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

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

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.

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Oh, he's far from being surprised at how purposeful that display is. It does make him chuckle quietly before he's kneeling behind Zevran. "And I am immensely happy to assist, of course."

Twisted Fate's hands rest on Zevran's back before sliding up to his shoulders, his thumbs rolling against the muscle there. "Seems like someone's had a long day," he observes. "Let us hope that work is done for now, hm?"

Warm hands after a wash of cold water gliding up his back, rolling out the sore spots he'd earned by landing hard? Zevran cannot and does not repress the soft groan as he arches into the touch. Perhaps he overdid it today. But if it earns him this?

Perhaps he ought to overdo it more often.

"I have much to make up for, relearning how it is I fight with the blind side is taking longer than I thought- and probably less time than most would like." He's getting the trick of it, little by little.

The tenseness does not escape him. He's far from being a professional at this, but Fate thinks he can get the grasp of what will feel nice for Zevran. Thumbs slide along his back, putting pressure against the muscle once more.

"It'll take time. But you're skilled; I have no doubt you'll learn to make it an advantage. Every handicap can be made into one, even this." Nails lightly scratch down Zevran's back before resting at his waist.

"Hand over the water. We'll have you cleaned in no time."

"Actually sparring with people not afraid I'll kick them out of the Inquisition if they put me on the ground has helped a great deal. Settimo is skilled but- he has fears I understand well." He himself had them for quite some time while traveling with the Warden- any sparring match with any of the merry band he held back a great deal. Learned to not gradually, but- awhile.

Focusing on that with Fate's hands on him, however, is difficult. He shivers against those nails and hands back the bucket without question. "You are too kind, my friend."

"The Crows that we took in -- they're adjusting slowly, I take it?" He had wondered, but only listened to the rumors that trailed. Some are true, some are horribly exaggerated, such is the way of rumors. "I'm glad that they're at least useful." Supporting their life seems like it was the right choice.

Fate chuckles and gently dribbles water down Zevran's back. "It helps that I'm a bit fond of you," he says honestly. "I don't just wash anyone's back, after all."

"Learning how to be more than Crows. As I've experienced that particular strangeness myself, it is not so difficult a thing to manage. Though I am beginning to wonder how my traveling companions ever put up with me." All his nuanced evasions, all his confounding rules- and how many of them does he yet cling to?

Let people in a little closer. Let them see.

Perhaps it is not so terrible a thing. "Only a bit? I am losing my touch if it is only a bit."

"Necessity finds a way to force more tolerance. That, and you happy to be very charming and very gorgeous. I'm certain that helps, Zevran." The bucket is set down again and Fate's hands move over the other elf's back lightly, just stroking absently.

"Companionship is a complicated thing." For both of them. "But I should like to think I consider you a friend. So, perhaps more than a bit, hm?" He offers a laugh, to lighten the somewhat serious topic.

Zevran crackles a low laugh at the compliments, head ducking low. He's having a good day regarding his self perception but still it- it's good to hear that he is still handsome. Still welcome company. Even if the scars pull his smirk to the side. "Ah, well. As long as I am able to keep them from seducing anyone for their lives and place in the Inquisition."

Not that he'd had the same worry at all with Jonas.

Carefully, Zevran reaches back to catch one of Fate's hands, squeezing gently. "You are a friend, Fate. Perhaps a little more than most would consider in the common meaning of the word."

The body language is simple enough to pick up, and he's quietly glad to offer that reassurance. Undoubtedly, Zevran needs that now more than he ever has. "Precisely. One should only seduce another person for fun, not because they feel like it'll help them live longer." It's spoken wryly, but he suspects little else needs to be said regarding that.

The hand on his own makes him pause, and he hesitates. Twisted Fate breathes in, then turns his hand over to gently squeeze Zevran's in return.

"I-- had a lengthy discussion about this sort of thing with another. Letting myself trust, letting myself feel safe. For all of my finesse, holding onto people has not been the best skill of mine." For various reasons. "So, thank you for your friendship."

He pauses, then offers softly, "It's Tobrevas. By the way."

"Oh?" He'd had one before the Crows took him and even then he'd been considering it. Weighing his options. Now it only seems all the more imperative. All the more reasonable to make those connections as it's been made plain that the people that came for him? Cared enough to face the Crows for him. Offering less feels...unworthy.

It is not a sentiment he often entertains.

Zevran turns enough to look Fate- Tobrevas, in the eye. "One day I might ask you who it was that made you feel as though you needed to hold the world at arm's length so I might take a knife to them."

Someone that was as charming, as full of life and has a genuine like for people as Fate? Was taught harshly.

"Since I'm already speaking so honestly," he says with a bit of wryness in his voice, "I wasn't certain how safe it was for me to let myself have it. When I joined the Inquisition, I told myself I wouldn't. There didn't seem to be any point, but-- well, here we are." Trusting Korrin seemed fine, but beyond that, Nerva took the time to reassure him.

Funny. He didn't think he'd really ever get close to Nerva, but here they are.

What Zevran says does surprise him, and the glimpse of that is seen in the mage's eyes. He smiles faintly, tilting his head away. "Just a knife?" he muses, but he recognizes the sentiment.

"Thank you."

"It seemed safest to not, when I came here. Another grand adventure in an army? People would leave, would die, so on and so forth. Being a pleasing diversion is easily done when you move from city to city within a month's time but...the longer I am here, the more I want...more. Connections. Friendships. Sentiment." That Camaraderie he had during the fifth blight.

And he has found shades of it in Fate. New, exciting shades. More than enough for him to frown a little at 'just a knife' - it speaks of cruelty he hadn't expected to be visited upon a dalish mage.

Then again, the world ever had it out for elves. "To start. I would take my time."

"I figured you'd understand a bit where I was coming from." It seemed dangerous. He joined the Inquisition for selfish reasons, to protect himself, and now here he is, becoming immersed in the bonds that he's making. Something he promised himself he'd never do again.

Well. Promises are flimsy at best anyway, even to the self.

That earns a warmer look from Fate and raises Zevran's hand to his lips, laying a soft kiss to the back of his knuckles. "What a gentleman," he says with a chuckle. "Ask when you desire to know."

"Better than most, I should think." Zevran turns about properly- the only thing preventing a full embrace is that he is still damp, gritty, and not smelling the sweetest since, well, he'd spent half the day in the dust. But he does lean in to press his lips to Fate's gently, just the once before leaning back on his heels.

"Perhaps after I can actually hit my target properly. Then? I will ask. And they will answer for what they did." Whatever it was.

The contact is soft, the kiss sweet and brief; once before the affection they had between them was for fun, but now it's a source of comfort between friends. He can appreciate that.

"No hurry," he assures, smiling wryly. "I don't know that it's my place to say, but maybe ask the Iron Bull for assistance? Obviously your fighting styles are immensely different, but you're concerned with blind spots, he must have something to offer."

"He did mention something like that. I think his solution was 'find a bigger weapon'." It brought to mind Sten before- just as it does now, though the crackle of laughter is less hysterical and more warm. "But there may yet be other things he could teach me."

"Maybe not quite the advice I would give an assassin," Twisted Fate says with a soft laugh. "But I'm certain there will be something."

The mage returns to the bucket, raising a dripping cloth to lightly dab at Zevran's neck. "If there's anything else that I can do, though, just ask." More than he ever expected out of his bonds with people here, he knows all Zevran would need to do is ask a favor and he would do it with little questioning.

Which means a lot for someone as nosy as he.

"Hardly. But I will adapt in time. I have no choice- but I have more room for error here than I ever would have had with the Crows or on my own." He has those he can trust to mind him. Those he can lean on, that he does lean on now, that will help him make the needed adjustments. "Mmm. Do you know anyone that has skill with lute crafting? Vita seems suited to it and I would wish her to have one of her own."

"Not right off, but I can ask. Word travels fast and I don't doubt that someone will be glad to help craft a lute for her. I'll ask, and see who there is."

The damp the cloth wipes at Zevran's brow. After a brief moment to think, Fate says, "Might I ask for a favor? It won't take long."

"What do you need?" He will see it done- within reason. He has more reservations with Fate than he would with, say, Alistair- but fewer than he would with anyone else that might ask of him the same.

This is going to be interesting to see Zevran's reaction. Grinning to himself, Twisted Fate says, "Now, I assure you, this will make more sense shortly. My request is in two minutes, scratch me on the back."

The mage takes a step back, holding up his hand to signal Zevran to wait a moment. By now, after he's had some practice, it doesn't come around as being difficult as he shapeshifts abruptly into a wolf form with uneven brown and black fur, but it does have Fate's bright blue eyes.

The wolf sits, ears perked up and curious.

"Why the delay in time?" He turns about to peer at Fate closely, visible eye narrowed. Whatever is he playing at? Zevran is no mage but there's a certain familiar shift in the air before one slips from one form to the next- he became familiar with it around Morrigan.

That same odd twist has his eyes widening in surprise and, suddenly-

Wolf.

With perked ears and a back that requires scratching.

Zevran crackles a warm laugh as he drops to his knees, hands slipping up (slowly, slowly, it is fate but it is also a wolf) to rub behind his ears and scratch his ruff. "Now you are a most handsome fellow, are you not?"

Maybe it's a silly request. There are different ways to achieve a sense of comfort physically, but there's something a little different by having it in this manner. Fo ra moment, he watches Zevran's hands before his eyes close. The wolf leans into the fingers working along his ears and fur.

It's pleasant, in a way he doesn't expect would be nearly the same if he were still himself.

If the tail wagging slowly is a clear signal of that.

"Most handsome indeed." He has not often seen wolves this close safely. Normally they were too busy minding their own hunt and Zevran was not much of one to spend time lingering in the woods to learn more. But Fate's coat was thick and lovely, the texture fine under his hand.

Why he'd wanted this, Zevran cannot say but- he is glad to be able to give it.

His hand slips further, scratching at Fate's back as requested. "Much better than a spider."

This is much better than he was expecting, and the compliments hardly hurt either. The wolf lets out a heavy sigh, leaning into the fingers working along his coat, eyes remaining closed as his ears press back against his head.

Once the fingers reach his back and Twisted Fate stretches under him, letting out a grunt before he leans slightly against Zevran, comfortable.

Oh, he agrees. Much better than a spider.

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ombranera - 2016-03-17 10:51 (UTC) - Expand

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