The update is here… and it's early! Woo-hoo!
The headlock isn't over, but the chapter just wouldn't let me go – hence the Zevran focus chapter is here, at long last. The poll is still open, ladies and gents, so feel free to contribute via reviews and votes, if the fancy strikes you! Thus far, Teagan is in the lead (applause) but things could still theoretically change.
Or I might end up vetoing things and writing the fic the way I see it. Anything goes. But I don't have a completely clear vision yet, so never fear – and decisive arguments will persuade at least part of me. So yeah, reviews, please!
o.O.o
Temptations of Ever After
o.O.o
Just like the other places where they had made this little Grey Warden house call, the general reaction to their arrival was the same – uncertain respect to Nimue (and Alistair, once his Warden-hood was announced), hesitant courtesy to those that came with smiles and mild suspicion to those that defied the usual preconceptions and made no move to hide it.
Among the Dalish, their leader's hope that her elven nature would help seemed to have been fulfilled. Keeper Zathrian (who seemed otherwise a haughty, almost arrogant man) had spoken to her with genuine regret about the state of his warriors and his apprentice had provided the Warden with much necessary information. Zevran also had the suspicion that, were it not obvious that an elf was leading a group so diverse, they wouldn't have been allowed to stay close for the night.
Some of the elves certainly seemed to regret it upon seeing what the likes of Oghren could be up to, but there remained three things that warranted general fascination from the tribe. The most obvious was the tiny pony their two pet dwarves used to haul their cart of supplies and merchandise around. Even the halla seemed interested in this strange but docile intruder and even the general differences between elves and dwarves seemed to be overcome in the face of seeing something so unusual to them.
The second – less obvious, perhaps, due to the common nature of such fascination – was Nimue herself. As it was widely known by then that the mage was downright useless at setting up tents and the like, she had focused only on making nice with the still-frowning Dalish. Afterwards, she had simply sat down between a larger tree and one of the aravel, leaning against the latter, and taken out that book the child from Redcliffe had given her. Whatever it contained seemed to interest her greatly, because she never raised her head once, no matter how many stares she drew.
Zevran was somewhat curious what that book contained that managed to divert her attention even from the many trees around them; she still held a fascination with the open forest. However, being the last of the trio of apparently fascinating new arrivals, he was also the most observant towards this recent trend. After all, they didn't seem to be going anywhere too soon, their leader wouldn't appreciate an interruption out of sheer boredom and a few among the unsubtly gawking girls weren't unfortunate-looking, even if compared against his current standard for attractiveness.
The assassin hadn't gotten to where he was without being able to… compromise. Especially since the only recipient of intense looks from their leader was that tattered book. Like the blood mage who had so easily discarded her and fled once backed into a corner, it couldn't appreciate the rarity of the sentiment.
But, as the saying went, as long as one didn't lost sight of the ultimate goal, a little sidetracking was entirely permissible, no?
Out of the various options presented to him, not a one seemed anything close to Nimue in appearance; the Dalish were mostly dark-haired, their skin just a little suntanned and much more athletic than their mage-leader even after months upon months of exercise. Not that he was looking for similarities, certainly, but the petite redhead he approached the shade of skin closest to the mage, if nothing else in common with her.
"Such a sad look on such a pretty young face is a misfortune indeed." The first warning flag that he was getting too soft or too attached to a particular woman rose when the surprised stutter of the girl as he sat down next to her did practically nothing for him.
"O-oh, thank you." After weeks upon weeks of witty if cutting quips, it was somewhat of a let-down. Still, crows were scavengers, as Sten had once said, and were able to settle for less than the desired standard. "Anderan atishan – it is rare for us to receive this amount of visitors."
"Ah yes, I imagine you don't have to establish new relations so abruptly." That was the one downside of living in a close-knit group such as the Dalish; they lacked the degree of variety and surprise desirable when picking a lover. Which is to say, this might end up requiring only half his usual effort, especially given the rather homely appearance of most males this girl's age he had managed to spot. "Travel brings such wonders, wouldn't you say?"
Within a few sentences, Zevran had the girl practically summarized; her name was Gheyna, she was unattached (but the uneasy firmness she said that with suggested some entanglements on that part) and only mildly mistrustful. Her eagerness was subdued by her relative humility, but she was very easily impressed by what she didn't recognize as familiar. All quite appealing factors to his purpose.
"We get new arrivals at times, but never shemlen that don't intend to drive us out… certainly never Grey Wardens and a company of warriors."
"You have fierce warriors of your own… and much more for anyone to find fascinating."
"That's very kind of you to say." It was, however, no true challenge when the target only made half-hearted attempts at escaping. It was as the old wives' saying went; forbidden fruit tasted the sweetest… even when unbitten, the anticipation was something to be savored. This pretty child's blushes were predictable and boring. "I don't really think there's much remarkable here to someone like you."
"Treasures can be found in the most unexpected of places." Nimue was still reading, pleasantly ignoring everything, even the despairing glances Alistair was exchanging with their warhound. How he had come to the conclusion that this was a suitable confidante, Zevran didn't know, but the sight almost broke his façade of polite concern in favor of a laugh. "So tell me, Gheyna dear, what ails you. Your sorrow causes pain to the hearts of many, without any doubt."
The girl didn't notice that his attention was diverted a bit; evidently, she wasn't one to receive any male attention often. Or perhaps she had been particularly mistreated in that area. "I wouldn't know about that…"
Perhaps he was just used to the high degree of effort one had to put into wooing Nimue to get her to even notice what was going on, but Zevran opted for a less dazzling smile than usual. He could make up for the lack of effort later on, but it had been much too long since he had had the chance to dull the sting their mage-leader's persistent rejections wrought to his pride. The best remedy for such ills – as for all, according to the assassin's creed – was to lose himself in the flesh of another.
"Come now, a beautiful young woman such as yourself, so fiery and yet gentle…" Yes, this one was far less experienced in the area of parrying empty flattery than Nimue; to the degree that she didn't even pause to frown at the obvious contradiction, or give any indication that he had no way of knowing her after a mere few words. "I should think ill of the taste of your companions if you didn't have compliments lavished upon yourself daily."
"Is that how things are in the shemlen cities?" Surprise, interest and a trace of intent. For now, she focused on the first two, imagining such odd proceedings. "It seems strange to me… but here, everyone knows everyone."
"That is no excuse for anyone to disregard your loveliness. Such ignorance, for shame. But perhaps this is actually a stroke of good fortune for you." At least she didn't have a mentally unstable templar self-flagellating himself every day after dinner for the entirely natural occurrence of worshipping the ground she walked on… and then turning completely unhinged due to unpredictable circumstances.
Life was ironic like that at times.
Gheyna, knowing nothing of this, was quite naturally a bit confused and blinked. "Good fortune?" She frowned. "What do you mean?"
"Your beauty being so great, how can they not be nervous in approaching you?" A beautiful woman was to be praised for her intelligence; an intelligent one for her beauty. With a comely girl, it was easy to make the choice, but with their Warden, neither path seemed particularly fruitful. "It gives you the power to make your own decisions, to not settle for the…" A proper assassin always knew when someone had spotted them, so Zevran quite easily noticed a young elf watching them with the kind of disdain that screamed out details without the need for explanation. "Ordinary."
"Sometimes, one can find stability in the ordinary." That was surprisingly deep for a naïve young woman such as her, but also a decidedly weak argument. Especially when she couldn't help but tremble a little when practiced fingers slithered across her exposed hand.
"Perhaps, but when a wonder stands before you, isn't it worth any risk to reach out and take the smallest bit of it for yourself?"
Gheyna missed the moment when the assassin had successfully pinpointed her lovelorn suitor out of the crowd and managed to analyze the situation and find out how it might benefit him within a matter of seconds. She missed Cammen's utter despair and lack of action when her personal space was very decisively invaded (which she also missed, rising heat somewhere under her skin aside). What she didn't miss, entirely by accident, was the moment when a question from Wynne forced Nimue to raise her head from the page she was reading. For a total of three seconds, the mage-Warden looked directly at the two of them, blinked slowly, as if she couldn't process the information properly without slowing down her thoughts… and then, like the crack of a whip, her cold eyes darted upwards, back to the woman with whom she was briefly conversing.
Being young and still just a little wary of these outsiders, Gheyna interpreted that according to what she herself might feel in such a situation. It was an easy assumption, especially as the idea that an elf might love a human had not yet occurred to her, nor did any Dalish truly consider that possibility. The differences were just too obvious. Gheyna's face fell, but not as abruptly as one might expect. Somehow, she was just the slightest bit relieved.
Hesitantly, she drew back, this being the only move on her part that managed to surprise Zevran. "Ah, I think I understand. You are bonded with the Grey Warden, aren't you?" That was familiar territory; something that made sense to her, even for these outsiders.
Bonded as in… oh, so this was what it was like. No wonder these Dalish were so prudish. "Not in the way you understand it, I would assume." It was worth one further attempt. They could even include that wide-eyed virgin boy of hers, if that eased her mind – but if this really equaled marriage in her eyes, the consequences could be… problematic.
"Then you are courting her." Gheyna jumped to the next assumption with a simplicity worthy of a child. Obviously, in the girl's mind, there were only two alternatives: marriage (in the sense that she understood it) or soon-to-be-marriage. Perhaps it was better not to take these little entanglements too far. If he was ever to travel with a Dalish tribe, Zevran knew there had to be a better way of going along with that than hanging this kind of chain around his neck.
"Let us say that I am very interested in her, shall we?" In Gheyna's mind, that likely amounted to the same thing, and if the Dalish were truly this puritan about simple sex, it was best not to go all the way. That, however, didn't mean that further compromises couldn't be attempted. "But you are also most interesting, my dear. It is very hard to believe that you don't have men vying for your attention at this very instant."
The Dalish girl's face went as dark as her hair. "Well, there is Cammen, but… that's beside the point, really." she waved her hand dismissively. Used to the clumsy stumbling of a besotted boy, she had absolutely no idea how to handle the pleasant nothings that were being lavished upon her. "So things work differently outside the clan? Figures. We get told just what the flat-ears mention of Alienages. But you're both from other places."
"I'm certain if people knew how hospitable and appealing the Dalish truthfully are, they would swarm your encampment in a hurry."
"I don't know if the Keeper would like that." Gheyna was practically rooted to the spot, aware of her own rambling. But she was acutely aware of her own limits; competing with a Grey Warden in any field would be folly. The uneasy fluttering near her heart remained, but it wasn't nearly so stroke-inducing anymore. "We try to travel light and without fuss. It's nowhere near as exciting as travelling with Grey Wardens… we just make do."
That right there was an opening for the final attempt. With practiced seamless ease, Zevran took it by resuming the non-threatening gesture of stroking the girl's hand. "That depends entirely on the kind of excitement you crave, my dear." If a simple suggestion (though purred as it was) could drive the girl to distraction, the entire pleasure of the challenge was gone.
"With the werewolves assaulting us, I'm not sure I could handle much more at the moment." And she was once more babbling a little, trying to steer the conversation away from something she feared. With an inner sigh, Zevran retreated, if only for the moment. Probably for the best, this course of action. Marriage was far, far from his mind, especially the accidental variety. "Though travelling again would be a nice change."
"I'm certain our lovely Warden will make it her utmost priority." Moreover, Gheyna must have come to her conclusion based on some action on Nimue's part – a brief venomous glance, maybe? – and maybe it wouldn't hurt to poke the dying fire with a stick, just to get it up and running again. "Perhaps it would be good to go make certain of that."
"You don't have to do that, really." Gheyna mumbled, cursing her own lack of aggression. She cared for Cammen, truly, but there was something frightening about this man that drew her in very easily – and she suspected that would be true for many others.
With unabashed grace, Zevran was already back on his feet, finishing this simple pretext to temporarily abandon the girl. A shame, though. She had been relatively promising, at least in comparison to the others around them. "I insist. It wouldn't do to make promises one cannot keep, would it now?"
"I-I suppose not."
"Quite right of you." the assassin's smile was a little too wide, the skilled puppeteer patronizing just a little. A few small pushes would be enough to win this one over, if he felt so inclined in the future. For the time being, an investigation was in order, which should turn out to be far more amusing that this little exchange. "Now, if you'd be so good as to excuse me and convey my apologies to your charming friends, duty calls once more."
There were other women watching them, some a little green with jealousy around the eyes, some trying their best to pretend they weren't the least bit interested in the one other elf in the outsider's group. None of the other companions seemed to have much inclination to strike up a conversation with the Dalish, save for Leliana, who was still speaking with the storyteller. Other than that, most were setting up the tents on a small clearing not too far away.
As for Nimue, she was alone once again, only this time a small glowing wisp was floating around her head, illuminating the pages for her as she poured through the words. One of Wynne's spells, probably, since the elf's magic had a tendency to have more extreme effects than a simple light.
Zevran's entire form gained a new kind of focus upon approaching the mage, as if he were preparing himself for a battle. Indeed, that was what most of their conversations were; battles, or friendly sparring matches, at the very least. Yet now, there were stakes to be met and a time limit as well.
Lady Nimue of Rainesfere. Arlessa (now that would be a true fight with the Chantry, the title) of Redcliffe. Laughable images, with the way she had fought the pomp Leliana had attempted to impose upon her tooth and nail. But so be it, if she wished. It was friendly concern that urged him to present the mage with options before that happened, as well as the undeniable lust. An injury of pride was only a secondary factor.
After all, what one wanted didn't need to have anything to do with what one deserved.
"Surrendering your privacy so quickly?" Zevran tsked at this sudden change of opinion regarding having a study room at her disposal. You couldn't take the Tower out of the mage most days, but now… "You must indeed find the Dalish intriguing."
Nimue looked up from her book only for a second as a courteous greeting, then returned to her decrypting without missing a beat. She had gotten so used to these sudden appearances courtesy of the rogues she travelled with that it seemed like nothing so extraordinary any longer.
"It's safer this way and we've been allowed to stay. I don't see any reason to make two journeys instead of one. Besides," Again, a brief glance ending almost as soon as it began. "I thought you'd enjoy it."
She was doing an exceedingly good job of hiding any trace of disapproval – or was it jealousy, perhaps, a more impish side of Zevran considered with carefully-concealed amusement – but there wasn't trace of the usual candor behind the well-wishing.
It was encouraging, whatever it was, and Maker knew that much less had encouraged the assassin to approach the boundaries of someone's personal space. "That wouldn't be too much of a problem, but it turns out that there is one detrimental factor to that – you, my dear."
"I meant because your mother lived like this." Answering questions systematically tended to leave one not realizing what the full argument they were arguing against actually was. "Wait… why am I detrimental to your…" There was that grin she had trained herself to (partially) resist, which said more than words. "I don't think I even want to know."
"A most peculiar story…" Telling it seemed to require sitting down at a slight distance from the mage. Nimue didn't bother moving away – for one thing, it would have a detrimental effect; for another, lightning spells wouldn't injure the caster even at close quarters. "Apparently, the young elf lasses have assumed that you and I are… well…" When Zevran edged away for an opportunity at innuendo, it was no doubt worthy of at least a brief glance. Not the best idea, at this proximity – hindsight was evil. "It would be better if I demonstrated, perhaps." Zevran suggested with an unwavering smile. One more step was all it would take.
The train of thought going a little slower than usual, Nimue didn't place too much importance on the varying degrees of proximity between them. At least, not until she finished this very peculiar assumption and managed to wrap her mind around it.
"They think-" She stopped right there, her face especially pink around the cheeks. Now that explained a lot. But then, she remembered whom she was speaking to, shook her head abruptly and returned to denying the inevitable. "No, you're just messing with me now."
"I speak in all seriousness." That actually got her to lower that book, which was an accomplishment in itself. Zevran caught a glimpse of what seemed almost hieroglyphic writing and absent-mindedly concluded that it had to be some form of runes or an older system of coding the contents. Outwardly, it caught only a minimum of his attention, but if someone were to show him the writing again, he likely would have remembered some of it. "They came to this conclusion all on their own. Doesn't that say something to you?"
"That I understand now why they seem so dejected." In turning her head to have a look at the nearest cluster of elf girls that – it now became apparent – was at least partly focused on watching them, she unknowingly almost awarded Zevran with a face-full of hair. The assassin easily pulled back just for a moment, but then drank in the vaguely clinical scent of herbs that clung to her at all times. It was possibly the closest he had ever gotten to her in the physical sense, which meant that extreme care would be required to fight for establishing this frontier upon reaching it. "I'm surprised you didn't counter the idea, however."
"Oh, I would have, perhaps, but it seems that to them, the act of love would signify marriage." The mage's entire form jerked slightly, though the motive for that movement was difficult to discern. "The last thing we need now is a thong of self-proclaimed brides following us around." Zevran continued as if nothing had happened, taking careful note of how rigidly their lovely leader sat in attention and how she was evaluating the situation with less than her usual forced patience. "Though that would certainly be one way of making them honor their treaty."
"And a most certain way of antagonizing the male half of the tribe." Nimue almost banged her head against the aravel when edging back reflexively. Feeling foreign warm breath inches from one's lips was certainly one way of becoming alert of her own sloppiness in the attention department. There was one thing that concerned her; or would, once she dealt with the lapse in her calm – a calm that was more fragile than she liked to admit. She couldn't tell if this was merely a show to deter the persistent girls, or if this was a display for her own benefit. Either way, it meant trouble.
As with all hunters, fear (even a momentary show of it), seemed to excite Zevran. The appreciated difference was that, upon seeing it, he didn't press that advantage and gave a little ground. Not nearly enough, of course; just enough to reestablish a false sense of security. "Not necessarily."
Well, that was one way of dealing with things, an absent-mindedly dazed voice in Nimue's head concluded complacently. But the brief but severe intrusion of her personal space warranted some compensation, the mage hoped, and she intended to get it in the mildest manner possible.
"Can I ask you not to cause trouble?" Of course she could ask, but somehow, she supposed a higher caliber of persuasion would be necessary for this particular situation. Hence, Nimue brought out her best weapon against objections of more gullible party members (read: Alistair) and attempted to impersonate a puppy to her utmost ability. "Please?"
It was just a little comical to observe, especially with the faintest tinge of desperation tied to the gesture. But the way the mage's lips puckered just a little was certainly a temptation, if not at all in the sense she intended. It was an argument nonetheless.
"I'm certain I could be persuaded by your legendary charm." Zevran drawled, edging just a little closer. It was always something to be wary of when someone looked at you as if they wanted to have you for dinner and potentially afterwards as well.
And here they went again, both of them concluded at the same time.
"You've done much crazier things while following me." Fighting a high dragon on foot counted as crazier than resisting a bunch of elf girls with no weapons in Nimue's book – but then again, she was female and didn't swing that way as far as she was aware, so what did she know? "Surely this wouldn't be too difficult for you to accomplish."
"Now, that is very relative." Zevran was entirely glad to explain the difference between these predicaments to her. Even if she might not want to hear it. "Usually, your requests don't require restraining myself on any account." The tragedy of the current situation didn't escape him, so he threw in a sigh that was practically tap-dancing on the line between melodramatics and really obvious emphasis. "It is heartbreaking to give up so many beauties, but trading a few stars for the sun is a bargain entirely in my favor."
If there was anything her tenure as a Grey Warden had taught Nimue, it was when someone was trying to bargain. Especially when one side of the trade wasn't anywhere near equal to the other. "I'm not setting this up for negotiation. I'm only warning you that if you upset any of them, you're entirely on your own."
"Setting ultimatums, are we? Saucy. I suppose being under one yourself makes it tempting to spread them around."
This was a twist Nimue hadn't been expecting… at least, not this soon. "I'd hardly call it that. It's an offer of marriage. I asked for time to consider and I've been given it. That's all there is to it."
"He's an exceptionally good-looking man, that Teagan." There was also the fact that – differences and conflicts aside – he would be able to give Nimue the kind of life she deserved. Not the kind she wanted, but still, there were compromises. "And he certainly doesn't waste any time when he wants something." Unlike a certain heir apparent, who seemed to consider a mabari warhound the best possible counselor in matters of romance. And Wynne wondered why he tried to present the poor mage with alternatives. "I imagine the family meetings will be awkward, though."
"Why would anything be awkward?"
Zevran was sorely tempted to ask if she wanted that in alphabetical order or according to the degree of awkwardness associated.
"Oh, that depends entirely on the environment." Best not to go into such things while there was yet joy to be found in the world. "And if I can't manage to spoil you for another's touch before you make any kind of decision. Or perhaps you've made one already."
In cases such as this when controlling the flow of one's blood to their face was impossible and dodging the issue wouldn't yield much result, frankness was the best solution. At least, so Nimue supposed. Running off that last time had been a very stupid impulse. "What do you want from me?"
"Only what you'll give me willingly." That was the single rule Zevran abided by in these games; one that he had never had a cause to break yet. The hunt, after all, was intriguing… and perhaps that was the reason why he longed for their mage Warden to this extent. It was turning out to be a very merry chase, so far. "Have I ever asked anything more from you?"
"No… no you haven't." Nimue conceded, a bit grudgingly. She hated giving ground. But then, disregarding this childishness for a moment, she embraced whatever snatch of humility she possessed and repeated her request. "Will you do this for me, please?"
"When you smile like that, how could I refuse?" The truth was, she hadn't been smiling during the rather solemn statement, but this blithe acceptance cracked that façade. Of course, that meant that she missed the fact that this wasn't in any way a promise, word for word; Leliana would have cautioned her against this, but the bard was far too busy trying to pry out stories from the local lore keeper to notice.
"Thank you." It was this sincerity, though, that lingered in the assassin's mind in the coming hours. This was the one factor which bothered him about the chase; how personally it was pulling him in. "And… if it makes it easier, you don't have to correct them. It should be too difficult a charade to maintain." It had cost Nimue some ground, this suggestion, but she felt that she owed it as a peacekeeping gesture.
Zevran wasn't nearly distracted enough to disregard the obvious opening and allowed his grin to return full-force.
"Now that is an intriguing proposal." Even a proposition, perhaps, if one considered Nimue's general flirting standards. Which were neigh nonexistent, but that was beside the point. The hair falling into her face caused the assassin's fingers to twitch; it was a testament of his self-restraint that he didn't act on this impulse. For now, it would be looking, not touching. After all, it was much more gratifying when your target ran to you, proving to be not so different from the others. Or, more importantly, proving that they, too, had urges and feelings. "Does it include kisses and nights spent together in a single tent?"
"As you've made it clear that they're rather conservative here about that kind of thing, no." Had Nimue not known that much, weaseling her way out of this situation would have been much more difficult, even when hungry eyes had shifted their aim from maintaining eye contact to examining her lips.
Especially in such cases.
And the assassin laughed, at this squeamishness, at her opportunism, at the quick defense move so masterfully formed, finally giving ground himself, perhaps admitting a loss of this battle. "Making me sleep on the metaphorical couch? What a cruel wife you make, my dear." The word felt odd, as if it were to warp something, twist it irrepairably - and, judging by Nimue's fidgeting, she felt the same. "I almost pity your noble suitor."
But not the war; never the war, if that answer could be taken from the caress of the hand that finally traced her cheek as if to say this and much more is what you are missing. The briefness of that contact said much more than saying anything at all.
