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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"I'm not sure you want me to be attempting any songs," he teased, "But I'm willing to give anything a try, at least once."

He settled back as he watched Zevran play. The Antivan was mostly lost on him - he had a working grasp of a few languages, and could at least recognise it, but he couldn't make out more than a couple words.

However, the smile he offered was honest and grateful.

"I almost feel bad, now. You have a wonderful voice, Zevran. I'm not sure I have anything that--" But then it pinged. Zevran. He had heard that name before. He had!

He suddenly sat up, gesturing with his ale. "Wait! Zevran? The Zevran? Elven companion to the Hero of Ferelden?"

"I can be a most thorough instructor when given cause, I am certain we may manage to make sweet music yet." The line was cheesy even to him, but good humor prompted lighter gestures rather than the honey leaden drip of his usual game. Besides. The back and forth was quite enjoyable already.

He finished the song with a flourish, stilling the strings with his palm when Gavin's mug was snapped about so quickly. Non spilled, thank the maker, but it looked to be a close thing.

"Well when you put it that way it makes me sound like some manner of consort- not that I didn't offer. He wasn't interested. A shame too, his shoulders alone..." Zevran needed a moment to recall fondly the shape of The Warden. Ah. Yes. There it was. "Mmmmm..."

"I'm always eager to learn," He quipped in reply, taking the cheesy line easily, and as it was meant.

He watched Zevran wander off into his own thoughts and laughed, a blush tinting his ears and cheeks. "Alright, point taken. Not a consort. Though next time, feel free to lie and tell me improbable tales about it." He set his ale down carefully, leaning over, elbows on his knees.

"I can't believe - you even introduced yourself, and I didn't realise. It was already a pleasure to meet you, but now I admit I'm a touch intimidated."

Not intimidated enough to cause the grin do fade, though.

"Were it not for respect for his most beautiful wife? I would." Respect was stretching it just a touch, but Anora had proved a competent leader and a most skilled politician. HE could not blame her for what she did any more than he could blame the Warden for taking the steps he had.

"Now this is a bit nostalgic. Generally most people don't recall me- it has been some time. Immediately afterward, oh, the revels, the drinks purchased, the women, the men. All so attentive and swooning- give it a few years and the shine is worn off the tale." And only the bastard of Maric and The Warden are given due attention. It made life easier for him to be perfectly honest, but this? This was nice too. "It will be a story to tell your friends later. 'Ah yes, that roguish Zevran? I have met him.' And if you are particularly game? You might even kiss him."

"It's rare enough when one of the people gains fame among the humans, we tend not to forget those that do." At the last, though, he laughed, the blush spreading slightly.

"I'm not usually one to kiss and tell," He admitted, though his eyes were quite fixated now. "Those stories I tend to keep to myself." A pause, before he wet his lips and offered a lopsided smile: "Though who knows, perhaps that particular story might be worth bending the rules for."

"So even the Dalish have heard? They didn't seem terribly pleased to see me when I last passed through- then again I was trailing Crows. Its understandable." No one liked assassins being brought to and through their door.

Still, happier things were on the horizon. Quite aware of Gavin's attention Zevran paused in his strumming to sip a bit of his ale, letting the long swallow show off the shadows and tendrils at his neck, the barest hint of the continuing trail of his tattoos. "Perhaps we might bend more than just your rules, mm? Of course saying 'I have been kissed by Zevran' would prompt requests for proof, yes? I can leave my mark if you wish it."

"I never said that they say good things about you," he teased. In reality - his clan was far enough from Ferelden that it was more simply a point of interest than a point of contention. And Gavin had a soft spot for elves that roamed a little off the beaten path, as it were.

It was impossible to ignore that drink - the muscles moving in Zevran's throat. Arousal kicked in his gut - both surprising and honest - and he tried to laugh it off.

"Maybe I'd want them to use their imagination," he replied, trying to avert his eyes from that tattoo and failing. "But I've always found that visual aids help my memory."

"Alas, whatever stories you have heard? They are likely true." For good or ill. Or sordid means- those were the ones he meant to draw attention to at the moment anyway. Of course that meant cheating just a little, but now that he had drawn Gavin's eyes to his throat, he loosened the laces of his shirt just a touch, revealing his collarbones and a tangled continuation of his tattoos.

A tease. A promise.

"I could leave more than a few, if you are of a mind."

Okay, definitely teasing him now. He swallowed, before forcing himself to meet Zevran's eyes with a slightly sheepish grin.

"I'm not sure I could say no to that even if I wanted to," He replied, trying to make it sound teasing, but it came out way more earnestly than he meant. "Though I wouldn't be so sure, if I were you, until you at least heard how terribly I sing."

"Find us somewhere nice and quiet, Gavin, and I promise I will have you singing so sweetly you shall astound even yourself." And perhaps half the camp if he used a few of his tricks.

It had been a while since he'd been propositioned so forwardly, despite his endless flirting. But the truth was he was more than happy to take him up on the offer.

(Yet another escape route from dealing with reality as it stood.)

He chuckled, clearing his throat as he brought his ale up to his lips and took a sip.

"That's quite a promise," He replied, his voice low. "And it just so happens, I might know of a place that fits those exact qualifications..."

"Then whatever are we waiting for? Unless you wish another song?" Something dripping with innuendo- he may even manage one in the trader's tongue if Gavin so desired. However the chance for a quiet moment with someone after a long time spent alone on the road? Was not something he intended to pass up, nor to rush.

The world may be falling down around their ears, but there was always time to handle things properly.

"I could listen to you sing all night," He said, quite honestly, smiling. "But I thought maybe we could finish our drinks, at least." The light hearted teasing had returned to his voice, though he had to shift where he sat, trying not to let the anticipation be quite that obvious.

"I can be fairly patient... I find it makes the end all the sweeter."

"As you wish." Said with a smile just on this side of sultry. The sexy side of sultry. Zevran took another long drink of his ale, once again tilting his head and neck to offer the most appealing view. He knew full well what it was he did and felt absolutely no shame whatsoever.

"There is something to be said for working on a particular piece for hours before finishing it to your satisfaction." If they were to continue the music metaphor.

Gavin was many things, but intentionally sexy wasn't exactly one of them - he tended to come off better when he wasn't actually thinking about it, but he was now. He was thinking about it quite deeply, now. He thought about absolutely anything he could do that would match the display he was witnessing - that sublime throat, the way those fingers caressed the lute. He shifted, somewhat awkwardly, pulling his ale toward him and letting his fingers drift across the glass somewhat aimlessly. His best assets were very much under his clothing - that was where all his compliments came from. But you couldn't exactly show off that in a crowded bar, could you?

So he simply fidgeted.

"You can't have a real climax to a piece unless you've given it a long enough crescendo," he said, which was literally the entirety of his music knowledge and he wasn't even sure that it made sense, but thought it got his point across. (If Crescendo meant what he hoped it meant.)

He took another long sip.

"The real question is where one prefers to play, I suppose," He wondered, falsely casual. "In the tight dark or with the sun on your skin..."

"A few extra verses with sufficient vigor never hurt anyone." The question of what was sufficient he would leave up to Gavin. As with most things he left the boundaries up to the other party- his own limitations were quite few and it was easier to follow where he was led than to attempt to impose his own suggestions for the first roll around.

It was, after all, only considerate to do so.

"In the sun after all. It is difficult to see what you are doing in the dark at times- better to have the full glory of the song for both parties to enjoy."

Gavin laughed, downing the rest of his ale. He'd tried to play it cool. He really had. "I'm afraid I'm sorely lacking in musical metaphors," he admitted with a grin.

"But I do have a nice sunny little corner in mind for a private concert, if you think you've had your fill."

There was no shame in admitting defeat- Zevran was trained for this after all. The match had never been entirely fair. "And you did well all the same. Brava."

He lifted his glass to Gavin with a wry salute before downing the last, licking the foam from his lips. "Do lead on, my friend, and I shall gladly follow."

Gavin grinned, rising from his chair with all the gracefulness of an ostrich, before motioning for Zevran to follow him from the Tavern. The truth was, sun wasn't difficult to come by, and neither were empty rooms - following along one wall, the castle crumbled more as it went along. Ceilings and walls sturdy enough not to feel dangerous, but with enough crumble to let the light in. It wasn't hard to find a room that had one wall entirely open to the outside, but that outside happened to be nothing but open sky and far off mountains. He closed the door behind them and then turned to grin at Zevran.

"So, are you going to play me another song?" He teased, "Or did you have something else in mind?"

(ooc: continued here)

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

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