[ OPEN ] Well I can't stand to be with myself, this liberation's seemingly rare

[ombranera]

WHO: Zevran and Various
WHAT: Zevran sparring and dealing
WHEN: Throughout Drakonis
WHERE: Skyhold
NOTES: Violence, swearing, usual Zevran Content Warnings Apply. Open prompt below, poke me on plurk for a closed starter. Prose or actionspam welcome!

As much as he'd protested Alistair running off on some mission in the west- the time apart gives him that much more chance to train. He'd been doing so privately in the barn, occasionally squaring off against Settimo when they both had the time and patience for Settimo's paranoia and Zevran's over-adjustments for the blind side. Learning to fight with only one good eye is slowly driving Zevran to frustration. Settimo could not come at him hard enough to be a challenge, he could not learn his new limitations without a solid effort on both their parts.

Setting aside his vanity he takes to the training grounds- but working on stuffed dummies is only good for so much. Soon enough he is picking out soldiers and rogues to come at him in the dirt circle. Day to day it goes much the same. Zevran stands with bad eye covered and his swords, with his hands, with a single short sword and calls any that would step up to help him regain his awareness. It is, to be honest, slow going. More often than not if his opponent has any manner of skill he ends up on his ass. But he grits his teeth, stands, and goes at it again. And again. Afterward he recovers with the highlight of his training- a bucket of water to sluice off the sweat and grit of the day. Whether it's the relief the cold brings or the appreciative looks it tends to earn? He doesn't say. But thus he spends his days, training himself or wrestling with the fledglings, who will offer their own commentary and catcalling in Antivan during his other matches.

Comments

[ombranera]

After a long day of getting knocked around- seeing the ribbon is a fine change of pace. A chance to climb and attempt to fly? Far better than being ground into the dirt by his new limitations. A few words have Settimo taking his weapons away for cleaning and storing as Zevran finds the best way up to the battlements.

Not the stairs.

Stairs are for other people.

Soon enough he's up, winding about until he finds the dark waves of her hair whipping about in the wind as a banner to follow. Zevran slinks to her side and props himself next to her on her perch, eye flicking out to the horizon. "Hello, little bird."

[girlinthebox]

"I tried to find you before. The way was full of knives."

She stands on the edge, her toes curled against the stone as though to hold her in place, fearless against the wind. There are so many larger, unknowable things to be afraid of.

"They were thick. Knotted brambles with sharp edges. I didn't want to pull the wrong thing."

[ombranera]

That- he has always known her to be more observant than most, that she saw and heard things others could not. But he doesn't know what to say. "...And now?"

Fewer knives, he should hope. Perhaps feathers instead.

[girlinthebox]

"The edges wear down over time. I could, one day. But you have others for that. They won't pull the ends and let it unravel."

She turns, those big black eyes fixed on him. "You brought more broken ones. Will you teach them to dance, too?" she questions, uncertain.

[ombranera]

"They already know how to dance on knives. Teaching them to dance with knives- to know when to put them away and to fly for the joy of it? That is the trick." One he has trouble with on his own more often than not. "Would you like to learn with them?"

[girlinthebox]

"The cage is open. Tether loose but they're afraid to fly."

And with good reason. They'd seen what would happen if the Crows ever caught them again. She knew too the fear of being free but not knowing where to go, what to be, where to take it.

"...I could help."

[ombranera]

"That would be good for them." To have someone new- someone that understood without judgement more than he. "They- the knives in me, the hands that shaped me- they are closer, sharper in them."

How is it that using vague, poetic terms for the brutal training they all endured made it seem less strange? Seem clearer?

[girlinthebox]

Words were tools, symbols for shaping. People could be literal, but they had other shapes too. Sometimes they weren't clear, but knives defined Zevran and his fledglings. "Birds of a feather."

Another advantage too, suddenly thought of. "I won't let them sing to me."

[ombranera]

"They will try." He manages to crackle a soft laugh. "It is hard, teaching them they do not need to sing to have a home."

Settimo, now, would find River fascinating. That could be dangerous. But so long as River knew to keep her distance? All should be well.

[girlinthebox]

"Singing songs for supper, but they've grown sad. Smiles and sighs, but screaming on the inside. It feels wrong on them." Her brow knits delicately as she shakes her head before turning, wandering to the edge of the roof and crouching down.

There's a lovely stretch of rooftops that they could make their way across in no time at all.

[ombranera]

"We caught them young. They can unlearn easier than I." Save Settimo but that- that he can handle. For all they were a cell, for all they were Crows? They did not have Master Arainai on their backs or Taliesin branded into their skin.

He follows her gaze, grin widening little by little. "...First one to the far end wins?"

[girlinthebox]

Now she grins, turning back to look at him with an expression that almost fits a girl her age. Zevran never coddles, never treats her like she's made of glass, or some broken doll that needs to stay on the shelf.

She can fly alongside him.

Without a word, she tips, and disappears off the edge of the roof.