The Warden & The Crow
Part 1
The trees have shed their leaves weeks ago and weather had been constantly worsening until first shy snowflakes appeared, only to melt again, but it was the presage of winter coming upon the lands of Fereldan nevertheless. Elders held long-winded talks that this one would be particularly long and cruel.
Denerim looked exceptionally gloomy on that particular late autumn evening. Howling wind carrying the chills from North blew through the deserted streets, buffeting with anything that was not nailed, and the old wooden houses creaked as if begging for mercy. Heavy cold rain poured down in thick cords from low dark clouds soaked with moisture, and there was a foul smell creeping right above the ground throughout the quiet city. Everyone who could was holed up inside, huddled by the fire and with a cup of something warm in hands. The grumpy gate keeper let the last tardy travelers through the main city gate before he sealed it for the night, glad that he could go back inside again and pretend he was actually guarding it. Two travelers ducked into the nearest alehouse to find themselves hot meals and saucy wenches for the night, but the third one continued onward. Even though his cloak was drenched and droplets of rain were trickling off his hood, the traveler seemed in no hurry despite the weather as he crossed the emptied marketplace. He bore nothing but small valise over his shoulder that must have been drenched just like he was, and the hem of his heavy cloak kept conspicuously bulging at one particular place as if a sword was swaying beneath the fabric according with the pace. The traveler clearly knew exactly where he was going, but simply didn't care to get there fast. There was no one in sight but four blackguards standing closely to each other in front of an inn that was so old that its name was no longer recognizable and the ancient proprietor who used to be an infamous raider simply referred to it as "the hold". The men were shielded from the rain by a decrepit cover above the door and from the first look they were up to no good. They ceased their hushed debate once the traveler reached them with his measured steps, clearly intending to visit the inn only if the plotters weren't blocking the way. It was unclear whether the traveler spoke a few words or if he merely gave them a glare from beneath his low drawn hood, but the men stepped aside instantly and let him walk through, watching him in sinister silence as he passed by them and entered.
Inconspicuous in his black cloak lined with silver fur and its hem three inches deep in mud, the newcomer looked like any other adventurer seeking shelter from the awful weather and company on his lone travels, even though there was something intangible hiding beneath that cloak no one seemed to notice. If the stranger looked ordinary and easily overlooked as he stood by the front door, he managed to draw an unwanted attention to himself the moment he deliberately omitted to pull the hood back when he decided to casually head straight to the slanting counter behind which the old pirate was cleaning and polishing copper mugs with dilligence that was unusual for a place like this.
"What can I get ya, stranger?" The old pirate eyed him up and down and spat out a disgusting tobacco gob of spit on the floor. There was not much to look at however – a lean silhouette of a cloaked man not very tall, not very short, his body and arms hidden beneath that cloak that was clipped together with a massive blackened iron clasp, a tip of a blade protruding out of the folds of dirty fabric right above the ground was catching light from the many blazing torches, and finally a face shadowed by the hood that nothing but thin lips constantly twisted into a subtle sneer and a chin with delicately weaving tattoo net were visible. A pair of penetrating eyes flashed now and then from beneath the hood as if they were constantly on alert.
The stranger glanced around before he leaned forward and asked with a low voice, "Tell me, old man, is there an elf staying in your inn?" He glanced around again, this time in almost paranoid suspicion, drawing even nearer to the pirate afterward and lowering his voice even further. "My height, blonde long hair, with a black tattoo coiling on his left cheek?"
"Hey, Flynn, where's my bloody dinner, y'old scurvy bilge rat?" One of the regulars with manners of a grumpy old nug elbowed his way toward the counter, but that intangible something discouraged him from shoving the stranger away along with the others.
"Here's yer dinner, ya mangy cockroach. Munch and piss off!" The old pirate slammed a plate full of roasted meat, vegetables, and freshly baked bread in front of the regular, clearly his friend, who sniffed the steaming meal and licked his lips. "You were saying…?" Flynn turned back to the stranger, but his friend wasn't quite done yet.
"Is it edible, Flynn? Or is it moving like last time? Smells suspiciously well, you old lower deck nit. You stole it from Gnawed Noble Tavern again?" he roared with laughter at his own joke along with another half of the inn.
"Shut yer trap afore I grab ye by the danglers and hang ye by them over the side!" Flynn shouted the scum quiet and turned back to the stranger who struggled to remain calm even though he was far from it at this point. "Pardon them gents manners, kind sir. You were inquiring 'bout some knife-ear?" he obligingly asked again, waving his arm at the heckler to leave them alone. At an ominous scowl from the black clad one, he amended his question to, "You were inquiring 'bout some elf?"
"Yes, I was indeed." Stranger's patience was now clearly strained to the utmost bearable point as he slammed his fist into the counter to emphasize that bartender's attention should better be dedicated to him now and him only. "My height, blonde, with tattooed face and a very developed taste for fucking anything willing. Tell me – is there such a man staying at your inn?" Puzzled, Flynn looked down on the hand covered with thin fingerless glove that seemed to be a part of the hand even though the smooth black leather was in contrast with almost white flesh. Realizing that the bartender had been staring at his hand bearing the silver ring with a large ruby, the stranger withdrew his hand beneath the cloak again, leaving two silver coins on the counter to help Flynn refresh his memory.
"Huh," Flynn made an uncertain sound and the coins magically disappeared from the counter. "There is but one man here who tallies with your description, although—"
"Although what?" The stranger impatiently interrupted him and leaned with both his hands against the counter in suspense. The cloak parted and Flynn glimpsed beautifully wrought silver breastplate with elaborate adornments worthy of a prince.
"Although he's more like a monk or so it would seem. Often drunk monk," Flynn cackled, still surreptitiously looking at the majestic breastplate right until the moment the cloak had covered it again. Flynn fell silent once the stranger headed upstairs without another word since he had clearly gathered all information he needed. "Room 4! He's in room 4! And he owes me a nice pouch of coppers for his stay and food by the way!" he yelled in vigor after him. "I smell troubles," he then murmured to himself, his eyes following the stranger until he was gone. Flynn pulled one silver coin out of his pocket afterward, toying with it before he slipped it back in and went about his business. After all, he was but a humble bartender and an ex-raider who ought to survive like everybody else.
oOo
Zevran lay on his stomach; an arm dangling over the side of the bed with fingertips slightly touching the hardwood floor, and the thin sheet of uncertain color was draped lazily over his backside, leaving the black tattoos curving on his back visible. His cheek was against the rough edge of the mattress and it must have been uncomfortable as it dug into his skin, but he seemed to be sound asleep nevertheless.
And so he had found him. After a month of thorough searching, he had finally found him in this hovel.
It was now when the stranger chose to finally pull the hood back and the light coming from a small fireplace illuminated Mahariel's pale face and his silver hair shone in gloom every time he moved his head. It seemed Zevran had turned in only recently since the logs in fire were barely half-burnt, the bottle of cheap wine was still half-full and modest dinner appeared to be untouched. Zevran's armor was scattered everywhere he looked as the Crow obviously sauntered around the room while undressing, leaving the pieces where they had fallen down. It didn't escape Fawn's attention that the armor was quite worn-out and there was no warm cloak for the upcoming winter to be found; just some grey mantle far too thin to withstand the cold. Merely out of curiosity, Fawn peeked under the bed, expecting the twin blades to rest there since he knew Zevran's paranoia that had saved not only his life many times over, but the space was empty to his astonishment and he could count lumps of dust and a few abandoned cobwebs.
Watching Zevran in his sleep; so relaxed, so unaware, breathing with slow deep breaths, Fawn found himself willing to simply sit there and keep watching since waking up the slumbering elf seemed callous. On the other hand, Fawn was soaking wet to his very marrow, he shivered with cold, he was starved, and there seemed to be no other alternative than to start tending to his own needs and therefore wake the Crow up. He strolled toward the fire to warm himself up at least and consider the situation, when a husky voice solved it for him.
"You were not there," the voice stated. Fawn did not move at first, nor did he respond.
"Do you know why I was not there?" he finally asked a dour question, still turned toward the fire.
"I don't know. I don't care. I waited for you in that damp cavern for six days and you didn't come. Six days. Only then it struck me you never intended to show up in the first place."
Still watching the dancing flames, Fawn had not heard him, had not seen him approaching, suddenly he was simply there right behind him, turning him around and slamming him hard into the door. It was a sound that must have been heard even downstairs. The Warden could nothing but put up with it as he was in no shape to struggle after his long travels in search of the Crow. With their noses almost touching, Zevran's hand fumbled for the key stuck in the lock. He worked the key to assure privacy, not breaking the eye contact, and then, as if with a dark thought in his mind, he pocketed it.
"You never understood what I've been trying to do ever since I met you, do you?" Fawn slowly shook his head, passively standing when Zevran's hands roughly tore his cloak off him and seized the sword as well as several smaller blades – all of them ending up thrown far away with ungodly noise. Several regulars looked up from their ales and plates at the racket right above their heads, but since Flynn kept polishing a huge copper pitcher with excessive care as if he had heard nothing suspicious at all, they slowly went back to their business.
"Do share!" The Crow hissed into his face once he ran his hands down Fawn's breeches that were stuck in knee-high warm boots that were meant to walk great distances. No weapon hidden there and the Crow calmed down a little.
"You see, there's been always a question what would you do when you alone were responsible for yourself. How would you live your life once you were free of all responsibilities, all ties, all loose ends. And now we know, don't we?" Fawn glanced about the tiny ramshackle room that was not even paid for. "I mean, you've clearly decided to depart your wonderful life of raping and slaughter in Antiva, therefore you no longer accept contracts, meaning you must have run out of coin at some point and now you're just surviving day after day after day, until the day the old pirate throws you out of here with city guards on your tail. What would happen afterward, that remains to be seen." Fawn's eyes then stopped at the damaged leather cuirass, worn down boots and two iron daggers and a whetstone lying on the table. Where Crow's infamous needle-like blades were, Fawn did not know.
"You missed one tiny crucial detail, Warden. I no longer care what you think!" Zevran spat out venom at him, but his eyes just like Fawn's flew about the miserable room and he felt pangs of shame to be found like this. But the decorum must have been protected at all cost even now. "So why don't you spare me the lecture? Why are you even here, I wonder? Leave me! I wish to speak with you no more!"
"Look at you!" Fawn pushed the elf away from him in outrage, examining the husk of a proud assassin he had used to know once. "You gave up!" he accused him and shook his head in disgust as if reacting to his own inner thoughts. Wondering now as well why he indeed bothered coming here, Fawn threw his body on a creaking chair by the plain wooden table with his head in palms. The table – just like everything else at the inn – seemed to be a little askew.
"You don't know what it's like." The Crow remained standing where Fawn had shoved him with his head hanging down in disgrace. "I was a frightened child shooed from everywhere I turned. I scratched a living out of petty thefts and simple tasks of delivery whenever I could get them. First time I glimpsed something like a family; it turned out to be a ring of slavers who sold me in the market to the guild of ruthless assassins. Can you blame me for attempting to make a home with them? I took what I could get! It was the first and only home I've ever known, Fawn, and it was real! They trained me, fed me, invested in me, and hell if I cared about their motives! Can you blame me for fulfilling each contract they gave me? Never questioning, never defying, never thinking of tomorrow? Just today, always today, never yesterday, and most definitely never tomorrow! Cusping on adulthood, I had no idea who I was, what I was, if I even wanted to be…! It's hundred shades of suck and fuck, that's what this was like!" Zevran screamed, begged, threw things, pleaded, threatened violence, while Fawn had been observing his doing in serene silence that made the Crow angrier still.
"You let them define you!" Fawn groaned into his palms, waving his white hand as if that was a capital crime. "You bowed to those who decided to be your masters and you didn't know any better than to accept it and unconditionally obey them. I attempted to set you free, but one cannot set free a man who doesn't wish to be free." Each his word stung like a fresh bleeding whip welt on Crow's already beaten body. He was incapable of resisting his masters in Antiva, but perhaps he could resist now.
"And what do you suggest then?" he retorted and smashed against the wall yet another earthen dish Fawn had stoically handed him over. "Should I take my chances with you rather than with those who looked after me for years?"
"Like a panderer looks after his whores, you mean…." Fawn gave him a snort full of disdain, pretentiously observing his white hands and neatening the elegant gloves.
"I was alone, Fawn!" Zevran howled like a wounded predator and it was clear they had finally hit the sore spot. "You abandoned me in Amaranthine, knowing what would happen if you did, but you left me anyway! Whom I was supposed to turn to? Whom I was supposed to trust?! The Crows took me back since I was one of their best! They took me back and let me work! I've been taking contract after contract the whole damn year during which I searched for you. They didn't care I was driven by the thought for revenge as long as I delivered the results and believe me – the corpses paved my path wherever I turned. So don't you dare just sit there, patronizing me, scolding me, clearly amused by Zevran Arainai who, despite everything, is clearly unable to live without you!"
Being as it was, the words were finally said out loud and there was nothing Zevran could do to take them back. The words Fawn had come to Denerim to hear. Slowly he looked up; letting his eyes rest on Zevran's who stared at him with longing that ran deep to the very moment of their first encounter when they equally felt the frisson that seized both their minds and refused to wane ever since. The Warden rose from his uncomfortable seat, but obviously this innocent move was enough for Zevran's body to tense, his bare chest heaved with quick shallow breaths, the muscles bulging and jerking as if preparing for a lunge, while his face disclosed nothing but suspicion and resentment, so Fawn rather remained standing exactly where he was.
"Come here," he quietly addressed the Crow, holding out one of his hands toward him with a palm open upward.
"To what end?" Zevran cautiously watched the hand and if anything, he seemed to be prone to flee; certainly not make a single step forward.
"I meant every word on the ship, Zevran. I didn't hear you protesting once I proclaimed your life to be mine and I don't hear you protesting now, so one can only assume where this would end if you take that hand." Fawn laughed his quiet melodic laughter and let his outstretched arm gracefully fall down again as he made two subtle steps closer to the Crow instead. "Obviously, I could have foreseen that my lesson to you would magnificently fail, and fail it sadly did, yet I chose not to. But back to your question regarding why I am here." Another negligible step forward. "Clearly we've both suffered long enough without one another and from this day forth I wish you by my side if you're willing." Another step brought the Warden even closer, so he was now fully able to enjoy the impact his words had on the man he loved, however flawed that man was.
"If this is just one of your sick games—" Zevran weakly objected, becoming more and more convinced that Fawn had come here to nothing but torment him again.
"No games. No lies. No pretense. Not this time. Tomorrow we shall leave this place together if that's what you wish." There it was. An invitation. No coyness, no hesitation, no doubt, nothing but a blatant invitation to indulge Zevran's all desires. Growing restless when no reply came immediately as he would expect, Fawn slowly reached for his pendant hanging around Zevran's neck, playing with it a little before he tightly grasped it into the fist, pulling the Crow fervently toward him. Oh yes; he would have an answer and he would have it now, no matter how speechless Zevran seemed to be.
Was Zevran really hearing this? He was not sure. He wanted to speak, but couldn't. He wanted to move, but wasn't able to. Was this really, truly happening? He had given up all hope and buried himself in this forgotten dark hole. Night after night he would drink into early morning hours, getting into all kinds of troubles, only to go to ground with first sun beams, sleeping through the whole day or stare at the ceiling and do nothing until the room darkened again, signaling it was time for him to get up and survive yet another night in hell. And now - Fawn was suddenly back. He appeared exactly two months after their dissent at the coast of Fereldan, offering a new life, even though Zevran had failed in the test or perhaps because of Zevran failing in the test. Was it really all he was to the Warden? A victim of his own imperfect self? Nothing but a pitiful misled soul in need of guidance?
"Your scar," he quietly pointed out. "You didn't heal it." Endlessly he stared into Fawn's face in urgency as if forcing himself to burn every feature, even the tiniest detail of that face into his memory since he believed that would be all he would have left once the Warden was gone again. Just standing near Fawn Mahariel made Zevran feeling feckless, fractional and somewhat stained. Fawn's noble features, refined manners, lavish clothing and armor worthy of kings – that was an intoxicating combination and it was getting only harder and harder to believe that a man like this had come here for someone like Zevran Arainai – a renegade Crow who had fallen away from his Antivan masters' grace, had dark past and no future.
If anything, Fawn was taken aback by that single thing Zevran chose to say, of all things he could have said instead. "You were the one who gave me that scar, Zevran. I assumed you thought I deserve it," Fawn shrugged and let go of the pendant, intently watching Zevran's reactions to his nearness. The Crow would raise his hand thrice, only to let it drop back each time. Finally he found the courage to trace the pearly scar on Fawn's face with a warm dark finger and the Warden kept watching him as he did it; unresponsive to the intimacy. Zevran anxiously searched for a reaction, a mere proof that the Warden felt something at his touch, anything at all, and even this passive acceptance was welcomed and so much better than rejection. No objection came though and neither did any sign of assent. Taking strength from this neutrality, however tentative it was, Zevran found the courage to touch that white long hair that so intrigued him. It was sleek, emanating the faint scent of rain, flowing between his fingers like waterfalls of silver. Emboldened, Zevran's hand then lightly brushed his cheek, his eyebrow, across his narrow aristocratic nose, touching the lips that parted a little as if begging for more. Just like in Zevran's dreams, the contrast between his tanned hand and Fawn's pale skin was stimulating, but the differences between the two of them, and not just their skin tones, were so numerous and overwhelming that Zevran could no longer withstand looking at him; let alone touching him.
The moment he recoiled, Fawn's eyes slowly opened again and only now he realized he had let himself go just for those few precious moments, simply enjoying the pleasure Zevran's fingers had to offer. He didn't have to ask what was wrong since Zevran's eyes had betrayed him once again. The wisest thing to do now was to wait for an upheaval and it indeed came when Zevran could simply no longer bear that long silent stare from the other elf.
"Look at us!" he threw his arms sideways and hissed when a splinter of broken dish went straight to his heel. Being it as it may, Fawn didn't seem to comprehend what was it he was supposed to see. "Look at us!" Zevran tried again, this time dragging them both to the slim tall mirror cracked in the middle that stood in a corner. "Look at you," Zevran vigorously gestured toward Fawn's regal appearance, "and now look at me," his ardor faded once he examined himself in the mirror, standing there in nothing but threadbare breeches that had seen better days, bare feet, loose hair and a haunted expression on his face.
Mildly shaking his head, Fawn stepped back from the mirror. Was this really the only thing that bothered the Crow? Was he insane? Well, yes, he probably was. But had he forgotten that two years ago he attempted to assassinate two Grey Wardens who looked like beggars? Having nothing but a few coppers in a small burnt-through pouch, wearing heavily damaged armor far beyond repair from Ostagar, low on spirits as they had lost everything and nearly even their lives after Loghain's coup de grâce, they seemed like an easy mark, even though they were unexpectedly accompanied by a dark-haired woman with an odd stick in her hand who looked no better than those two. One can only imagine how immense was Zevran's surprise once he woke up after the clash with his hands bound, multiple grievous wounds on his body and a very brief future ahead of him for he was certain he had been kept alive for a thorough questioning before he would join his guild brothers and sisters who lay dead all around him. In a way, the Crow attack was a blessing for both Wardens as well as almost their doom. Humiliating and revolting as it was, they ransacked each corpse and gathered anything that might have been of any use for them. Coins, tools, potions, poultices, weapons, spare clothing, and whole knapsacks of provisions – they took it all. Fawn found a very decent set of hardened leather armor that hadn't been damaged at all in the skirmish as its deceased owner was hit with Fawn's throwing blade right between the eyes. Alistair wasn't that fortunate though as the only armor suitable for a warrior of his qualities and fighting style had a roasted man inside of it – a courtesy of Morrigan who didn't take lightly when the man had shot a bolt her way. "Not the time to be picky, I guess…" Fawn remembered him saying as he started his efforts to relieve the dead man of his armor with his eyes closed tight and mouth twisted in disgust. He would then say for weeks that everywhere he turned, he smelled roast meat. At that memory Fawn almost laughed. It was Zevran's willingly given money that kept them fed and safe for next two months after the attack, and ultimately allowed them to travel to Redcliffe in order to present the arl with the Grey Wardens treaties and ask for help. But that was a long time ago, seemed like in another life, and there was but one companion left Fawn cared about.
And so they stood there pitted against each other once again; two rivals, two brothers, two lovers, and neither of them seemed to have a cure for this sickness that plagued them both equally; love. Fawn brought his hand in front of his face, hesitated, then he removed the ring and pulled off the gloves he wore and set them all aside on the table. The vambraces; part leather, part silver, proved a little bit more challenging as there were elaborate laces to be undone, but even those came off in no time, ending up on the table as well. Watching in silence, Zevran had no idea what was happening, but his eyes were eager to find out.
"Is this what bothers you so?" Mahariel casually nodded toward the armor he had taken off already while his hands started working on the straps holding the exquisite breastplate and backplate of his cuirass. "Do you really think these are the things that define me? Things I can hide behind?"
"I… No… Why…" was all Zevran had to say apparently.
Once the straps became loose, Fawn carefully set aside both parts of the cuirass and in no haste started unbuttoning the black jerkin with fur hems he shed off him and left it where it'd fallen. The high boots and socks were next and it took some maneuvering to pull them off and place them by the fire to let them dry. With a sneer, Fawn jabbed two more identical blades into the table that had been hidden within the boots – just in case. Aware of being closely watched, Fawn's fingers then lightly ran across the soft fabric of his tunic while he searched for the reaction he wanted to stir in the first place. Zevran's golden eyes revealed much of what'd been going on inside of him and he made an unwilling step forward as if offering help in Fawn's endeavor. Mahariel wore a soft, light green colored tunic with silver leaves that was closely fitted to his narrow chest. Slowly he began unlacing the thong that ran its length diagonally and he never took his eyes off the Crow as his hands worked, waiting for that boundary where Zevran would no longer be able to stay back and watch only. Fawn shrugged off the garment and his pale torso gleamed crimson as it absorbed the light and warmth from the fire that was a soothing change after being stuck in drenched clothing and armor for days. Realizing one more difference between them, Fawn slowly reached to the back of his head, fiddling with thin leather strings that held two thick neat braids to keep the long hair off his face. Once undone, the braids fell down free of the restraint and Fawn untangled them with his fingers. His hair was now loose.
"Do you recognize me now?" he asked once he stood against the Crow without his armor and most of his clothing, both of them looking very much the same. Unable to restrain himself anymore, Zevran lunged forward, grasping Mahariel by his shoulders with both his hands tight enough to hurt him; the pain Fawn would be delighted to endure. At that precise moment all the tension, a year of yearning and frustration was vented out as they gripped onto one another, their hands frantically exploring the familiar bodies, both of them panting, groaning, mumbling, imploring. Sinking his fingers deep into tangles of silver hair, Zevran roughly held out the Warden a bit away from him, and then he was on him with abandon that was both beautiful and destructive in its nature. That kiss neither of them would ever forget. The bodies pressed tightly against each other; one of them cold and pale, the other dark and warm, the hands impatiently tearing off that little clothing what remained to be torn off, their mouths open in utter acceptance and tongues exploring and insistent. Kicking the shards away blindly from beneath his feet, Zevran dropped down to his knees to see for himself what treasure he had uncovered. He left his arms stretched up Fawn's body, wandering, caressing, and memorizing every curve as they made their way down while his mouth found the stiff shaft he engulfed without hesitation. When he did, his fingers dug deep into the pale flesh of Fawn's torso and he let out a guttural groan as his mouth worked its way down the shaft until it disappeared entirely within his mouth. Moaning his name, Fawn wildly threw his head back, his hands seeking refuge within the blond hair, ruffling it, pulling it, stroking it, and as if only to underline this loss of control, Fawn's hands flared and dimmed again several times before they lit up, emanating warm pulsating light showing the arcane warrior had lost control over his magic that was unstable to begin with. Focusing on giving pleasure rather than receiving it and clearly accustomed to Fawn's reactions, Zevran just smiled to himself as he focused on the technique and therefore he was surprised when Fawn's hands suddenly grasped him by his wrists and pulled him roughly back up. Giving the Crow no time to recuperate, Fawn slammed his mouth over Zevran's, demanding entrance to taste himself. Their fingers on both hands remained intertwined while Fawn's still emitted lingering light, but it was not magic that could harm the Crow, however close he was. Assuming that only one thing could force the Warden to bring him back up to his feet, Zevran spun around only all too willingly, pulling his lover hard toward him to make clear he was giving himself freely and entirely to his lover to penetrate him at will.
Two pairs of iron fingers grasped Zevran from behind, but then the grip loosened as if the Warden was bracing himself for something. "No," the Crow heard a deep breathless voice in his ear. Glancing over his shoulder at the Warden in surprise, he turned back again, quizzically awaiting an explanation. He intimately knew all Fawn's tastes for he had fulfilled many of his secret desires what a man can only demand from another man, so he knew only all too well that Fawn was always the one entering; not the one being penetrated. This time, as it seemed, would be different. "Tonight, your needs come first," Fawn quietly confirmed when Zevran didn't seem to understand. To make it obvious, that Mahariel indeed had no tender love-making in mind, he violently pulled his lover to him by his hair, claiming his lips again, battling for supremacy. Zevran started to comprehend what gift his lover had presented him with only now and, Maker, he liked it! It was a permission to touch, to shape, to kiss or penetrate whatever he desired and how he desired. Oh, it'd been so long ever since he was with Fawn last time… Aroused on entirely new level, his breathing quickened until he started panting, his breath wheezing in and out, barely noticing Fawn had found his new favorite spot on Crow's neck, playing there with his tongue, kissing here and there, teasing, waiting until his words would fully sink in. The Warden was truly curious what would the Crow do with this newly found freedom.
It didn't take long indeed - the permission was given loudly and clearly after all, and Zevran shoved his lover on the bed, giving him just as much time as he had given him before to keep up before he rammed himself into him. Fawn let out a strident groan, but the Crow cared not. Gathering most of the silver hair into his fist, he jerked Fawn's head up to signal he wished him to be quiet now. The act was primal, it was paramount, and it was savage as the only lubrication was their sweat and what had leaked from Zevran's cock in anticipation. Seeing that Fawn struggled to remain silent as ordered, Zevran slammed only deeper, thrusting in earnest to force the Warden to break the silence. When Zevran came, it was glorious. Fawn could feel his release, his joy over their reunion, his desires fulfilled as he spent himself entirely and fell on the back of his lover. Not ready for such extra weight, Fawn's back gave in and they both collapsed into the bed, facing each other as they both kept reveling in great weeping gasps of air with their eyes closed. Fawn realized only now that he had been so focused on Zevran's release that he had completely missed his own even though he did come as well at some point. Unimportant as it was, he found it unusual nevertheless.
"Have I hurt you?" A concerned voice ripped the Warden out of his thoughts languidly forming within his head. Opening his black eyes in surprise at such question, he realized the golden eyes must have been watching him for quite some time now with growing anxiety. Obviously Fawn had let himself sneak into his own inner world, feeling so secure and content that he must have lost count of time.
"No, you haven't," he responded and the corners of his mouth turned up a little. It was a tender smile full of distant melancholy as well as gratification and only a few could claim to had ever seen it on Mahariel's face. Hesitant, Zevran propped himself on an elbow, looking down at Warden's peaceful face. He slowly lowered his head, watching for reaction, as if expecting he would be pushed away. Their lips connected and there was no trace of their brutish love-making left. Fawn's fingers wandered into blonde disheveled hair as he closed his eyes and enjoyed Zevran's sensuous warm lips and pleasure they were offering. The Crow then wrapped them both in the sheets, pleased when the Warden assumed a sleeping position he intimately knew since they had spent countless nights sleeping together like this.
"Why no women, no men, Zevran?" Fawn asked a seemingly casual question after a long silence. "I would expect you of all people to enjoy yourself in your new independent life. Yet I was told you haven't been seeing anyone in Denerim. At least according to our charming host."
"I've had no desire ever since… Well… I'd rather not talk about it." Zevran recoiled from Fawn's arms and sat up in the bed, realizing that even though Warden's face was gentle, the light amusement was obvious.
"I had no idea I'd unman you by leaving you to live as you saw fit, Zevran. I'm sorry for that." There was no mockery in those words, although it was a rather startling insight into Zevran's two months of liberty; two months he had spent in nothing but despair and self-imposed solitude. The proud assassin within him wanted to yell, object, argue, ask an apology, disperse the allegation, but it was no less than the truth, so what was the point really?
"I have many questions, Fawn," he gravely stated and glanced at the Warden over his shoulder and their eyes met. "Will you answer them?"
"I most certainly will, but not tonight." Fawn mildly shook his head and even smiled a little when he glimpsed disappointment on Crow's face. "Tonight we sleep," he held out a hand toward the ever still sitting assassin who took it and shyly brought it to his face before he slipped beneath the covers again to do as he was told to. The sleep eluded him though as his mind kept restlessly musing over the whole day that had started as expected, only to end very much unexpectedly judging by the Warden peacefully sleeping right next to him with his head snuggled down against his chest, one arm loosely encircling his waist and long strands of silver hair wildly scattered all over the pillow.
It was truly the beginning of his life together with the Hero of Fereldan who had decided to put aside his worldly titles and become once again the man he was born to be.