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Shades of Grey	By : myghinmin Category: +A through F > Dragon Age (all) > Dragon Age (all) Views: 3767 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Dragon Age: Origins, and I do not make any money from these writings.

Chapter List
- 11
- 12
- 13
Title: Shades of Grey
Story Rating: M (mature). NSFW (not safe for work) due to sexual content in chapters five, seven, and eight, and for torture in chapters eleven and twelve.
Chapter Rating: M (mature).
Chapter Warnings: Physical, psychological torture.
Word Count: 3790 words.
PC: Fem!Amell Warden, deceased.
Pairing: Zevran/Alistair.
Spoilers: End-game spoilers. Set post game.
Summary: She made him swear to keep Alistair on his feet until he could stand alone. Maker help him, Zevran will honor that final promise, even if it kills him.
Notes: Okay, so it's official now: Shades of Grey will have fourteen chapters. That means we're almost at the end now! Bear with me, this chapter is less intense than chapter eleven was, but there is still some disturbing imagery in it. If you do not wish to read it, skim down until you find the beginning of dialogue. That marks the end of the more disturbing imagery. Sadly, this chapter does not lend itself well to a neat little summary at the end.
As always, if you enjoy reading this story, please remember to review (constructive criticism welcome).
[[ ... Pre-Chapter ..... ]]
The Landsmeet had been awful. Eamon had insisted on supporting Alistar, never mind the fact that both Wardens were opening supporting Anora. Teagan had been doing his best to rally the crowd, never mind the fact that he wasn't exactly the most popular Bann. And Loghain... Loghain had been completely mad by that point. He'd been so drunk on his power that he'd even challenged her to one-on-one combat. Before anyone could have responded, Alistair had jumped forward, sword already out.
No one challenged her and survived. Alistair wasn't about to allow this chance to escape him either. The wound from Ostagar was still too raw, too deep to heal. Above all, Loghain was a traitor, and he deserved to die as such. Just before the end of it all, Riordan had tried to stop the fight, but Antivan hands had held him back. Alistair couldn't stop, not yet. Not so long as Loghain drew breath. He knew that Zevran was holding Riordan back, she was holding Anora, and everyone was watching him. Swords crashed, and Alistair saw his moment.
His shield came crashing down, locking Loghain's out of the way, and he continued the moment, his sword coming down. It didn't go all the way through the first time; it took two more hacks before the traitor's head was completely severed. He had watched it roll, shockingly proud of himself, and when his eyes lifted, his stomach sank.
Of all the eyes on him, only Zevran's mirrored his pride at his task. Only Zevran seemed to understand the elation filling him. Riordan was sagging, whatever he'd wanted forgotten, and Anora was holding back tears as she announced her rule. He had dropped to one knee in front of her, swearing off his bloodline, swearing that he would never take the throne from her.
It hurt less than he thought it should, but then again, he'd never been a Theirin. He'd been a bastard, a templar, a Warden. His eyes lifted to meet hers. A lover. Then his gaze drifted to meet those dark ones. A killer.
[[ ... Chapter 12 ..... ]]
The next day was as bad as the one before it, and by the time that his back had been cleaned again, Zevran was shaking, his jaw aching from being locked against any noises that threatened to escape. Eduardo was behind him one again, hands rubbing a poultice on his ragged back as gently as he could. He had at least been taken off of the hook, and the giant of a man had let him lay on his stomach across the narrow bed in the room. Truth be told, he didn't have anything to worry about from the former Crow; at twice his size and fast, Lalo was more man that Zevran wanted to try handling so far below his peak.
They were performing a classic Crow technique though, he had realized through the beating. As cruel and vicious as Neema was, Lalo was equally soft and tender with him. La danza de las serpientes. Admittedly, he had never seen it performed as well as these two managed. Even knowing what was happening, Zevran found himself relieved the moment that Eduardo stepped into the room. The other man didn't ever stop her, but he would prevent her from absolutely destroying the elf; he deflected the worst of it by giving her lesser instruments to inflict them with.
His fingers pressed down on a particularly deep gash, and Zevran couldn't stop the low moan of pain that escaped him before he bit his bottom lip. It stung; he'd been biting it on and off since he'd been brought up from the tiled room. It was one of the things that kept him from screaming when she got started. As soon as he settled, bracing for the next prod at his stripped back, he heard it: low talking coming down the hall. Immediately, he was pulled back up to his feet, Lalo glancing at the door.
"No... I really-- I don't think I can, Eduar-"
One of those fingers pressed against his lips, and the elf fell quiet, his dark eyes struggling to focus on the other man. There was something wrong, he realized, as the giant put him back on the hook to hang in the middle of the room. He peered between his elbows toward the door, drawing another bracing breath. Clearly, those voices were heading in here. Lalo's hand moved from over his mouth to stroke the side his face, and Zevran was taken aback by the sheer tenderness in the touch. Then the larger man moved over toward the doorway, stepping into position just as the door banged open.
"You swore that the Theirin bastard would--"
"No, Bann Loren, I did not. I only said that it would deal a crippling blow to their command if we removed the elf." Neema was standing just behind an older man, her small hands curling into fists as she glared at his back. Lalo shut the door behind the two of them, not looking at the elf as they both moved to stand in front of him.
Taking his cue from the quiet giant, the former Crow didn't look up either, instead contenting himself to gaze at their shoes. Fereldan's really did have the ugliest shoes, he noticed, really looking at them as he struggled to keep his gaze steady. His head was still swimming from the beating earlier.
"Well, it didn't work. Alistair is still meeting with the Queen, and to make matters worse, he's coming here to do it." Bann Loren was clearly upset that things weren't going as originally planned. Then again, the man was nothing if not opportunistic. He was well known for the ... fluidity of his alliances. Zevran had spent weeks corresponding with him, trying to convince him to commit more to the Warden cause.
"Why did you ever agree to that?"
Leather straps were barely holding the furs in place around the Bann's calves. Why was he even still wearing fur boots this late in spring? Surely it was getting warm enough for sandals. Like Neema's little delicate things. Narrow straps that did nothing but accentuate her slight ankles.
"It was Teagan's suggestion. And the Queen has a soft spot for him since he was Cailan's uncle."
"... It's not like it changes anything. You hired me for a job; I filled that job. You said--"
The Bann shot her a look, and when she fell silent, understanding washed over Zevran, a bucket of ice water numbing his skin. She was not a Crow. No Crow would have backed down so easily, allowed their contractor to quiet them with only a look. He had to resist the urge to open his mouth. It wouldn't do to educate his kidnappers. Instead, he felt a little surge of ... something in him. Neema had to be on the run, same as he was. She had taken a huge risk, hedging her bets in the fact that most Fereldans didn't really understand the Crows. Now, he had a bargaining chip, small as it might be. He had something to work with. His fingers flexed a little, and he dropped his eyes again.
"I said that you would have him after I was finished, and you will." The Bann was nodding slowly as he looked the elf over. Not for the first time, Zevran was thankful for the arm bindings that Eduardo seemed to favor; when he was placed on the hook, it forced his head into his elbows, hiding most of his expression and protecting his face from any attacks. He couldn't help but wonder if Lalo did it on purpose, as much as the other man tended to touch him.
A hand caught a fistful of his hair and pulled his head back, making him grit his teeth at the position it forced him in. Pain shot through his neck, and his eyes closed as he drew a breath. A crop struck his still-raw back, and he jerked in another breath, not wanting to scream from the pain. Knowing full well what she wanted, he looked over at Loren. A sick smile was twisting the older man's face, and when one of his hands slid down over his backside, Zevran cast his gaze over toward the giant by the door.
It was the clenching jaw that made the elf really realize what was going on. It wasn't la danza at all; the huge man by the door was feeling something for him. He hesitated only a moment, but when a low noise of appreciation came out of the Bann and that hand started fondling a little too freely, Zevran made his choice. He lowered his head enough to let Lalo really see him, and he parted his lips just a little, gasping slightly. The other man pushed off of the wall, standing straighter up. He had to be careful to play it just right; he didn't want to over do it. The elf drew his expression then, his brow furrowing, his bottom lip finding itself under his teeth, his eyes shooting down to look at Eduardo from the window created by the crook of his arm.
It must have sealed the deal, because then Lalo was suddenly with them, his hand wrapped around the Bann's wrist, peeling that hand off of the former Crow. Zevran didn't dare so much as breathe; he couldn't let them see how much of a relief it was to gain at least some measure of control over the situation. He felt Neema's hand slide out of his hair, and he let his head slowly lean back forward into his own arms.
"What is this?" The Bann was struggling, and Zevran had to fight to resist the urge to turn to see. He had to rely on what he could hear, and it was driving him mad.
"You're not allowed to touch anything until I am," Neema covered. Clearly, she was used to doing this, covering her partner's actions. Eduardo didn't speak, so she had to find something plausible instead, make this situation her own.
"That's absurd. I paid--"
"Nothing yet." He could imagine the little mousey girl looking down her nose at Loren. With Lalo at her side, no one would oppose her. The man was a beast, standing at an easy seven feet, hands the size of hams, and a face that managed to stay expressionless most of the time. Only anger seemed to bleed through the neutral face, and no one wanted to see that on a man who looked like he could take out a squadron of soldiers alone. He made Sten look small.
The Bann backed down; of course he would. Loren was no fool, and no rat lived that long by challenging such an obvious threat. Instead, he would scurry around the problem, attacking it from another angle. Zevran felt hands in his hair; his breath caught. One of his braids was pulled tight, and he stiffened as a knife sliced it free. A moment passed, and then that knife sank into his upper arm, forcing a hiss and a low moan of pain out of him. The braid was dragged over the flowing wound, and pressed into Loren's hand.
"That's more than enough for your purposes, is it not, Bann Loren?" She would be arching her eyebrow, her head tilting just a little toward her right. He had heard the tone often enough to know the expression that went with it. When her Antivan accent was this pronounced, she was angry.
The Bann must have nodded, because Zevran heard footsteps; then he could see the other man, the bloody strip of hair clutched in his hand, as he walked out of the room. The door slammed behind him. Then he felt the tension sparking behind him again. He exhaled very slowly before he drew another breath. He wanted Neema to take out this anger on Lalo, not on him.
"What was that?" To her credit, she didn't yell. No one trained as a Crow would though; it was unprofessional. He wondered when she had cleared out, how she had managed. Had Taliesin brought her with him when he came to fetch Zevran? It would have been the only way she could have made it to Ferelden, since she was still little more than an apprentice. Only someone who'd not yet been through the racks would have backed down so easily to a foolish old man.
Eduardo said nothing, and Zevran tried to imagine what the giant was thinking. The elf knew what he had invited when he had looked at the other man that way, and while he wasn't exactly thrilled about it, it would be easier than allowing Neema to get ahold of him again. He didn't think his back could take another round under her crop. His spine stiffened just slightly as the girl stepped into his vision, glaring at him.
"He's planning on ransoming you, you know." That would be why she wasn't happy. She still wanted to get her hands on him after the Bann was done, but if Loren was agreeing to send Zevran back, well. That was it for her chances. She truly was foolish if she was letting this get to her though; the Bann wouldn't return him. He would simply take him from Neema and use him for his own purposes.
"I'm not worth a whole lot," he replied, struggling to keep his voice even. She couldn't be allowed to know that anything had changed. He was remaining calm under this pressure. The Crows had been unable to break him; a slip of a girl would not be allowed to manage something that they couldn't.
She smiled, and then her fingers reached out to touch the side of his face for just a moment. "You'll be more than enough to ensure that Alistair walks out on his own meeting. That will be enough to prove his incompetence." One of her nails dragged down his cheek, but Zevran was beyond feeling it. He was analyzing the situation as rapidly as he could.
It seemed like an awful lot of work to go through just to get Alistair sent back to Weisshaupt Fortress. It wasn't as though he wielded much power himself, no matter what his bloodline claimed he should. Although, he did have to admit, the moment Alistair's name came up in front of the general public, more volunteers jumped up. A chance to work so closely with the last of the royal line was not something that many passed up.
And of course, there was the fact that Alistair was a Fereldan. Normally, it was a good thing, but Bann Loren had to be scared that Alistair knew about him. That the Warden knew about Loren's less savory activities. After all, the Wardens had been quick to point fingers at Loghain, and that was during a Blight. If they took time out to handle it then, now that they had all the free time they needed, what else would they dig up? Loren was hiding something else, something he was scared they would find.
"It's not like it really matters though," Neema said, and Zevran forced his attention back to her. He was almost shaking from the implications of what was happening. The elf was only a pawn in this; Loren had been the one pressuring him to arrive ahead of Alistair to finish setting up the meeting. And if, for some reason, the meeting had been shifted to here, to this building... He had to get out. Had to make sure that this pig bled out in the mud, as it should; he'd made a vow to keep Alistair safe, to ensure that this sort of thing wouldn't happen.
The girl, scowling when she realized that she wasn't going to get anything out of him, reached again for the crop. And she made a little shriek of frustration as Eduardo smoothly plucked it out of her hands and pointed toward the door. Lalo, then, was her keeper. He would be who she answered to whenever Taliesin was gone. It wasn't an unheard of situation, to have someone who filled both roles of manservant and teacher whenever the mentor was out of the picture. He would take the girl back to Antiva after all of this was over.
Then she was gone, muttering and growling under her breath, and Zevran blew out a breath he hadn't realized that he'd been holding. It was only him and Lalo in the room then, and while he might have had something to fear normally, he was back in control of himself. He knew this game, knew how to play, knew how to look. Those huge hands took him back down from the hook, and Zevran followed him meekly back to the narrow bed.
Eduardo pushed him-- gently-- toward the bed, where Zevran sat gratefully, taking the moment to brace himself, to prepare for what he knew was coming. The other man hesitated for only a moment, gaze the elf a warning look, and then sliced off the upper bonds on his arms, leaving only his wrists tied together. His elbows eased apart, letting his hands fall into his lap instead of being held out awkwardly in front of him. It was a relief, but it was short lived as pain shot through his arm.
Adrenaline was beginning to fade, and that meant that he was noticing things again. Things like the simple fact that the girl had stabbed him in the upper arm, making it impossible for him to physically fend off any kind of attack. Not that he would have been able to do much anyway. Over a week of just enough food and water to be kept alive had made him weak, made him soft. He was far more pliable than he should have been.
Fingers probed at the wound, and Zevran's breath hitched as he tilted his face down, his eyes lifting in the same motion so that he was looking at the other man from under his lashes. It was a calculated move, and when those fingers lightly touched him again, he bit his lip. A low growl escaped Eduardo, and the elf nearly jumped at the sound. It was the first... anything he'd heard the other man make. He swallowed, ignoring the slight pain at the motion. Something had to give, or this was going to get out of hand, very quickly. He remained still long enough for Lalo to smear some more poultice over the newest wound, and then he sighed softly, looking up at the other man.
He wasn't going to beg for his life; he knew better than that. All it served to do was to remind the captor how much power they really had. Instead, he was going to have to try to entice the other man into initiating it, so that he could use the situation to his best advantage. So when the other man reached up to touch his face again, Zevran leaned into it just a little, just enough. And when the kiss came, he was prepared for it. What he was not prepared for was how chaste it was. Eduardo simply pressed his lips to the elf's, and then the knife was cutting the rope around his wrists. Zevran froze, his breath caught in his lungs as he looked at the other man. Lalo stepped back, drew to his full height and then jerked his chin toward the door. Another moment of hesitation, and the elf darted, not about to let the chance escape him.
He honestly expected to be stopped when he fumbled for the handle, but Eduardo hadn't moved, and Zevran wasn't one to question a gift horse. Instead, he simply managed a little smile toward the other man, and then he was out of the room, back in the hallway with all of the doors that there had been so many people in. He had no idea where he was, but it was somewhere that no one thought twice about a nude, filthy elf in a cage. That told him that it was somewhere he didn't need to be, naked and unarmed.
Just a moment passed while Zevran oriented himself, and then he was gone, rabbiting down one of the hallways. There would be a window or a stairwell or something, he reasoned, and from there he could do better about figuring out where he was. He heard footsteps, and, taking a chance, he ducked into the first door he put his hand on.
It was a small bedroom, only marginally more comfortable than one he'd been in previously. There were knick-knacks onthe shelves, which meant that someone stayed there. He calmed himself as best he could, listening for the footsteps to pass, and then he started rummaging around the room, trying to find a blade of some sort. Every Fereldan had one. Apparently, this room's owner took his with him though, because Zevran couldn't find it. He blew out a frustrated breath, and then he moved over to the room's tiny window, looking out curiously, cautiously.
He was just under the road's level, looking up over the edge of the stones that lined the sides of the road. Rainwater would have washed in, which, he supposed, explained the buckets along this edge of the wall. His head began to swim, but he shook himself. He had to stay focused. Most likely, Lalo had let him go for some... chase sequence that he enjoyed, and he had to not be the prey that lost it. No matter the fact that the blood was washing out the medicine from his arm wound, or that he could feel it beginning to mingle with sweat and wash over his back. It hurt, but it meant that he wasn't dead. Not yet.
He forced himself to look back out the window at the sound of something clipping along the stone, and his heart stopped as he recognized the legs of the horse walking just in front of him. Alistair's horse was solid black, except for a small patch of white hair on his front right leg. All of the Wardens had joked that the patch looked like a griffon. Knowing that Alistair was here, with someone who didn't think twice about hiring a Crow-- a fake Crow-- to kidnap someone, was enough to shock Zevran into pushing back the pain a moment more.
He had to find a way upstairs, before Loren delivered the threat. Alistair had to meet with Anora and the Bannorn. He had to be the Commander of Ferelden's Wardens.
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Shades of Grey