After the stressful last week and before my 3 days of hell incoming at the shop, I allowed myself a little sketch of Zevran and my Warden, Elrik, my sweet bi disaster little warrior. Little kiss just after waking up !
(Zevran’s tattoos are backwards but shhhh, you see nothing).
aloe, elfroot, and the flood. 2k words, pre-relationship zevran x mahariel
The Western forests of Ferelden were not like the forests he’d grown up with. Comprised of grassy lowlands parceled out by shemlen nobles, the Bannorn was opposite the Brecilian in every sense.
Which was how he’d wound up here: miserably lost, resting on a fallen log while his feet ached. He’d been walking for hours.
There’d been a time, growing up, when these restless moods would take hold of him. He’d come to recognize their arrival by the pressure in his chest and the urge to cry at nothing. These moods needed to be quickly subdued or they’d stick like burrs—so he would run.
He would leave the safety of camp and flee into the woods, and keep going until the feeling passed. And it worked, most of the time.
Ah, but they’d never lasted so long before, had they? And Tamlen had always been there to catch up with him. To walk back together.
The thought brought another surge of hurt.
Months had passed and he still missed Tamlen sharply, urgently, as if he’d just lost him. He could barely remember the funeral, feverish with Blight as he had been. He longed to see him, ached for his steady comfort and friendly advice.
But Tamlen was dead. And those days were gone. No one had told him how quick and violent their end would be.
Hamal forced a slow breath through his lungs.
Paralyzed by the sunlight and his own thoughts, he sat and waited in the shade.
.
He’d expected Morrigan to find him, as she had that first night after Ostagar.
Freshly reeling from battle, he’d made a final desperate bid to return to his clan. At the time he’d imagined it was still possible to catch up to them—a foolish thought, he now realized—and she’d all but dragged him back to Alistair, where the young man’s wounded gaze had convinced him to stay.
Ironically, she’d earned some of his trust back then. He appreciated her lack of pretense.
It wasn’t Morrigan who found him, though.
Hamal kept his eyes fixed on an empty patch of grass, pretending not to notice. Even when the man moved toward him, he had reason enough to believe he wasn’t in danger; after all, Zevran had been given plenty of opportunities to kill him over the past few weeks. If he’d wanted to, he would’ve done so already.
Probably.
“Warden Mahariel!” the assassin greeted. “What a remarkable coincidence meeting you here!”
Hearing his cheery words, Hamal raised a brow and looked up at him.
In the short time he’d known him, Hamal had formed only a vague impression of Zevran in his mind.
The man was a walking contradiction; a performer with rehearsed lines—but when no audience was watching he was quiet and subdued as a shade. He’d acclimated to their travels quickly and without complaint, all but vanishing into the daily routine, much like he’d always been there.
Suspicious. Deliberate. Afraid of nothing. Hamal knew that the only reason he had spotted him was because the man had allowed it. That was only fair; after all, the only reason Zevran had found him was because he’d allowed himself to be found.
A fact he was already regretting.
Zevran’s opening words felt hollow; his smile just another performance Hamal wasn’t interested in.
But if the other man was affected by his stubborn silence, he did not show it. In fact, he was encouraged, somehow, to come sit beside him—an act which startled him so much he nearly jumped in his seat.
Zevran froze for an instant, and then took care to sit as far from him as possible.
“You are very sunburnt,” Zevran observed after a moment.
Hamal carefully touched his face. His skin was hot and painful, but truly, he hadn’t noticed until now.
Zevran hoisted a rucksack over his shoulder, dropping it onto the ground between them.
“No worries,” he said, pulling the drawstring to open it. “I’ve come prepared.”
He quickly produced a small jar of aloe and elfroot paste. His bag seemed to contain bandages, poultices, rations, blankets, all sorts of purposeful items. Creators! Had he expected to find him half-dead? The thought was overwhelming.
Hamal held up a hand as Zevran moved towards him.
“No-”
Again, Zevran paused. Setting the jar between them, he closed the pack and regarded him in silence.
Indeed, the word had come out sharp, a knee-jerk reaction—but to what? No, don’t touch me. No, don’t come near.
With a deep breath, he resigned himself and picked up the jar.
“Thank you.”
Zevran nodded at him. “You are very welcome.”
It struck Hamal that this was the first conversation they’d had alone since the day of the ambush—and a piss-poor conversation so far, he had to admit.
Far too aware of Zevran’s brown eyes taking him in, Hamal began applying the paste to his burns. He worked methodically, covering his cheekbones and forehead, his ears and even the part in his hair.
The scent reminded him of Ashalle. He remembered her dabbing the very same concoction on him as a child.
“That’s better, I imagine,” Zevran said gently, once Hamal had replaced the lid on the jar. “If I may ask… why did you come here?”
Hamal looked at him.
“You left without warning,” Zevran continued. “No food, no supplies, you are not even armed. This region, I understand, is embroiled in a civil war, not to mention a Blight. You are a man alone, and a Dalish elf at that. Forgive me,” he said very firmly, “Forgive me, but it is inviting all sorts of trouble, no?”
“It wasn’t my intention,” Hamal said, unable, or perhaps unwilling, to argue. “I wasn’t feeling well.”
“Was not feeling well?” Zevran asked.
“I felt…”
Hamal let out a sigh, finding it impossible to explain.
“I don’t know. I felt wrong. Like I was crawling out of my skin. I just wanted to be alone. So…”
“You left,” Zevran said.
“I left.”
Hamal bent forward, hugging his knees, messy braids hanging low. After a moment he risked a glance at Zevran.
The man was quiet, looking at him with both concern and curiosity.
“You came after me?” Hamal asked.
“I did not come here to make you do anything against your will,” Zevran said softly.
All around them, the sinking sun cast long and moody shadows, tinted deep blue.
“What if I do not wish to go back?” Hamal asked. “What if I ask you to leave?”
“Then I suppose it’s just a question of what I should tell the others.” Zevran looked away with a shrug. “But it’ll have to be good; both to ensure that no one comes looking for you, and to clear me of any suspicion.”
Hamal let out a hint of a laugh at that—short, bitter, but a laugh all the same. The sound surprised him as much as it did Zevran.
He had not expected such a practical response.
“No need,” Hamal said finally. “We should go back I suppose.”
“If you say so,” Zevran said with a smile. “May I suggest that we eat first? I am famished.”
Wrapped parcels of bread and jam appeared from his pack. Stale and crusty bread, and smoked fish, too, all wrapped in a plain cloth.
Hamal waited for Zevran to take a bite of everything—which he did openly, his every move obvious, as if reading his mind. Still unconvinced, Hamal picked up a portion of bread and held it out to him. Zevran took it from him slowly, and ate it with a knowing smile.
Alright.
Avoiding his eyes, Hamal took the next bite for himself.
Strange, that he would come to share a meal with a man who had just weeks ago tried to kill him. Life meandered through such strange and lonely paths. But the food was welcome nourishment, and the fact that Zevran pursued no further conversation was also appreciated.
.
He felt marginally better once they set off.
He had food in his belly and the sun had vanished below the horizon. To his surprise, Zevran had brought his bow and arrows along, and he felt far more secure with them in hand.
“Ah, thank you,” he said, accepting them with only a tinge of guilt. “Ma serannas.”
“¿De que?” Zevran replied.
Hamal looked at him, perplexed.
“You’re welcome,” Zevran clarified. “You share so much of your own tongue with us, I thought I’d return the favor.”
Hamal nodded, accepting the explanation.
“Besides,” Zevran continued with an indulgent smile, “it comforts me to speak it, though no one understands it here but me. I suppose it reminds me that my home is still out there: Over the mountains and past the sea, full of beautiful flowers and bothersome Antivans just like myself.”
“You miss it?” Hamal asked. He rubbed at his ears, annoyed at how the sunburn poultice had dried—green and chalky. He imagined he looked like a statue, all covered in moss.
“I do,” Zevran admitted. “I miss the warmth. Ferelden is much too cold for my sensibilities.”
“It is summer-time,” Hamal said after a moment’s thought.
“So people keep telling me!” Zevran let out an exaggerated sigh. “Believe it or not, this is like winter in Antiva. Particularly near the coast—that’s whereI’mfrom, you see,” he said with a smile. “Antiva City. Crowded, humid, and not a speck of frost in sight. Ah, it is a glittering gem amidst the sand, my Antiva City…”
His voice took on a wistful edge, trailing off into memory.
The moment was so genuine that Hamal stopped mid-stride to look at him, knowing that Zevran was picturing vivid sights of home deep in his mind’s eye; looking with the heart at something other than the trees.
Then the look ended and those brown eyes snapped to him—wary and alert. Perhaps it had not been his intention to wander.
“Are you from anywhere comparable?” Zevran asked, changing the subject with a flourishing wave.
Hamal shook his head. “My people have no cities left,” he said.
“Yes, of course,” Zevran said. “The wandering life of the Dalish. Well then, if no hometown; what is your clan’s name?”
The question brought another sharp stab of loss. It left him a bit breathless before he could answer.
“Sabrae,” he said softly.
“What is it like?” Zevran pressed. “Where do you travel? How many people?”
Hamal frowned.
Though it seemed Zevran was trying to make conversation, perhaps even comfort him by giving him a chance to talk about his home, the deep shadow of suspicion quickly crept in.
“I don’t feel comfortable telling you.”
“Apologies.” Zevran inclined his head, holding a hand to his chest—an apologetic gesture that was almost a bow. “I overstepped. However, it does sound grand. Truly! I am jealous-”
“Fuck’s sake,” Hamal said before he could stop himself. From one moment to the next, he’d swung from deep sadness, to anger.
Zevran looked at him, surprised.
“Don’t do that,” Hamal told him, walking up beside him. “Don’t… apologize, or bow, or tiptoe. And especially do not be jealous of me. Youdo not know me.”
He waited another moment, before faltering under Zevran’s troubled stare and walking away.
“Well,” Zevran called after him. “That matter can be remedied.”
He kept walking. What was he thinking, asking all sorts of questions without knowing a single thing about him?
Hamal thought about it, and had just decided he did not feel bad about snapping at Zevran, when an unfamiliar sound boomed across the valley.
They both looked around for the source of the noise.
“What is that?” Hamal asked.
The sound grew and strengthened into a roar that filled the air. To his ears, it sounded almost like a distant rockslide, but that didn’t seem right either…
“We need to find higher ground,” Zevran said suddenly. “Quickly.”
Without waiting he turned and headed for the nearest hill. Hamal followed him, his already frayed nerves flooding his system with adrenaline, putting words out of his reach.
Even once they’d climbed high enough to see the flooding, he could think of nothing to say.
The sight was peculiar to him. Were it not for the full moon, they wouldn’t have been able to see the floodwaters at all.
Water poured out into the valley. He had no idea where so much water had come from, or if they were in danger, or what had occurred. The water was distant enough to be no immediate threat to them, but it stretched out in the direction they had been heading, and seemed to be rising.
“A dam burst…” Zevran said, then he made a sharp intake of breath. “There is a village there! I am sure of it. I passed near it while looking for you.”
Hamal sank to his knees. Zevran’s words gripped him with a cold horror before he even realized he was on the ground.
The night filled to the brim with the sound of rushing water and the distant cry of birds fleeing to the starry skies. Beside him, Zevran’s breathing, quick and shallow.
All he could think was all those people, all those people—and a resurgence of his own grief, and Zevran’s lack of home—and the vague, yet certain, sense that it was not just his world that had become undone, but the entire world at large that was coming to an end.
I finally played Dragon Age Origins for the first time, and I can feel a fast approaching obsession coming on (dragon age / critical role overlap where you at )
So here’s my warden! She’s a circle mage elf who I love with my whole heart, and I absolutely romanced the horny assassin who I found on the ground ❤️❤️❤️
It has been a lot of fun writing for Zev and my Brosca again! And a big thank you to everyone who left nice comments on my fics, they made my week <3
“Warden Commander? There is someone here to see you.”
Nelka looked up from her reports to face the Warden who had come to bring her this news.
“Any more information than that?” She asked, the annoyance more evident in her voice than she intended. People were coming to her from the surrounding areas relatively frequently, either to thank her or condemn her, and she was currently in no mood for any sort of visit.
She hadn’t heard from Zevran in weeks. They were diligent about sending letters and keeping in touch even when a sea separated them. It drained her to think that something could have happened to him, that he might have died alone or been imprisoned by the Crows, and she hadn’t been there to help him or, at the very least, to have gone down fighting at his side.
The affairs of Vigil’s Keep kept slipping into the background as she feared a future where she would never see him again.
“They claim to be a traveling merchant who can provide goods to the Keep.”
Nelka sighed. Despite her frustrations, they could use new weapons, or at least simple goods to help the new recruits settle in.
“Alright, send them in.”
She turned back to her paperwork as the Warden saluted and left the room to fetch the merchant. The door opened again, and she didn’t look up right away to greet the visitor, but the moment he spoke she dropped everything.
“Mi amor, it has been too long.”
Nelka didn’t hesitate. She launched herself at Zevran and embraced him, squeezing him as tight as she could.
“You didn’t send letters!” She cried, shaking her head as she pressed herself into his chest. “I hadn’t heard from you! I thought… I thought…”
He held her back, and they could both feel the stress and fear fade away in the instant of their touch.
“I know, I am sorry,” Zevran said. “I had to take a rather complicated route out of Antiva, and it was difficult to find a place where I could send a letter. I wrote them, though…”
He hesitantly pulled out of Nelka’s embrace and rummaged into the bag he had dropped on the floor the moment she bolted toward him so that he could catch her in his arms with nothing to encumber him. A moment later, he pulled out two bound stacks of letters.
“These are the ones I meant to send,” he explained, first holding up the smaller parcel and then the larger as he continued, “And these are the letters you sent me. I kept them all. I read them over and over, dreaming of the day you would be mine again.”
“I kept every letter you sent me too.”
“Even the naughty ones?” Zevran asked, a twinkle in his eye and a smirk on his lips.
Nelka laughed and wiped away the tears she hadn’t even noticed were falling. “Obviously. But we can act on what we wrote in those letters later. Right now, I just want to hold you. You’re here. I thought I would never see you again.”
Zevran removed his coat, then opened his arms for Nelka again. She loved the way she fit against him, the way his fingers laced through her hair when he held her with such desperation, the way they melded as one in these moments when the impossible suddenly became possible.
“I’m sorry to have worried you,” he whispered after pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “But I’m here now. And, so long as you will have me, I have no intention of ever leaving your side again.”
“Good. We were apart for too long.”
Zevran cupped Nelka’s cheeks and lifted her face so that he could kiss her, their lips meeting in a slow and purposeful promise that words could never define.
“I love you, Zevran,” Nelka said, smiling, even as more tears of relief began to trickle down her face.
“I love you too. And, should we be forced to part again, nothing will ever change the fact that I am yours, in this moment and forevermore.”
This whole thing talks vaguely about sex, but there is nothing explicit or detailed
Nelka glanced over at Zevran as he rearranged the meager pillows in his tent. He seemed so at ease, so unburdened about what they were going to do. And she wanted to, she wanted him, but a strange anxiety coursed through her and made her want to flee.
She was never afraid. She had killed and nearly been killed dozens of times in Dust Town. Fear was a weakness, one that could be exploited, one that could make her hesitate and become just another victim, just another Casteless corpse.
She knew to push aside the fear. Death was nothing worse than what she had already faced.
But now, sitting in Zevran’s tent without armor or a weapon, ready to sleep with him, she was scared.
“Are you alright? If it’s just the Ferelden chill, well, we’ll fend that off soon enough.” Despite his continued flirting, there was a sincere concern in his eyes.
“I’ve never done this before,” she confessed.
“You have mentioned that.” Zevran spun around and sat cross-legged to face her. “When I offered a massage and you turned down anything more than that. Yet… here you are. I hope I have not pressured you…”
“No, you haven’t,” she insisted. “You’ve always given me the opportunity to stop you if I’m uncomfortable, even when we’re just flirting around the fire. I’m here with you now because I want to be, but that doesn’t mean I’m not nervous. I just… I really have no idea what to expect.”
Zevran paused for a moment before continuing. “Sex is… a conversation. Every sort of relationship is, truthfully. I’m happy to guide you. We will figure out together what feels good and what doesn’t. There is no shame in inexperience, Nellie. And if at any point you decide that none of it feels good or that you no longer wish to continue, you simply need say so, and there is no shame in that either.”
She thought over his words for a long moment, then took a deep breath and released some of the pressure that had been building up in her all evening. With a smile, she replied, “I do like our conversations.”
Zevran grinned back, then crawled over to her, moving slowly so that she might stop him if she decided to. However, she said nothing, and soon he was right there in front of her, so close that she could taste his breath.
He pressed his lips to hers and gently caressed her cheeks. Then, he pulled back to gauge her reaction, though he still held onto her.
“Is that alright?”
Nelka was already breathless, and she practically had to shake herself back into the moment.
“Yeah… Yes, it is.”
“Do you still want to continue?”
She leaned forward, this time bridging the gap so that she could kiss him, taking the time to figure out how their lips fit together and where she wanted her nose to go. It was a strange sensation at first, but soon it felt natural as anything, and Nelka savored the way Zevran smiled against her lips.
“I do,” she breathed against him. “I do want to keep going.”
Warning for some foreplay and implied sexy times, but nothing explicit
Nelka carefully looked over her recently restrung bow, double checking every little detail to ensure it was ready for her next fight.
“There we are,” she whispered to the bow. “You’re all set now.”
“You know, sometimes I think you love that bow more than me.”
She gently set the bow in its place and spun to face Zevran. He had been watching her work, and now he pouted dramatically as she met his gaze.
“We’ve been through a lot together. Stopping the Blight was no small feat.”
“I believe I was also there to help you stop the Blight,” Zevran teased.
“Oh, right…” Nelka grinned. “I suppose you were. Hm. Well, there must be something I can do to reassure you of my feelings.”
With that, she stepped over to where Zevran sat and straddled over him, placing her arms around his neck.
He instantly ran his hands around her waist and tugged her up against him so that there was no space between their bodies. “I can think of a few ways,” he breathed. His lips brushed against hers as he spoke.
“Besides… my bow could never replace you. There are plenty of things you can do that it can’t.”
“What sort of things?” He asked coyly.
“Oh, I think you know.”
With that, she kissed him, firmly and passionately. In turn, he held her tight, a hand slipping beneath the edge of her shirt so that his fingers could press directly into her skin.
“Zevran,” she said, breathless, before they could progress any further. “I know you were joking about the bow and all, but… you’re everything to me.”
He stared back at her with a softness in his gaze, the fervor of his desperate touch melting away instantly. “And I am yours, forever.”
Nelka leaned in for another kiss, this one slower and more purposeful, promises passing between their lips, oaths that nothing and no one could ever come between them. She pressed a few soft kisses to his cheeks and then rested her forehead against his.
They sat like that for several moments, breathing each other in and savoring the peace they’d fought so hard to maintain. And then, Nelka smirked. “Alright, where were we?”
“Do you ever think about what you would do if you could use magic?”
Zevran glanced over at Nelka as they continued walking.
“No. I’ve never wondered. Magic is… strange. I’ll stick to my blades, thank you very much.” They had spent a great deal of time on the road and their conversations often drifted into the hypotheticals. Anything to save them from playing I Spy for the thousandth time.
Nelka shrugged. “Yeah, that’s fair. But, hear me out: if you suddenly got magic, what spells do you think you’d like to cast?”
“What brought all this on?” Zevran asked, chuckling quietly to himself.
“I don’t know, sometimes I just get hung up thinking about magic. It is strange. We don’t have anything like it in Orzammar; sure we have lyrium, but it’s not quite the same.”
Zevran nodded in acknowledgement, and then pondered aloud for some time. “Well, I suppose some sort of invisibility would be rather helpful, given how often I dart around in the shadows. And I remember our mage companions being able to conjure spiritual weapons, so I wouldn’t have to worry about dropping a dagger and being left defenseless. Hm… to paralyze an enemy in place? That would allow me to find the optimal location to strike.” He spoke methodically, thinking over each option as he uttered them. “I think I would like to be able to change into a bird form, truthfully. You know I like to perch on rooftops, and this would allow me perfect vantage points and safety from above.” He let out a loud laugh. “I could be a literal Antivan Crow!”
Nelka laughed with him, enjoying the glee on his face as he considered flying high above the world, before dropping in to strike without his enemies ever knowing.
“What about you, my dear? What would be your spells of choice if dwarves could be mages?”
“Fireball,” Nelka answered instantly.
“You didn’t have to think about that at all!”
“Sometimes you see a room full of enemies and think, ‘hey, it sure would be nice if I could eliminate all of them at once.’ So, fireball.”
“Can’t you set your arrows on fire?”
“Not the same thing,” she replied, shaking her head. “Not at all. Those are little pellets of fire, a fireball is a big WHOOSH of death. Besides! We wouldn’t have to worry about darkspawn in the Deep Roads if all dwarves could cast fireball, we could just march down there and let the narrow passages funnel the fire, taking out all the baddies in one fell swoop. Definitely fireball. Easy.”
Zevran laughed. “You would be truly terrifying with that sort of power.”
“Good thing we don’t have to worry about either of us developing magic any time soon, then, huh?”
They continued along their path, chuckling and considering what they would do with such power in their veins, unaware that somewhere else in Thedas, the Veil was about to be torn down and return magic to all the elves.
Nelka peeked into the bedroom, curious just how late Zevran was going to sleep, when she found a surprise.
This man, this stubbornman, who always said he hateddogs, had the new mabari litter in bed beside him. Half a dozen little snoozing puppies next to him, both man and dog sound asleep.
Despite herself, Nelka couldn’t help but smile and shake her head. It was an endearing sight, all of them snoring in unison, even if she had no idea what made Zevran change his mind about having dogs sleep on the bed with them. He’d refused Barkspawn entry several times; when they were on the road, he would allow the mabari to climb up and cuddle with them, if only to help ward off the cold. When they were home or staying somewhere with heat and a real roof overhead, he was less accommodating.
Yet here he was, with puppies snuggled under the covers, and curled protectively around them even as he slept.
Nelka stared long enough that Zevran felt eyes on him, even in his slumber, and he blinked awake.
“Mmm, good morning, my Nellie.”
“What happened to no dogs in the bed?” She asked, a smirk on her lips, as she crossed her arms dramatically.
“Oh, come now, look at their little faces!”
“I thought you said I was fussing over them.”
“Youwere,” Zevran insisted, and Nelka laughed.
“Alright, I was maybe fussing a little bit,” she admitted. “But you never used to like Barkspawn. What changed?”
“I must admit, Barkspawn has grown on me over the years. Perhaps like a mold or some sort of parasite,” he said flatly. “I never thought I would spend enough time in Ferelden to become taken with their dogs, but… but… Nellie, please, look at them, and tell me they aren’t the most adorable thing you have ever seen.”
The puppies awoke when Zevran shifted and started to crawl all over him. When one began to lick his face, he snatched it into his hands and cooed at it, telling it that it was a good dog and that it shouldn’t listen to Nelka’s slander.
As Nelka watched the scene, she agreed that it was indeed the most adorable thing she had ever seen, and the love she felt for Zevran swelled in her heart.
“What should we name them?” She asked.
“If we name them, we’ll never be able to give them away. I thought the plan was to send them to the Wardens in Amaranthine.”
“I mean, plans can change.”
Zevran glanced between Nelka and the puppy in his hands. “We can decide that later. But, in terms of names, I had been thinking…”
I wrote a fic before where Zevran surprised Nelka by turning the earring he gave her into a wedding ring. Now, it’s her turn to repay the favor.
“Whatareyou up to, mi amor?”
Zevran’s tone was lilting and teasing, but his eyes betrayed a more serious concern as to Nelka’s whereabouts.
“I should’ve known I wouldn’t be able to sneak off without you noticing,” she joked.
“That’s not an answer.”
“I know.”
With that, Zevran let out a heavy sigh and turned to fully face Nelka. He took her hands into his own and examined her features, looking for some clue, some explanation as to why she had been disappearing and darting off on her own.
“Nellie, if… if something is wrong, if I’ve done something wrong, please tell me. You keep leaving when you think I won’t notice, but I donotice; I notice every time.”
Nelka tugged a hand free so that she could gently caress his face, and he pressed his cheek into her touch.
“Fine,” she eventually acquiesced. “You don’t make things easy, you know that?”
He chuckled. “I’ve been told that before, yes.”
Nelka pulled a small, cloth bag from her belt and poured the contents into her palm so that she could then hand them to Zevran. He glanced over the two objects, then stared up at her with confusion.
“I don’t understand.”
“Yeah, well, it’s not finished yet, but you hadto go ahead and be nosy,” she teased. She leaned forward and pressed a quick kiss to his forehead before explaining, “It’s supposed to be a ring. It will be a ring, eventually. You gave me your earring, and then you turned it into a ring for me when you asked me to marry you. I never had anything that meaningful that I could give to you, and I was so busy with Warden business that I didn’t get the chance to get you a decent ring before.”
“The ring you got me is fine.”
“Yeah, it’s fine, but it’s not good. And I found this gemstone in a shop… It matches your eyes. I saw it and I knew that I wanted to make something for you with it. We’ve been married almost five years, and it seemed like the perfect opportunity to give you a proper ring, something important, something that shows how much you mean to me.”
Zevran stared at the unfinished ring and detached gemstone in his hand, then over at Nelka. “I don’t know what to say.”
She let out a faint chuckle and smiled. “I was going to get some sort of engraving on the band, but I hadn’t decided on anything yet. So at least the surprise hasn’t been completelyruined.”
He handed back the pieces so that she could put them back in her belt, then stepped over to her and pulled her into a tight embrace. He held her head to his chest where she could feel the tension fade from him.
“I’m sorry for interrogating you like that,” he said some time later, after slightly releasing his hold.
“It’s alright. I mean, I’m glad you noticed I was missing, in a way, even if I was trying to be stealthy about it.” Nelka giggled. “What, did you think I was having an affair?”
“No! I trust you, mi amor. And I know that if you did want to have some extramarital fun, you would let me in on it,” Zevran teased. Despite his words, they had never known anyone else besides each other since he gave her that earring, several years ago. “I don’t know what I thought was happening, but… I was just worried.”
Nelka leaned back into him and nuzzled her head against his chest. “I just wanted to surprise you. I’m sorry to have made you worry.”
“If you want, I can still act surprised when you show me the finished ring,” he offered, and Nelka laughed.
“I don’t think that’ll be necessary.”
“For what it’s worth, my dear Nellie… Every day with you is a gift.”
She looked up at him and smiled. “And every day with you is a surprise.”
An unintended sigh escaped Nelka’s lips as the foliage above fully concealed the sky.
“Are you alright over there?” Zevran asked, glancing at Nelka.
They’d been on the road for weeks, searching for a cure to the Taint. Nelka had wanted to go alone, to let Zevran remain in Antiva to finish up any lingering Crows, but – naturally – he insisted on coming along. Though she would be lying if she said she wasn’t grateful for the company.
“Yeah,” she replied. She stared at the tree-cover above for a moment, and then continued, “I’ve been on the surface for years, but I still feel better when I can’t see the sky. When there’s some kind of ceiling above me.”
Zevran took her hand and gave it a quick squeeze. “Don’t worry, I still won’t let the sky gobble you up.” His tone was joking, but he never dismissed Nelka’s fear.
“Is it strange that I miss Dust Town sometimes? It was a horrible, horrible place, but…”
“It was home.”
“Yeah.”
“It’s not strange at all,” Zevran said. Their hands remained clasped between them, and neither gave any indication of letting go. “I still miss Antiva. It is full of many good memories and many bad memories, but it’s always going to be a home for me. I do hope I get the chance to show it to you someday, without assassins stalking us the whole time,” he added, a smile on his lips.
“I hope so too.”
“If you do want to go back to Orzammar, I’m sure we can make some sort of arrangement. It’s not as if they can turn away the dwarf who defeated the Blight, no?”
“I’m sure some of them would find a way.” Nelka rolled her eyes, and the brand on her cheek seemed to burn a little bit as she thought on it. “Thanks, but I don’t think I really want to go back. I hear from my sister often enough, and she’s all that’s left for me in Orzammar. Thinking about Dust Town, about tons of stone above my head… It’s as if I feel nostalgia for good times I never had there.”
Zevran nodded. “I understand. But once we fix the Taint, if you change your mind…”
She held onto his hand a little tighter. “I think I’d rather you show me Antiva.”
“We’ll have plenty of time.”
Nelka glanced up at him and smiled. “For what it’s worth, Zevran, as much as I miss living underground sometimes, my home is wherever you are.”
He stopped dead in his tracks, tugging Nelka toward him with their clasped hands until he could hold her tight and press a long, slow kiss to her lips. He kissed her forehead and caressed her cheek, showing no sign of continuing on their trek any time soon.
“I feel the same,” he breathed. “Nellie, you aremy home. You gave me a chance so long ago to choose what I truly want, without answering to anyone else, and every choice has led me to you, over and over again.”
A few tears started to form in Nelka’s eyes at his confession. Damn, she was going soft; she never used to cry, but Zevran had a way of tearing down her walls with a few words or a gentle touch.
“I love you,” was all she could manage to say.
“I love you too, mi amor. And no matter how far apart our travels may take us, I will always come home to you.”
