faderift | But I would walk 500 miles, and I would walk 500 more!

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But I would walk 500 miles, and I would walk 500 more!

WHO: Zevran and any on the road!
WHAT: Walking, drinking, dancing, dirty songs and poetry while hiking to Skyhold. Perhaps a stop in a tavern or two along the way.
WHEN: The course of several days on the road.
WHERE: The Road to Skyhold, Skyhold itself
NOTES: ~~Zev is a walking content warning~~ coarse language, innuendo, drinking

Strange how after a solid year of hiking over hill and dale, through Imperial Highways and muddy side tracks he'd sworn to never do so again no matter the company or the cause. And yet here was Zevran yet again on foot (an elf with a horse attracted too much attention in the area) walking the long way to Skyhold with the odd thumb out for any passing caravan- provided they were not bandits. Company he did not mind. Burglary? Less so. From what little he'd heard of the events at Haven and his concern for a country that had been, for all to brief a time, a home of sorts, Zevran made his merry way along the road to this fortress rumored to be the best option for a strategic regroup. Perhaps he would meet someone familiar, perhaps he might offer his services.

The options were many. As were the songs that he would use to amuse himself, strumming a worn, well sanded lute while he walked. Now and then snatches of Antivan would curl through the air, lilting and easy and- to anyone that understood? Absolutely filthy.

"Le mie gambe sono avvolte intorno a voi collo,
Il tuo cazzo nella mia strada, spinte e agitare!
Ero a letto , ma ora sono in questo petto .
Cosa stai mi dà grande piacere!"

So on and so forth from one tavern to the next on the long trek, if coaxed and if it would see him fed or paid, he would play a few of the softer, more romantic tunes he knew. But for the most part? Smut. Quite a bit of smut. It wasn't as though anyone truly understood him all that often.

His actual arrival was a little less Merry, he had to give one thing to wandering bandits. When they coordinate well enough for a solid ambush and attack en masse? It wasn't the simplest fight to handle alone. Escaping unscathed wasn't entirely possible but he had managed to find a group of either merchants or refugees or a mix of both, he wasn't all that certain, to walk with for the last streatch. One even deigned to allow him to ride the last leg in- provided he rode on the back of the cart and entertained them. As such Zevran's arrival was marked with his voice crackling out past laughter.

"'But yes, she asks, what is the difference?' and I tell her-

'The difference is in where you put the cucumber.'"

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It was at once a thrilling journey, farther than Maxwell had ever gone and full of new sights, and he knew with every step he was closer to a nebulous future. Wondrous in it's pure potential and uncertainty.

It was, at the same time, exhausting; for much the same reasons.

There was no turning back now. He'd burned his bridges behind him, and even if he'd wanted to rebuild them, he wouldn't have had the coin now to return.

Taking a couple of the ones he had left, he bought himself a plate of dinner at a tavern and found a seat for himself not far from the bard. He listened as he chewed, head half-cocked curiously. He didn't recognize the words, but the way the elven serving girl snickered as the tune finished, he knew he was missing some sort of joke.

"At the risk of ruining the aura of mystery, can I ask what it means?" he asked.

In this part of the world? Not many know Antivan. And those that did tended to not mind the content or the tone- Antivans were lovers, were wanderers, adventurers. The further from home they were? The more likely they were either a noble at work or a rogue of some sort. Nobles didn't take time in the taverns Zevran stopped in so, fellow rogues and lovers enjoyed the music well enough.

Picking a little tune to buy himself a moment to sip his ale, Zevran turned enough to face the rather curious face of his audience. "Well...It loses some of the beauty in it's translation but- it was a tale of a nobleman that was quite taken with a maid and invited her to bed, only to end up taken himself."

It wasn't the sort of place Maxwell would be if he were traveling with his parents, to be fair, but alone? Now? It was warm and dry, and the food and drink were appropriately hot and cold, that was all that mattered.

"...You're right," he said after a moment's thought, chuckling as he cut into his meat pie with the side of his fork, "I think I liked it more the other way. Poor sod."

"Ah, well- there are worse things than to be taken by a lovely maid. Even if one is taken for a fool afterward, there's pleasure to be had all the same." Mmm. It's been awhile since he'd done that last- perhaps he ought to find a brothel along the way...No. Focus, Zevran. "I have a few that may have, aha, happier endings if you wish?"

Maxwell laughed through his nose, snorting an airy breath as he chewed. Reaching for his mug after he swallowed, he waved off the offer with a small gesture of his fork.

"What can I say," he replied wryly. "I'm a romantic. But please, don't feel obligated. I did like it as it was."

"Then perhaps something a bit more romantic is in order." If it would please the handsome man he would not mind it. He would not mind further pleasing him either, but that could wait a moment longer.

"I shall give you a hint this time- 'Solo tu'? Means 'Only You'. The rest I shall leave a mystery.

Solo si dà la luminosità e l'amore per il mio cuore.
Come si guarda a me con tale purezza e la bellezza interiore.
Solo si riempie la mia anima di gioia.
Solo tu conosci i miei segreti, desideri e desideri.
Solo tu mi scaldare con le mani.
Solo tu mi dai la forza di continuare a vivere."

It was enough. Even if Maxwell didn't recognize the rest of the words, the tone was clear. And even if the way the elf sang it - the way he moved and looked at him - was only part of the act, it still brought a small touch of color to the base of Maxwell's throat.

"That was beautiful, thank you," he said when it was done, his smile handsomely crooked. "And just mysterious enough."

Now that was a lovely blush- Zevran could not help but wonder exactly how far down it would trail. Until now he'd been teasing, testing, making light and making a good show but...a sharpness settled in his gaze, a touch of coy mirth eased into the curl of his lip and when he spoke next his voice? Was less idle and rich with promise. "Nearly so as much as you, my friend. So tell me, what is a handsome man such as yourself doing traveling all alone? Surely there must be some companion awaiting your most generous attention?"

The lopsided grin turned into a warm laugh. Both the attention, which he figured was part of the show, and the question drawing it out.

"Not especially, actually." He touched a age-greyed linen to his mouth and then leaned back against his chair, meeting Zevran's gaze with a bright, steady one his own. "I'm on my way to Skyhold, to the Inquisition."

"So you are traveling that long, cold walk alone? How terrible." Another idle strum of the lute- just to keep the music and odd flick of coin into the dish set at his side going. "How fortunate it is that I myself am also traveling to Skyhold. Perhaps we may travel together for a time? I have many more songs and skills at my fingertips, I promise you that."

His eyes had flicked to the hand, to the strings, and he'd almost missed it. They pulled back to Zevran's face, eyebrows raising.

"You're for the Inquisition as well?" he asked. "Not so terrible then. I ended up here, meeting a future comrade."

"I have heard they may have a need of me. Besides. I've gone through the 'merry band of misfits raises an army and saves the country' business once before some time ago, I feel as though I am due another turn around that particular track." The tune shifted from idly playful to something somber for a measure or so, something he'd heard the Wardens in his life hum or murmur, death and vigilance, sacrifice and whatnot. Soon enough it turned back to the slower, sweeter songs of his country. "Perhaps more than that, yes? The night is young and we've much to learn of one another."

There might have been an offer in that - a serious one - but before Maxwell could even really consider it or what to do with it, his mind was turning back to what the elf had said right before it.

"Like that," he replied, leaning forward again, closer to him. Curious once more. "I sense a story in there. If you don't mind my asking?"

Aaand- he had him and the bait slipped out for one of another sort. Brasca. Ah, well, he shall have to continue trying. "Well...provided you do not mind tales of fey, wild witches, bastard kings, bards in lay sister robes, possessed mages and the restoration of a most venerable order at the hands of such, I could spin the tale."

Maxwell grinned.

"Well," he teased, "I didn't hear any romance mentioned in that list, but I think I'll manage."

He straightened up, and gestured to the serving girl for two more drinks, one for him and his new friend.

"Mmm...well it ends in a wedding, might that count for something?" Political in nature to be certain, but Anora had a certain charm about her.

He swapped over from the idle picking into something less distracting, low strums in a simple chord progression that would make an excellent backing for the tale. Simple way to build the tension, that. "We begin in Ferelden roughly ten or so years ago. While I was not there for this part of the story I have heard what happened by those that were- The Battle of Ostagar. King Cailan and his troops rallied against a horde of Darkspawn with a company of Fereldan's Grey Wardens, standing resolute in the mud and rain against impossible odds."

He knew that story. Everyone new that story.

"The Hero of Ferelden?" he asked, incredulous. "You were with the Hero of Ferelden? Who--"

He looked at Zevran, carefully, trying to put his face to the tale he'd heard so many times.

"Are you Zevran?"

Ah, now that look was familiar. Zevran continued the music, though he let the realization bloom all on it's own.

"Zevran Arainai, formerly of the Crows. That I am." Dun, Dun, DUN! Or rather Strum, strum, STRUM. Yes he was providing his own dramatic and heroic background music, why should he not?

Maxwell thought it was a cute touch, surprise turning into a bright grin.

"I don't believe it," he replied, shaking his head. How often had he heard the tales? The people in them built into legend... and then to meet one, in the flesh, in a run down tavern in the middle of nowhere. "How did you end up here?"

"I have been told I'm unbelievable, yes." Often with exasperation but- semantics. "Well...after the Blight ended and all the revelry had come and gone I returned to my native Antiva- tell me, how much do you know of my particular predicament? I am never sure what the stories get right."

Maxwell folded his arms, head kicking back slightly as he looked at Zevran and tried to recall up what he'd heard.

"You... were an assassin, yes? And the Warden was your target? ...But you ended up joining him instead and helping him save the world."

It sounded ridiculous to say it aloud. It had happened, he knew it had, but to say it the man who had done it... Mind boggling. He didn't know whether to laugh or blush.

"Ah, that is the truth. I was hired to kill the remaining Grey Wardens and failed to do so. They showed me mercy and I joined their merry band; but unfortunately to fail the Crows is to die. They do not have much of a retirement package. And while we bought time with the Blight- they knew I yet lived and were none too pleased." Dramatic chord! "In order to keep myself alive and well I did a little preemptive murdering of my own- namely the Masters of House Arainai, the branch of the Crows that I was a part of. With them less worried about my wandering around unkilled, I was able to continue to ply my trade where I saw fit. Then...word got around I was still alive, I had to go find who was stirring up trouble, rinse, repeat."

"Sounds exhausting," Maxwell replied, mouth twitching lightly. The words every bit the understatement they sounded like. "And now? The Inquisition is... a large group, growing in power. Easy to hide in and behind-- not to mention the one's trying to save the world this time."

"It can be; but they keep me on my toes. Besides. They should be thanking me- if they were worth their reputation? I'd be dead already." Terribly bad for business, was Zevran. So sad. "They want to set this right. I happen to like the world without demons and war and strange tears in the sky. It's where I live and keep my things after all. Besides. There is no danger of my dying for I am not to be the hero of this story. More the secretive and seductive consort to said heroes."

He did laugh then, a low pleasant rumbling, arms shaking slightly against his chest.

"A role I'm certain you'll full admirably. If your performance earlier was anything to by."

On the road somewhere

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