Chapter 13: More Than Just Skin-deep
When they had first set eyes upon the abandoned thaig, they had been awestruck. Even in their ruinous state and despite the decay the old buildings were still breathtakingly beautiful. It seemed strange, Cat thought, that dwarves insisted on building such lofty, high structures. It wasn't as if they needed the headroom. Still, even in her most cynical moments she had to admit that no one could work rock the way they did, or steel for that matter. When they had arrived at Orzammar a week ago, their new gear from Denerim had seemed shabby compared to what the dwarven smiths had to offer. Well, with any luck this expedition into the Deep Roads would yield enough coin to upgrade their equipment.
They had made camp in one of the less dilapidated buildings. One room in particular was still intact, and there was even a small side chamber that would afford Cat and Zevran a measure of privacy. As soon as everything had been arranged to her satisfaction, she'd assembled a small scouting party and had set out with Alistair, Morrigan and Leliana, intending to be back within the hour.
When they still hadn't returned after two hours, Zevran found himself worried. Yet an hour later he finally heard steps outside in the courtyard, but when he rushed out to meet them, his worst fears were confirmed. Alistair was carrying Cat in his arms, her head and upper torso firmly wrapped in an old coat. Her body was motionless, one hand dangling down.
"Quick," said Alistair tersely. "Get Wynne. And get out of here, Zevran, she said she didn't want to see you."
He recoiled in shock. "She said what?"
The knight shrugged and proceeded with her into the small side chamber where Wynne was already waiting, healing spells at the ready.
Zevran tried to follow him in, but as soon as he had put her down, Alistair simply pushed him out of the room and took up sentry at the door. All his protests fell on deaf ears. When Wynne left the room an hour later, looking exhausted, she shook her head at his pleas. "She's better," the old mage muttered, "but she doesn't want you to come in."
Zevran raged in vain until, after hours of pleading and cursing, he finally gave in, pretending to accept the decision. For the next two days he patiently waited for his chance. Alistair and Sten took turns watching the doorway and watching him, but he knew it was just a matter of time before their vigilance waned. In the second night he finally grabbed his chance when the knight had dozed off, and stealthily disappeared around the corner, quickly scaling the walls from the outside. Within seconds he was at her side, looking down at her.
She was running a fever, he could see that right away. And despite Wynne's efforts in the past two days her injuries were still blindingly obvious. A huge red welt ran from her forehead to her neck, crossing one eyebrow. By some miracle her eye had remained intact, but a large part of her right earlobe had been cut off. He gasped at the sight of the wound, realizing how closely she had escaped death.
At the sound she opened her huge, feverish eyes, and when she saw his face, she got agitated. "Zev! I didn't want you to see me like this. I asked them to keep you away!"
He shook his head mutely, for a moment lost for words. "Shh, cara," he gently shushed her, softly stroking the intact side of her face. "Don't worry. I'm here and everything's fine." He saw another flash of anguish cross her face before she passed out again.
"How did you get in here? I told you she didn't want you here!" Alistair's voice was furious.
Zevran turned slowly to the door to see the knight looming over him, Wynne at his side, a disapproving look on her face. He got up, looking them both in the eye without flinching. "I'm not leaving her side again," he stated.
Alistair bristled at this, obviously willing to force the issue, but Wynne gently touched his arm. "Quiet, Alistair, you'll only wake her," she muttered. "Now that he's seen her, he might as well stay."
It took three more days for the fever to break. He was with her all the time, cooling her face with wet cloths, trying to make her drink a little water whenever she was conscious, snatching quick naps on a bedroll next to her. Then he awoke one night to find her looking at him with clear eyes, a single large tear rolling across her cheek.
"I'm sorry, Zev," she whispered. "I must look so disgusting."
He couldn't believe his ears. "And why would you think that, my sweet?" It was hard to keep his voice gentle. "Do you think I've never seen wounds like this before? You will heal, it's just a matter of time."
She shook her head, still fighting back tears. "I heard Wynne tell Alistair that she'd do what she could but that I'd likely be permanently disfigured." Her voice broke at the last two words.
Zevran snorted, his lips forming a thin line as he thought of a few choice things that would permanently disfigure the old bat. "Really? I think that is, as you Fereldans are fond of saying, complete bullshit." When she gaped at him, he pulled up his tunic, revealing a long pale line across his abdomen. "See this, cara? When this was a fresh wound, it looked a lot worse than yours does now."
He sighed in frustration. "Why am I even telling you this? You have had enough wounds and scars yourself, you should know. Besides..." he let his fingers hover over the wound in the ghost of a caress, "if anything, this should look rather dashing once it's healed."
She swallowed. "But my face... Zev, I know how much you value beauty. And I'm filthy, I smell, I look like hell. How can you possibly want me like this?"
For a moment he felt nothing but blind rage at her words. Did she really think him that shallow? But then he saw the expression on her face, the anguish, the fear, and he relented. "Is that what you are afraid of, my love?"
When she nodded, trembling, he got up with a resigned sigh and walked out, returning with a bowl of water and some rags. Without saying a word he began to gently wash her from head to toe. She watched him in wonder, realizing that being clean made her feel a lot better.
When he finished, he pulled her into his arms and kissed her softly. His lips were like silk brushing against her skin. His fingers wandered over her arms and chest, carefully avoiding the bruises. To her surprise she found her battered body responding to his caresses, shivering slightly. As he pulled her closer against his warmth, quickly discarding his clothes so she could feel his skin against hers, she heard his soft voice against her ear. "You really think I don't want you any more? To me you are beautiful no matter how many scars you have". She blushed like an innocent as she felt his hardness against her body, clear evidence of his desire.
He was infinitely careful not to hurt her as he touched her, his lips and hands calling forth reactions she hadn't thought her weakened body capable of. When he finally entered her, his movements were controlled, measured, as if she was as fragile as a porcelain figurine. Yet she nearly cried out, so good it was to feel him inside her, to be with him, safe in his arms. As she reached completion, he pulled her close, his own face mirroring her release, his lips firmly locking with hers. She shuddered, then immediately fell into a deep, relaxed sleep.
When Wynne entered the room in the morning and found them naked, their limbs tangled, huddled under the blanket together, she raised hell.
"How could you?" she hissed at Zevran. "With her still healing, I can't believe you couldn't keep your hands off her!"
He didn't even attempt to answer, just threw her a dark look, but at this moment Cat moved in his arms and looked at the old mage.
Her eyes were clear and her voice sounded surprisingly firm as she spoke. "Leave him be, Wynne. I'm grateful for your skills, but it wasn't just my body that needed healing."
The mage grumbled for a moment, but one look at her patient told her how much better she was. With a snort Wynne left the room.
They had to wait another full week for Cat to recover sufficiently for them to set out again. As they were grabbing their packs, Zevran pulled her aside for a moment.
"Here. It seems an appropriate moment to give you this." He pulled a beautiful jewelled earring from his purse and slowly, gently attached it to her left ear.
She swallowed. "Zev, does this mean...?"
He raised a warning finger to his lips, clearly not wishing to discuss the meaning of the gesture, and she broke off. But as they continued along the huge marble slabs of the old dwarven road, she found herself touching the earring with a small smile.