#Cyna chirped up with a smart ass remark

[hunnybadgerv]

Happy DADWC! Could I request a bit of ❛ i’m not wearing any underwear. thought you’d like to know. ❜ for your Mahariel and Zevran?

Summary: Zevran’s revival attempts after battle can be quite unorthodox.

a/n: A DADWC @dadrunkwriting prompt from @imperatrixvini for Cyna and Zevran. “I’m not wearing any underwear. Thought you’d like to know.”

Battle Prowess

Cyna hopped onto a boulder in an elegant motion, but her advantage on the field was short-lived. She managed to fire two arrows at the caster standing at range near a tree, before an orge barreled down on her. One more shot, she thought, then dove a few seconds too late to clear it’s grasp.

One meaty clawed hand caught her ankle and yanked her toward the ground. A cloud of dust from the side of the road choking and blinding her momentarily. She couldn’t even groan properly, but she pulled one leg up and grabbed the knife from her boot flinging it at the beast. It stuck into the hide of its neck, only pissing it off more.

It screamed at her; hot, rancid breath like rotten meat, blood, and death tried her gag reflex. It took one crashing step toward her, looming menancingly as she tried to get back to her feet.

A roar rose to her left. To her right a taunting gutteral yell and the bashing of metal and wood rang across the field. The air crackled with magic around her, making the hair on the back of her neck prickle up. These were the sounds she’d grown to expect, appreciate. They gave her comfort.

A flash of black fur and thick muscle placed itself between the elven ranger and the ogre, offering Cyna enough time to get out of their paths.

It was only a matter of seconds, but it felt like too long. She fired freely, backing up with slow even steps to put more distance between herself and their enemies. Once the ogre was swaying from the beating, Morrigan, Alistair, and Zevran imparted, her green eyes went back to the caster.

Taking a chance at making herself a target again, she hopped onto the fence post along the road and readied her shot. The only thing that moved were her fingertips, she followed through and never took her eye off the target. In a smooth motion from her hip to her cheek she knocked and fired three more arrows, all of them sinking into the shoulder, torso, neck, and finally eye of the magic weilding darkspawn. But it wasn’t quite fast enough.

The spell he cast, didn’t fizzle, but hit her like a fist of rock, tossing her into the grass a few feet away.

“She’s fine,” Wynne yelled to keep everyone focused.

Cyna coughed violently, clutching her ribs with one hand and reaching for her bow with the other.

“Relax.”

The warden did not possess the temperament to listen to an order of that sort. By the time she reached her hands and knees to pull herself up to her feet. There were several pairs of boots in her eye line, familiar pairs of boots.

“We got ‘em,” Alistair pronounced with a smile in his voice. She could almost imagine it from the sound of his words alone.

Mahariel opted to sit back on her calves and breathe for a minute or so. “Check the bodies,” she told her fellow warden.

He replied with a nod and the others joined him.

Well, at least she thought they had. Until she felt a tickle against her cheek.

“I hope I didn’t distract you my dear Warden,” Zevran trilled against the shell of her ear.

She said nothing, just pulled in heavy breaths and coughed up dust from time to time.

“You see, I’m not wearing any underwear.”

She nearly choked on a laugh.

“Thought you’d like to know,” he pressed a kiss against her cheek and started to walk away.

“And here,” she chuckled between attempts to catch her breath, “I didn’t think you owned any.”

Zevran’s laughter was lyrical, rich, and light, like playful music from a festival. He spun and winked at her.