Alistair's head. "If you can backtalk, then there is no need for Wynne to trouble herself with you."
"Ohh, someone's in a bad mood." Alistair snorted at him, even as he went to help Sten scoop two of the most likely looking corpses. "Wake up on the wrong side of the world? Why not go back to Antiva? I hear it's rather nice, and full of... Antivans."
Rolling his eyes, Zevran dragged some of the more mangled and unrecognizable wolves to toss into the forest, away from the track. "I like Ferelden. It has so much fine scenery."
"Oh? Like the rocks, and trees, and oh look is that a tree that looks like a woman?" Alistair waved a hand, indicating the monotonous surroundings.
"I don't know, it has its charm, what with so many large, strapping men," Zevran retorted, finishing his task quickly.
"I don't know about that Zevran." Groaning, they turned back towards the women, to see the youngest Warden supporting a lightly limping Leliana. "It must be very boring for someone like you."
Casting him a mocking glance, Zevran pitched his voice just so. "Lies, my dear Alistair? They do not suit you! What complaints could I have with my new homeland? There is intrigue and fighting and women aplenty! And food is bountiful, though I could do without your 'lamb and pea' stew."
"Yes, well it's better than your cooking; it tastes funny," he groused. The Templar's strides were not so long as one would think, given the length of the man's legs, but that would require ignoring the great weight of armor the shemlen wore.
Moving to guide the others to the campsite, they caught up to Bodahn's cart just as it was breaking into the small space. "You mean it tastes like food, rather than old boiled boots."
"Well now, that is a fine looking place to camp, wouldn't you say, ser?" the dwarf with his intricate braids, sitting high on the bench of his cart, nodded his head towards where Ser Prize was digging busily near the downstream area of the site. "And ho now, that fine dog has even made us two pits already!"
Mierda, but that thing is smart. Smarter than most people at the least. Zevran watched the mabari scuttle around in a widening circle, piling the mound of displaced dirt to one side. That meant in the morning, the party's waste could be covered easily, so as to not foul the surrounding forest. I wonder if I could teach him to dig for roots and onions? Maybe even herbs?
From the corner of his eye, Zevran noted Lahar guiding Leliana to Wynne, who set about tutting over the Orlesian, her hands glowing. That left Lahar to go free and wander off on her own for a little. Morrigan was already setting up for the night's dinner. Glancing at Sten and Alistair who were already pulling out the rolled up tents from Bodahn's cart, Zevran smiled to himself. Ah, everyone is pleasantly busy. Yanking his and Lahar's tent from the cart as well, he tossed it over to where he would set it up later, along with their packs. Time to tend to my Bonded, he thought, as well as himself.
He didn't even bother sneaking, as everyone was used to his comings and goings by now. Following behind Lahar who had headed upstream, Ser Prize in tow, the Crow let the soft sounds of the interrupted forest relax him. The stream made barely any noise, but the wind in the trees sang, along with the slowly returning birds to their nests, chirping to themselves. However, it was the rambling of his mage to her mabari that put him most at ease.
"I know trees are all we ever seem to see, but I like them." There was a soft bark of agreement, which teased a small smile from him as well. "Everything is sogreen Ser Prize. In the Tower, there was nothing like this. It's almost like home was. Whenever I looked over the walls, there were trees as far as the eye could see in every direction. And the air? It was so warm, filled with the smell of fruit and heat, not like anything we've found here."
Zevran's steps slowed. This was more detail than he had ever hear her speak of in relation to where she had been born. A warm, fruit filled place, with trees? somewhat disturbed, he frowned in thought. Many places have fruit and trees, many are warm. No, Zevran, you are jumping to conclusions, shaking his head at himself. For a moment he had the sneaking idea that Crow and Lahar may have something to do with each other. After all, that would be too... pat of an answer. Besides, Crow was probably some personal demon of his that had come to torment him. Some spirit of the Fade, like Justice or Faith or Righteousness, who thought him an interesting toy, drawing from his memories of Antiva to torture him. For what purpose precisely, the Crow couldn't be entirely sure, but the Fade and its' denizens were fel creatures with their own lines of logic that a mere mortal like himself couldn't understand.
Amaranthine is far warmer than this part of Ferelden, and there are several Chantry run orphanages in that region, also, the finest ciders come from there,satisfied with that line of logic, he picked up his pace.
A little splashing, and some barking echoed up ahead, Lahar having ceased her conversation with Ser Prize. The young mage had removed her leg guards, and hiked her already short robes up high, wading into the stream barefoot. Ser Prize was rolling around on his back on the bank, tongue lolling as he huffed and grunted with the motion, before flopping onto his stomach, looking straight in Zevran's direction. However, their mutual mistress wasn't alerted to his presence yet, as she bent over, trailing pale fingers through the water, her loose hair cascading over a shoulder. Closing his eyes for a moment, the Crow savored the image for a moment in the silence of his own thoughts. His Warden in that second was just like any other young woman wading through a stream, simply living and breathing, with no worry to bow her shoulders and back. It was a nice thing, a sweet memory to set into the lockbox of his mind for those times when he would be alone or when the Guild finally reached him.
Of course, they would do everything in their power to steal such an idyllic memory from him. Sometimes he swore he could feel their breath on the back of his neck, or hear the crying of vultures that closely resembled his own screams from the vault of memory. It was only a matter of time. And unless he could drag Lahar through everything, building her up as something untouchable – he would never be safe.
Going to the giant, deep chested mabari, the Antivan removed his boots quietly. Then came his armor, which he set beside the war hound, who lay his huge head on the ground, watching him with his vibrant yellow-green eyes. Zevran winked at the dog conspiratorially, holding a finger to his lips, urging quiet. Small, bristly, doggy eyebrows worked this way and that, before Ser Prize gave what looked suspiciously like a responding wink. So far Lahar had not noticed him, even still, clearly trusting her dog to guard her. Which he would, if there was a threat. However, the Crow was glad that he and the mabari were familiar enough with each other to know he would pose no threat to Lahar.
Easing his tunic off, Zevran was left in nothing more than his smalls, which he debated for a moment also removing, but he reminded himself of Fereldens' finickiness. Even though Lahar was his Bonded, and had seen him naked countless times, he did not wish to simply jump upon her while he was nude with no warning. It would be unhealthy for him at worst – she was a mage, and frightening for her at best.
So even though he stepped into the water near silently, he was careful to announce his arrival only when he was within 'smelling' range. "Ah, that is brisk, no?"
Lahar rounded on him, a hand twisting into a complex shape before freezing. "Zev! Don't – don't startle me like that!"
Catching her about the waist, he pulled her close, while grabbing her casting hand and giving its' palm a kiss. "Perdóneme, mi cielo, it is just that you and I have not had any time alone, I found myself unable to resist the combination of water, yourself, and this privacy we have."
"It's... it's alright." Her tongue darted over her lips, but she had yet to relax in his arms.
Tilting his head, Zevran asked, "Have I done something to displease you, amante?"
"No," which was belied by her tugging at his hold.
Dipping closer, he pressed his nose into the side of her neck, inhaling deeply of her perfume. "Then what is wrong, mi diosa?" Licking the line of thick vein slowly. "It has been days since you left our tent."
Lahar leaned into him, her head tipping back, and he could feel her pulse picking up speed, the rhythm of her blood in her veins fluttering against his lips. "I... I need..."
Groaning into her ear, releasing her hand so he could slip it under the hem of her robes, "I know exactly what you need, for it is the same as what I desire."
There was a whimper when his fingers met her folds, Ah, no undergarments Good, you hoped for this then as much as I did... Touching her firmly, spreading the petals open, moisture was gathering at her opening. Seeking her mouth with his own, the Crow kissed her deep and languorously, while he teased at her flower with his middle finger. Dipping his digit into her, Zevran's own moan echoed Lahar's – as muscles clenched around the intrusion, clearly hungry for more.
"Zevran," she whispered as he pulled her closer, as he moved to kiss the side of her neck. "Zevran... stop."
Hooking his finger in a come hither, he massaged the tightness of her clamping muscles. "Mmno. You need this. I need this." Gently grazing her ear with his teeth, the Crow tilted his hips, rubbing the straining bulge of his manhood against her hip, his voice husky, "No games amante, it has been too long."
His mage whimpered, but her hand encircled his wrist, her face twisting almost with pain. "We... we can't."
Allowing his fingers to slip free of her, he changed his tactics, sinking in the water to his knees, rubbing his cheek over her bared thigh, "Oh we can mi niña. The others are not so near, no one will hear us, or stumble upon us."
Hands went to his shoulders, as though she would push him away, but rather they flexed over the muscle covered bone. "Please, Zev, stop. We – we can't."
Giving a soft sniff, he detected no blood – not that at this point it would have put him off – near her femininity, Zevran nuzzled at her, drawing the mage's name out, "Lahar. No games."
"Zev. Stop. Now," he could tell she was forcing the words out, making herself pull away, "Now Zevran. Don't – don't make me order you."
Going still, the Antivan leaned back to see Lahar's head turned aside, her teeth worrying her bottom lip hard enough to begin to draw blood as skin was peeled away. "You wouldn't do that, bonita."
A strangled little whimper and she pulled away from him hard enough that she half-stumbled. "Stop. No more. I... I order you to."
Rocking back on his heels in surprise, the cold stream's water lapping at his lower back, his voice suddenly deadly quiet, "What? Why?"
"Space, I.. I need space," fumbling with the words, not looking at him, but at some distance over his head, hands clenching in her robes. "I... I can't do this. Um... with you... Anymore."
Shocked, the Crow could only squat there as she fled, pausing long enough by Ser Prize to reclaim her shoes, thigh guards and smallclothes. And then she was gone. Staring at the space she had occupied, his hands felt empty. He even thought he felt a sliver of betrayal. There was no reason, none at all, that he could come up with that would make her order him to do something outside of battle. She had wanted him, had fought tooth and nail to say 'no'.
There has to be... some explanation, staring vacantly at his palms for a long time. Zevran merely had no clue as to what that logical 'explanation' could be. He hadn't hurt her, hadn't done anything to anger her, had not once frightened her, or done anything, anything at all, to warrant her fleeing him like that.Memories possibly? which was something that niggled and wriggled like a slimy worm of something unnamable in his skull. Something that made his stomach feel sick. Perhaps I pushed too hard, the other night? that was the only other thing he could come up with. That filled him with something akin to dread. All he had wanted to know were common things, but that had been an invasion? Possibly something to make her feel trapped?
For her sake, Zevran hoped he could suss out a way to counter that and get the answers from her as well.
She was no good to anyone broken.
XXX
More days of traveling, more nights alone made Zevran's never so good of a temper, flare. However, he still kept it in check. Bracing his back against a tree near Morrigan's fire, the elf slowly sank to the forest floor, too far to listen to the two female mages talk. Mostly what he could hear was the rising and falling of their voices, almost making it into a song when mixed with the night sounds of the forest. After a time, when they had fallen silent for awhile, he rose, creeping towards the guttering fire.
Morrigan was curled up with Lahar, who had her head was tucked under the apostate's chin. The Crow put another piece of deadfall on the fire, stirring it into life, watching quietly. Magic was on the air, and he knew that the Wild Witch had placed a glyph on the Warden, as she had each night. If he looked from the corner of his eye, he thought he could almost see a faint shimmer hanging over Lahar's sleeping form. She looked so tiny and vulnerable. If he hadn't given her his oath, if he hadn't wanted his freedom so badly – it would have been a prime opportunity. Killing both Morrigan and Lahar would take out the most powerful and pragmatic of the party in one fell swoop. And then he could move onto Sten who would have to be next, then Leliana followed quickly by Alistair. Wynne would only be a personal bonus, for she couldn't do much good or harm to anyone in the long run.
Sighing, Zevran went to sit beside the women's tangled pile, reaching out to brush his hand over the back of Lahar's head. What dreams do you have this night, my Warden? noting the tiny frown, the deep wrinkle in her forehead. Leaning to rest his elbows on his knees he remained quiet, keeping watch on the mage. Part of him was tempted to curl around her back, and ignore Morrigan in favor of gaining at least a little sleep for himself. But he didn't think that would work out well, the lean-to was too exposed, and he was fairly certain that if he somehow managed to close his eyes and sleep, that any movement on the Witch's part would throw him into high alert. Frankly that would be unwise to say the least.
"And do you intend on staring at her all night? Your presence should warrant a nice singing to that peacock hair of yours," acidic and soft, Morrigan's eyes were still closed.
"Ah, but you both are so enticing," mirroring the volume, but not the tone. "How is a man to stay away?"
Bee-stung, plump lips twisted as they pursed, and pale mustard eyes opened, "Oh do shut up, elf. It is almost time for my turn at watch. You take my place for now."
Warily, "And what is in it for you my dear?" Gesturing at the young elf between them, "Why so soft with her, what reason could you care of for her comfort and sleep so much?"
The shemlen gently extricated herself from Lahar, her unpinned hair quickly being twisted into its' customary feathery bun, "Just as you do the same for her, elf? Must I always have reasons for what I do, must any companionship have a price tag lain heavy upon it like chains?"
Zevran scoffed. "People like you and I do nothing for free."
"And I am no whore, nor assassin, Crow," a piercing gaze was leveled at him as she said this. "What reasons do you use to justify what you do?"
Snorting, crossing his arms, "She is my ticket to freedom. This should be obvious to one as intelligent as yourself, my dear."
"Is she now? What of when she releases you from your oath? When you have gained your freedom?" The skirt of leather links and straps was wrapped around her waist as she said this. "We do what we do, as we must, elf. I count her friend as she and I are mages and women amongst buffoons. It is not something someone like you 'twould understand. So do not try."
"And you? Shall you not run after you have completed whatever task your mother set you?" asking pointedly. He was no fool, and heard the story from Alistair of how Morrigan had joined their number. "This Blight means nothing to you, we are alike in that we would be well content in allowing some other fools to bear this burden."
The apostate gathered her small pouch of components and staff, sniffing at him disdainfully. "Say and believe what you must, elf. 'Tis none of my concern." Giving him a dismissive wave. "Remain by her side or I will kill you when opportunity presents itself, elf. For some strange reason your presence eases her rest, I do not claim to understand it. When it is time for next watch I shall give a wolf's cry, so do not try to attack me when you awaken."
With that she stalked away, melting into the shadows with a similar ease to his own. Like him she was a wild thing of shadows and sharp edges, veiled in pretty things. Dirthamen, what games we, Fear and Deceit play, settling down in the still warm spot Morrigan had vacated. Surely a short nap would do his mood some good, and as the icy tang of Lahar filled his nose he closed his eyes, willing sleep to overtake him, he felt a glimmer of relaxation if only for a brief time.
XXX
Giving a joyous whoop Taliesin took a running leap, jumping the distance between the two rooftops nimbly, landing in a forward shoulder roll, before bouncing up and off, running again. Zevran rolled his eyes, following his fellow Crow, the light of stars and moon in the sky, painting everything in inky blues and silvery grays. Beside him, Rinna hopped, vaulting in a back flip, almost flying the meters as though she were a bird. He did none of these things, merely using his unbroken speed to jump, his booted soles meeting the plastered building's walls, while his hands latched onto the lip of the building, running up the side of the wall in constant motion.
"Come on Zevvy! You're lagging!" Rinna called over her shoulder in challenge.
Not saying a word, Zevran merely continued. He liked to pack as much strain on his body as possible during these rare forays into the unofficial rogue's highway, and if he had simply been all grace – and flashiness truly – the way Tali and Rinna were, he wouldn't get the same amount of work out. Their feet were not exactly noiseless but it didn't matter. It was the fifth day of the week, and most were too busy being rowdy in taverns, cafes, plazas, brothels and at friend's homes to notice or care that there were rapid footsteps going on overhead.
Running, he sidestepped a rain-barrel, rebounding from another wall with his feet, enjoying how his muscles clenched and unclenched, moving under his bronze skin. Rinna's hair was a golden banner, let loose as it always was, impractical and lovely with the light bouncing off it. Taliesin was scrambling down the next building's wall, shaggy black-brown waves floating like a crazed halo around his head, dropping with an audible grunt that was giddily satisfied. This was their first night of freedom since they had been reunited, and it was to be a thing savored and enjoyed fully. Pausing as he stood at the edge of the last building they would be running over for now, he guessed the distance, putting it at four stories. Hmm, I cannot let them have all the fun, now can I?amused exhilaration soared in his veins as he dove head first in a free, spinning fall. Air rushed past his ears, his long braid whipping as he plummeted. At the last possible moment he flipped forward, feet first, maintaining momentum as heels rolled to toes, and he onto his hands, cartwheeling to absorb the force of landing.
Grit from cobblestones ground into his palms and fingers, but it was a beautiful sensation. Along with the thudding as his body channeled the thrust and force of gravity generated by his fall, and the natural upwards shove the ground provided, exiting his limbs in graceful symmetry. Rinna's look of approval was no small thing to enjoy as well, lounging against her end of the ally like a svelte cat.
Taliesin whistled, hands on his hips, pacing back and forth while shaking his head, "You are going to kill yourself one of these days, guapo, with stunts like that."
Bouncing to stillness, he swept into a scraping bow, "Thank you, thank you, I work with the world famous Broma Brothers of the Antiva City Circus! My humble show happens on every ninth day, only in the darkest allies of Antiva City!"
The tall, broad shouldered man threw an arm around his shoulders, holding the other open for Rinna, "Then it's good that I'm the ugly one! We're usually the funnier ones and don't have to work so hard to show off!"
"Oh yes, you're definitely funny," the elven woman sauntered over, leaning into the human's half embrace, "so funny I just might die of laughter by the next Age."
Zevran relaxed as they slumped out of the ally in an awkward trio, as though they had already partaken of the night's usual revelry, "Ah my fine lovers, let us see what troubles we can avail ourselves of this night!"
"Oh, I'm in the mood for a little breaking and entering," a wide smile played about his lovers' faces at that. "You boys never buy me anything nice..."
….
He had been in a forest before, it had seemed so dreadfully dirty then. And actually, glancing around, he had to admit – forests still looked dirty. Arainai was gliding beside him, her steps slow and sure, eating distance in a way so as to appear she was not going as fast as she truly was.
"Da'assan, I am glad you finally have decided to return with me," leading a llama, the red-head gave him a bright smile.
"I must... admit I was unsure you would allow me to, all things considered," hiking his bow higher on his shoulder.
Periodically he would stumble upon the Dalish woman - my aunt - in the City. Generally he had avoided her, slipping away through crowds or up to the roofs to win free of her possibly sighting him. But sometimes he had found himself actually going to her and talking with her. He wanted to know more about his heritage. More about the whore who had birthed him, and left no evidence of her life except for him and a beautiful pair of gloves.
A hand went to his face, startling him, "Hamin nephew, you are my blood. There is much that can be forgiven. You knew no better, and I know how I look to those of us trapped in cities. Like a child, and what child would have known your mother?"
Shifting uncomfortably, the Crow pulled away incrementally so as to not make it obvious that he just wanted to jerk free of the unexpected, overly familiar caress, "It is a question for the ages."
They fell into silence, his uneasy, but masked, while hers seemed peaceful and serene. The times he had found himself actually speaking with the woman were usually bitter, angry things, with him flinging words of accusation and needling at her. He had lost a mother he never knew, she had lost a sibling that she had known very well. The Antivan supposed it would be similar to if he had been robbed of Taliesin and Rinna – like a loss of limb. But that made him think on his two fellows, and inside he soured. For had he not been robbed of them? They had shut him out, discarding him and their unspoken pact. More nights than not, Rinna could be found in Taliesin's bed rather than his, and the human had been using her hard. It was not that he was angry that they shared each other, but that they never invited him anymore into their games. Their partnership in teaching courses to the younger initiates and during assignments had suffered from the rift.
And so, Zevran left. Oh, he knew well that the Guild would come for him, but surely his mother's clan would travel enough to make that a difficult thing for the House of Crows to find him. At least he was free, each and every breath truly his own for the first time. That was something...
….
Stretching, he worked the kinks from his neck. The sting of the whip was still sharp, an almost pleasant burning ache on his back and chest. His most recent assignment had been... interesting. And good fun. But now he looked forward to a night in his own bed, after a nice hot bath.
Entering his shared apartments, he saw Taliesin rummaging through the communal chest of medical equipment, "Ho there my handsome friend. Are you clairvoyant? I could use some bandages and a salve."
The human stilled, then eased, "Your assignment was bad too?"
"Not so much bad, as interesting," shrugging joining his friend by the trunk. "Why? I thought you were busy teaching the last few days and had nothing expected of you?"
Bandages were shoved at him, as well as a few jars and a tin of needles, "She's in my room. I'll get a basin with some hot water."
"She -?" but the older man was already going to the community kitchen and digging out a large pan and moving quickly to the bathroom.
Frowning, Zevran went to Taliesin's room. Rinna was crouched on the bed, naked, and bloody, a knife in her hand, poised to attack. Her face was blank, but quickly eased into a tight smile as she settled back. Welts were all over her, and her thighs didn't really bear looking at, however, look he did. There was enough... evidence... of what had been done to account for a bevy of men.
"Mmn. Not my style, as you know," flicking his eyes up from the ravaged and abused flesh up to coffee brown eyes.
Rinna shrugged, making the blade disappear, "I know." She scooted enough to give him a clear invitation to sit, "I just need a bath and some of that salve."
"Ah, our good human friend has said otherwise?" nodding knowingly, setting the kit aside and laying the items out neatly.
"As usual," the careful way she sat was in direct contrast to how she usually was – now her legs were curled to one side, awkwardly keeping them pressed together as though that would alleviate her discomfort.
He didn't ask any questions, for they were unnecessary. Merely he sterilized two needles, and soaked some silk thread in strong spirits, and then opened a few jars. Some were good for bruises, others for open wounds, and others... for hurts that were not so easily dealt with.
She lay a hand over his, even as he had been scooping some of the ganja and poppy laden paste on his fingers, "I don't need that."
"Nonsense," pulling away so that he could begin rubbing it along the sides of her neck one handed, careful to not touch her throat. "It will help you sleep, this you know as well as I."
Taliesin's entrance forestalled any further protests she may have made, the steaming contents of the basin on one shoulder giving off a sharp rose scent, while in his other hand a tray was balanced, a small pot of tea and several cups on it, "I am no healer, but we can patch you up just fine Reen. You do it often enough for me and him. Let us do this for you."
Zevran nodded once, "You are technically our apprentice so obey your elders."
"I know, be a good little Crow," rolled eyes as she stood with deceptive grace and ease, arms held out.
Taliesin's touch was visibly gentle as he wet a cloth and began wiping the sweat and blood from her upper body, "I can't believe they didn't let you bring me along."
Copying the human's actions, beginning from Rinna's hips and working his way down, "What is done, is done. Don't question it."
"It's alright Tali," Rinna's voice was soothing, as though she weren't the one who was a mess. "I got the job done, and I'm alive. Tomorrow you can make me some little pistachio cakes to celebrate."
"Fine, but you better eat the whole pan," gruffly, the human leaned down kissing her cheek. "Otherwise Zev will."
Grunting, not letting himself pause as he wiped away the congealed semen from Rinna's sex, "Yes, I thought my pants were getting too small. So that's the reason. The mystery has been solved!"
This worked a forced twitter of laughter from the elven woman, "Hmm, maybe the next assignment like this, you should take it. You'd look better in a harem girl's garb than me anyway, with all that jiggle," a foot coming off the floor to nudge his behind.
XXX
Atisha halam'shiral, E - May your spirit go to it's end in peace
Ma serannas, E - thank you
Perdóneme,S - excuse me/pardon me/I'm sorry
Mi cielo, S - my sky
Mi diosa, S - my goddess
Amante, S - lover
Mi niña, S - my little girl
Bonita, S - pretty (feminine)
Guapo, S - good looking (male)
Da'assan, E - little arrow
Hamin, E - End