faderift | [ 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.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"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.

"Alistair said you were able to become a mouse when you found me." But from mouse to wolf? That is an entirely different mindset, an entirely different thing. Morrigan spoke little of the skill ten years ago but Zevran understands enough of the magic to know it is no simple thing. "You are remarkable, my friend."

His handsome brown wolf, warm and leaning into every scratch as Zevran leans back just as much to offer more. A little like Barkswpan, a little wild.

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

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