#warden x zevran

[proffbon]

You don't understand, guys, it can't be a full playthrough if I don't have Zevran's Dalish Wedding mod.

[lomakes]

“For the chance to be by your side I would storm the Dark City itself. Never doubt it.”

[zevrans-gloves]

The Warden and Zevran before the final battle.

[blarrghe]

This chapter of Strange Feelings in the Party camp got a comment about its ending, and on a re-read I remembered how this came out of a much older scene of just dialogue I had posted on here - probably one of the first things I wrote for this blog. And now with it fleshed out for the fic, it feels like a little ficlet in itself.

The full fic is here, but i just wanted to post this again.

“Well, I’m not going to try to steal from Morrigan’s secret cheese stash again, I just got the feeling back in my arm. So, truth.” 

Violet leans back with a wooden tankard of ale and allows Alistair his turn. She has taken mainly dares from Alistair, lightening the mood by acquiescing to his silly ideas. To Zevran she largely answers truth , and Zevran has asked about little of importance. 

He himself has opted for almost nothing but truths as well, which is surely a change for him. Violet asks about sexual proclivities with enthusiasm and bright eyes, Alistair asks mainly after his tattoos. 

Alistair, on his turns, has only been dared. Zevran has not asked him to do anything extraordinary, though he is getting temptingly close to daring him to allow him to give him that tattoo he so obviously wants. 

“Who was your… first time?” Alistair asks, rather timidly. Alistair has had two tankards of ale, and is finally beginning to get the point of the game. 

“A gardener at our estate. Her name was Vanna,” Violet shrugs, “broke her heart.” 

“I knew it,” Zevran says with a grin. “Slayer of dragons, breaker of hearts. It suits, no?” 

Violet frowns. “It was only one summer, but… left her on some bad terms. Said I’d never loved her.” 

“I’d be heartbroken too,” Alistair mutters through a grimace. Then he looks at Zevran guiltily, and then away. 

“My turn, then,” Zevran cuts the tension with another swig of his own ale and another bright grin. “And I have just the thing. So, Alistair, truth or dare?”

"Well I certainly don't like the sound of that." Alistair eyes Zevran's grin suspiciously. "Truth." 

"Shame. Not even just a wing of the Grey Warden crest?" He sighs dramatically as Alistair pulls a face. "Very well, I’ll let you have an easy one. Who was your first kiss?" 

Violet rolls her eyes, but Alistair nearly chokes on a swig of ale. 

"Boring," Violet declares, "we already know." 

Zevran levels his smirk Alistair's way. "Do we?" 

"Well... technically…"

"Hold on," Violet darts a betrayed glance at Zevran's growing smirk. "No gossip, hm?" she nudges Alistair, "what does he know that I don't? I thought it was me." Her pout is not really offended, but Alistair begins to stutter. 

"Well, Alistair?" Zevran intones with a waggle of his brows. 

"I suppose, technically, it was Zevran," Alistair manages to get the words out, slowly. 

Zevran grins. Violet spins from her pouty scrutiny of Alistair to flash wide, surprised eyes at him. 

"Zev!" She shouts, half a laugh. His smile widens and his cheeks warm. 

Sometimes she shouts his name like that, half of it and half laughing. He hadn't thought that she still would, after he'd caused her to cry, but sometimes she does. He reminds himself again that he is lucky to have such friendship. 

Violet turns back to Alistair, giving him one of her too-hard playful punches. "When?" She demands. 

"Do you want to tell it, or shall I?" Zevran offers, rising to take up their empty mugs and bring them to the cask for new pours of ale. 

Alistair stammers wordlessly as Zevran takes and returns his cup, so still standing, he begins.

'"Very well then. You see, we had just finished killing the revered saviour Andraste, reborn as a dragon, and all the pesky beasts up the Frostbacks—" 

" — we didn't kill Andraste —" Violet begins to Interrupt. 

"Hush, amor, let me tell the story. You were off doing whatever Warden business it is you get up to —" 

"Recruiting the dwarven forces to fight the blight?" 

"Yes, all that. And while you were away, the rest of us were stuck back at camp getting painfully bored. And poor Alistair, this was before the two of you figured things out, you see, well he was fretting so over this rose he wanted to give you. So, naturally, I wanted to help." 

Alistair is sinking down in his seat. "I’m sure," he groans. 

"Out of the goodness of my heart," Zevran continues, "and to see you two together and happy, of course." 

"He said," Alistair cuts in now, putting on a thick mockery of an Antivan accent, “you know, back in Antiva, I was known to be an exceptional teacher on the arts of love. A love master, if you will.”

Violet laughs loudly. "Love master?" 

Zevran had not actually said any of that, but he directs a proud smoulder at her anyway. "Hmm, do you deny it?" 

She keeps on laughing, waving him off. "Go ahead, go on." 

"I offered him some advice. But poor Alistair, he was still so nervous. So I offered to help him more practically. I suggested, since the poor man had never so much as kissed another, that he might feel more at ease if he could try it once without any attachment or expectation. He refused at first, of course, but as you well know, none can withstand the charms of this master lover for long." 

Alistair slumps over to hide his face in his hands. "Maker, kill me now." 

"He says to me, desperate and pleading. Zevran, I cannot sleep! I can think of nothing else! All I do is imagine kissing her and it all going terribly wrong! Our teeth will surely clash! My big honking nose is going to bash into her perfect face and give her a nose bleed! Help me, Zevran!" 

"That’s not what I —" 

"Hush, darling, let him tell the story," Violet interrupts, leaning in, her elbows at her knees. 

"So I offered again, 'I could kiss you, Alistair. I am sure it will not be so disastrous as you think.'" 

"It was a beautiful sunset, the forest was glowing... he said I had pretty eyes," Alistair defends himself in a pout.  

"You do." 

"Mhm," Violet agrees. "You do." 

Alistair resumes his shamed posture,  head in hands. 

"But yes, as he said, it was quite a romantic little scene." 

Violet is shaking her head in disbelief. She gives Alistair’s hunched back a gentle pat. "Alistair…" 

"I’m sorry!" He lifts his head, "I was just, I was so nervous." 

Violet is chuckling lightly. "That is the most adorable thing I have ever heard," she says. She appraises Alistair with affection in her gaze, and he smiles meekly under it. 

"And it worked out well, yes?" Zevran declares, "no nosebleeds. You’re welcome." 

Alistair drinks deeply from his new tankard of ale. Violet's eyes flash up to Zevran's, and he has known her too well not to know what she is thinking. 

"Well, my turn, right?" She smiles deviously. "Zevran, truth or dare?" 

"Dare." 

"Do it again."

[snacobie]

I missed them so

[ramblinganthropologist]

Writober 2023 6 and 7- Drip and Gold

Summary: Miris Tabris has a new tentmate: the guy who tried to kill them. Apparently, he's good with his hands. Fuck, it's going to be a long Blight...

---

Why was it that the dark skies that had followed the group all day decided to open up just as they were setting up for camp for the night?

Miris glared from his spot at the tent entrance as he glanced outside. He had lucked out and gotten out of watch, which if that had happened before would have been awesome. However, as he watched water drip from the hood of Alistair’s cloak in front of the magically sustained fire Wynne had conjured to keep the Wardens and company from freezing, he just had one thought in mind.

“Are you going to stay there all night, Warden?”

Fuck.

Miris felt a vein pulse by his temple as he pulled the tent flap close and settled back on his side of the tent. Thanks to their newest member, he was no longer alone. Thanks to who it was… he had switched sides.

No way he was letting an Antivan-fucking-Crow stay on his blind side. No fucking way, he’d let the Maker fuck him up the ass first.

Zevran seemed remarkably cheerful about the dismal weather as he worked on counting and tidying his supplies. Rogues, Miris had learned, usually had more than just a main weapon to fight with. They had knives and other nasty little tools, and the Crow had a variety of poisons he was checking on.

Where the fuck did he put them all?

“Did something catch your interest, Tabris? You’re looking quite intently at me.”

Miris felt his face heat as he snapped back to reality and reached to clean his mace. It would give him something to do with his hands, and he wouldn’t have to look at Zevran anymore. Talk about killing two birds with one stone.

“Just wondering how you’re allowed to keep all those poisons on you. For all we know you could poison our food.”

Zevran chuckled – it was a very Antivan sound so he hated it. “The boy Warden is no longer my target, Tabris. I have no need to poison him. More importantly, I believe even if I tried he or Cherche would discover it. They are remarkably perceptive, the Dalish are very thorough in their training.”

Yeah… that wasn’t exactly making him trust him anymore.

“You’re lucky the squirt is an idiot, or you’d be dead.”

Much to his surprise, Zevran nodded. “Yes, I find I’m quite surprised he allowed me to live. He is quite an understanding boy. It makes me worry he won’t live to see his 16th birthday.”

As far as he knew, the squirt was already 18… but that just meant Loghain’s information wasn’t as good as he thought it was.

At any rate, Miris tried to ignore the other elf in the tent as he worked on cleaning the blood and other viscera from his maul. It wasn’t as if it would hurt the metal, but when it came down to it, it smelled bad. His nose was far more sensitive thanks to his failing vision, and he didn’t exactly want it close to his head.

So, there he was… cleaning his maul in a tent with an Antivan Crow. His life had fucking gotten weird since he had left the alienage.

“I get the sense you don’t enjoy my company, Warden.”

Zevran’s voice broke the silence as he scraped shit from the grooves of his mace. Miris picked up his head, allowing his one – relatively – good eye focus on the Crow. He had packed his poisons away to wherever he hid them and has his attention focused squarely on him.

Was it hot in there? It felt hot…

“You can’t blame me, you tried to kill us.”

The Crow chuckled. “Indeed, I did. And if I remember right, I failed badly and your group tied me like a cow to be slaughtered. I’m amazed I still don’t have marks on my wrists from the attempt. Was that your work?”

Miris shook his head as he laid his maul aside – it was as clean as he was going to get it for the moment. “No, that was Cherche. She’s the best at knots.”

“I can only imagine why.” Zevran’s eyebrow cocked almost playfully. “But, good to know. And again, you have nothing to fear from me, Warden. We are on the same side now.”

Yeah, until someone else hired him…

Miris snorted as he cracked his neck – working on his maul had stiffened it. Honestly, all of him was pretty stiff. “Sure, whatever you say, Arainai. I’m still not letting you out of my sights.”

Damn, he was stiff though. Who knew that carrying around a massive maul and wearing heavy armor would wear so much on his tired body? He needed to stretch better after he murdered darkspawn, or he was going to be in trouble.

“Is everything alright, Tabris? That crack sounded concerning.”

The question drew him back to his tentmate. Zevran was looking at him again, but there was nothing untoward about it. Rather, he looked concerned. It was a new look, one he hadn’t seen before.

It… kind of made him feel bad.

In response, Miris rubbed his neck. “Just stiff from the road. I’m not the best at stretching.”

“That’s going to get you killed, Tabris.” Zevran shook his head. “But I can do something about that if you trust me not to knife you in the back.”

Well… he didn’t… not yet… but if it helped the knot in his back…

“Alright, I’ll bite. What are you planning?”

Zevran gave him one of those smiles he always gave when Miris wasn’t sure if he meant or not, and he patted his bedroll. “Simple. Take off your shirt and lay down. I can work the kinks out of your back for you if you wish.”

…

Ok, now the knife in the back thing made sense. Fuck him for not seeing that one coming.

Miris’ first reaction was to sidle away and tell him to fuck off. After all, he wasn’t exactly the touchy-feely type. More importantly, Zevran had tried to fucking kill them. This was the chance he needed to finish the job and take out one of Ferelden’s only Wardens. Hell, he could make it look like an accident…

…

But his back really hurt… and even he could see why that was a bad idea.

“Don’t try anything stupid, I can still strangle you if it comes down to it.” With a quick pull, he removed his shirt and laid down on the Antivan’s bedroll. It smelled of him – slightly spicy and paired with the familiar scent of leather that followed Zevran around wherever he went. Before he had hated it… but he could suppose it was alright. He wouldn’t want to smell like it, but then again he wasn’t Antivan.

As far as he had been told, all Fereldens smelled like wet dogs. Given it was raining… well, he was no doubt smelling like a very wet dog.

“Oh, I have no doubt about that. You have very strong muscles.” Zevran’s voice was soft as his hands made their way to Miris’ back. “Maker, how stiff you are. It’s like your back is made of solid rock. When was the last time you worked this out?”

He couldn’t answer at first – it fucking hurt. He grit his teeth against the pain and shut his good eye tightly to try and ride it out. Unlike some people, he wasn’t a fan of pain and tried to avoid it as much as possible. Hell, he was half certain the Crow was trying to kill him it hurt so much. But he didn’t feel blood… so he had to hold back on that.

“It’s – oww – been a while.” He hadn’t meant to complain audibly, but it made its way through his clenched teeth. “Maker’s balls, the fuck are you doing back there?”

Zevran’s answer came with more pressing on his sore back. “Trying to work out this knot. I doubt even the sharpest sword could cut it. How you managed to swing that maul of yours without doubling over is beyond me.”

Battle adrenaline rush?

Miris would’ve said that much, but a popping sound and a release of the pain drove all thought from his mind. He winced, but then calmed as Zevran continued to rub. It was starting to hurt less now that the smaller knots were worked out.

Surprisingly, the man had a light touch. His hands were callused from training with both sword and bow, but in a weird way that was comforting. That close, he could smell the other elf as he worked – spicy and foreign, but somehow appealing.

…

Wait, no. It wasn’t appealing. The guy had tried to kill him. There was nothing appealing about that.

“You have impressive back muscles, Tabris. I believe this is the first time I have examined them up close.” Zevran’s voice was soft as he worked. “I assume you trained hard to obtain such a physique?”

Miris responded with a rueful chuckle as he felt his body relax. “Nah. I’m just a street fighter who was dumb enough to pick a heavy weapon. Didn’t have much sense for the sword and board, you know? I can only do one thing at a time, the shit Alistair pulls off is bullshit.”

How he managed to do both sword and shield was beyond him. Maybe when one was properly trained, they learned how to do it? Who knows… he was alienage born and trained. He came from the school of whatever the fuck worked.

No wonder everyone kept saying his technique was insane.

“I will admit, sword and shield is vexing to me as well.”

That made Miris snort. “But you’re a duel wield.”

“There is a difference between two offensive weapons and having one to block and one to fight.” Zevran chuckled softly while he worked on the big knot, the one that had been bothering him since they had started this dumb journey. “I admit I would not know what to do with the shield either. Alistair is just as vexing to me.”

Well, at least he wasn’t the only one to think the warrior was weird. Maybe Zevran wasn’t so bad after all.

At any rate, they grew quiet as Zevran worked out the kinks in his back and Miris listened to the rain falling outside their tent. For the first time in ages, he felt at peace. Rain had always been soothing to him, especially when it wasn’t dripping on his head.

He would have to thank the squirt later for helping set the tent up… little asshole knew how to camp.

“This is going to hurt, I’m nearly finished.” Zevran’s warning drew him out of his head as he braced himself. “Ready, and-“

Pain coursed through Miris’ back as the knot finally gave up the ghost. He would’ve reared up, but with the Antivan close by he would’ve knocked him across the tent. Instead, he bit his lip and rode the sensation.

Soon, it died down.

“Fuck, I think that’s the worst it’s ever been.” Miris blinked as he realized Zevran was still rubbing. “What, I’ve got more spots to fix?”

The Crow chuckled behind him. “Oh, no, just admiring your back muscles is all…”

There was that tone, the one that made his stomach uncomfortable. Miris felt his face heat up even worse as Zevran’s hands ghosted up and down his shoulders and back. He felt very seen in the moment… and it was embarrassing to say the least.

He needed to get those thoughts out of his head, quick. He had to keep an eye on the guy.

Zevran massaged his back a few more minutes before patting his shoulder as a sign he could get up. Free of the man’s warm hands, he managed to sit up and rub his neck. His back felt miles better – it was like he was a teenager again.

Downside… he was way too close.

“Feeling better, Warden?” Zevran’s eyes were on him again. They were a nice shade of brown, with flecks of gold that made them almost sparkle when they hit the light. “You were probably one of the toughest cases I’ve ever dealt with.”

It took Miris a few moments to remember how to work his tongue – he was too busy staring at the elf. Unlike him, Zevran was built like a rogue – all lean muscle meant to pull off acrobatics. His warm brown skin stood out as the complete opposite to his own sunburnt flesh. The two of them couldn’t have been more different…

Which is why his stomach was rolling so much.

“Uh, yeah, thanks.” His heart was beginning to pound so loud he worried the Crow might hear it. “Guess I’ll be able to move without looking like Shale.”

That made Zevran laugh – and his stomach squirmed worse. “That is an upside, yes.”

He smiled in that awful way. “If you ever need my services, let me know. I have no problems seeing you in my bedroll.”

Miris was amazed his face didn’t catch fire it was so hot. “Yeah… I can do that.”

He turned quickly, returning to his maul as if it would protect him. Zevran went to check his own weapons, leaving him to the beating of his traitorous heart and the glow from his cheeks. All of this seemed like a cruel joke from the Maker honestly.

The last thing he needed was any sort of attraction to the elf, or his gold-flecked eyes, or his skillful hands, or-

Fuck.

Miris had to resist the urge to groan as he tried to focus on his maul. No doubt this was going to bother him for ages until he worked it out of his system. It always did – his stupid crushes on attractive men never ended well.

Why was the damn Crow so attractive? He had tried to fucking kill them…

In the end, as he sat there in the tent listening to his heart and the rain, he decided his brain was a moron and was going to get them killed one day. That was all he could say as he settled in to finish on his tools.

Better to focus on things instead of… Zevran. Zevran and his hands…

Fuck. This on was going to be the death of him, he knew it. Could he get over his attraction, was that too much to ask?

It was going to be a long Blight… fuck.

[lomakes]

zevwarden sketching with celyn💘

[zevranscrowsfeet]

pls talk to me about your wardens preferred method of spoiling zevran rotten

[thechantofblight]

So I’m using a lock bash mod but the skill check keeps triggering Nate to offer to pick the locks for me and it’s just so funny to me bc this always happened in origins too but with Zevran (who my HOF romanced) and so now I imagine 1) My warden is reminded of how much he really misses Zev whenever this happens (which is fairly often) and 2) The very first time this happened it probably went something like this:

N: “I could get that for you.”

HOF: “Nah, I got it. Did I mention that my bf is a rogue?”

N: “Oh, so you must have learned this skill from him then?”

HOF: *lockbaSHLOCKBASHLOCKBA-*

HOF: “huh? Did you say something?”

N:

HOF: “I miss him sm :( <3”