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Shades of Grey	By : myghinmin Category: +A through F > Dragon Age (all) > Dragon Age (all) Views: 3772 -:- 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
- 6
- 7
- 8
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: T (teen).
Chapter Warnings: Mild slash (male/male) action, mild violence.
Word Count: 2802 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: Well, I spent the last several days-- as of the 21st of February, 2010-- reworking the first six chapters of the piece. They have more cohesive pre-chapters now (and Chapter 2 finally got a pre-chapter), and two of the chapters have been extensively rewritten (chapters 1 and 3). In fact, Chapter 1 has almost doubled in length. If you haven't already, I highly recommend that you re-read the first six chapters before reading this one, as I cannot guarantee that it makes no mention to new material introduced. All in all, I added almost 2000 words to the story before adding in this chapter.
As always, please remember to read and review (constructive criticism welcome).
[[ ... Pre-Chapter ..... ]]
He knew he was losing her to the templar, no matter how many secrets they had exchanged, no matter how many nights he had sacrificed to holding her, rocking her. No matter how many chaste kisses he had pressed to her forehead, no matter how many times he had managed to keep himself on a leash, to keep from pressuring her, from begging her. He couldn't stand to lose her. Not to him.
The first chance he got to approach her was on watch. He slid down to sit next to her, pulling his knees up against his chest as they both were silent. Any thought of confronting her went out the proverbial window as soon as he saw her. She looked at him; he stared into the wilderness. She saw him starting to move and looked away quickly as he lifted his dark gaze to her. They were avoiding it, not wanting to admit to anything. He knew that he would do anything for her, even if her choice was another. How could he do otherwise?
They were companions; he understood her on levels that not a one of their traveling party could. A faint smile curved his narrow lips. He understood her weaknesses; he appreciated her for them. She was as flawed as any of them, and it made her all that much more beautiful because of them. He reached for her, and she broke under his touch, as she always did.
They sat through the tears, and when she finally composed herself again, he leaned down, his mouth just inches above the top of her head. His eyes closed; he breathed in her scent. They both had weaknesses, and in fact, they shared at least one: they both had a soft spot for noble men.
[[ ... Chapter 7 ..... ]]
The keep was no where near as quiet as it normally was in the early morning, Alistair realized as he walked down the stairs toward the courtyard. Levi and his family were out already, laughing and talking; Teagan was shipping out his two men, sending letters and Maker only knew what else to Eamon. He frowned as he stepped outside in the sunlight. Men were coming back in; looked like Julien and one of the recruits-- Luthanuel, he thought it looked like. They were walking their horses in, a handful of people behind them-- three men and a woman. All of them wore traveling gear, and there was a mule packed with armor and weaponry trailing behind.
The almost Templar stepped lightly to avoid the little herd of sheep being shepherded across the courtyard, and he shot a glance over to the dark skinned elf arguing with Teagan. Whatever they were saying, he couldn't hear, but he didn't like the expression on the older man's face. No one was allowed to make that expression toward the assassin except for him. He started toward them, but a hand caught him, pulling him back.
Julien, one of the Orlesian Wardens, offered him a little grin. "We have more recruits," he said cheerfully, and Alistair felt his hand clench. More bodies to burn behind the keep, more families who would never know anything if their children didn't survive the Joining. The Orlesian saw the anger on his face, and he quickly tugged Alistair further back from the chaos spilling into the courtyard. "We don't have a choice," he whispered, and quickly the former prince looked away.
"I know," he hissed between clenched teeth. He glanced up at the newest warm bodies. The woman was muscled; from the way her clothes fit, he guessed she had been a smith or a soldier. Her hair was dark, swept up into a no nonsense braid that kept it out of her face. She smiled at him. Two of the men were probably brothers, as they had hair the exact same shade of red. They were unloading the mule, laughing over something. It was the last man that caught and held Alistair's gaze however. Black hair, filthy robes, achingly thin. He looked as though he just came out of a prison.
"What is he doing here?" His voice was shockingly calm, considering he was staring at the mage responsible for the entire mess at Redcliffe during the Blight. The single person who had almost guaranteed Loghain's victory. How Jowan was even alive was beyond his comprehension.
"Found him in Redcliffe." Julien didn't seem to understand the gravity of the situation. He was looking over his shoulder at the mage with an air of pride. "They had apparently forgotten he was in their prisons. Luckily, a few maids took pity on him and kept sneaking him food anyway. Used the Right of Conscription, and Arl Eamon handed him right on over. He seemed glad to get rid of him, honestly."
"He's supposed to be dead. Why was he not returned to the Circle?"
Apparently, his tone was beginning to sink in, because the small man looked over at him. His blue eyes were intent as he studied the Fereldan. "The Blight happened. His sentence was never carried out before the march to Denerim, and by the time they got back, Eamon was still recovering from the fight. The Circle claimed him, and never sent anyone to fetch him. The past few months, he's just been waiting for someone to come and put him to death."
Alistair's jaw clenched. He didn't want anyone who had shared a past with her here, least of all her best friend from the tower. Someone who had betrayed her. "He's a blood mage. Are you aware of his crimes?"
"Indeed." Julien's grin came easily, Alistair saw, because there it was again, beaming up at him. "And I spoke to him about his situation. He's more than willing to go through whatever we deem necessary to prove his loyalty to our cause. If you don't want him, Orlais will be happy to take him. We can always use another mage."
"No." The warrior answered more quickly than he should have, and the Orlesian arched an eyebrow at him. "No, I'll... we'll take him." He blew out a deep breath, frowning all the while. Julien saluted him with a little wry smile, then headed back over to the group, clearly organizing them. Alistair would be damned before he let someone like Jowan escape to Orlais. It was better that he remain where he could be watched by those who knew what he was capable of.
He shot another glare toward the mage, then caught Zevran's eyes and jerked his head. The elf frowned, nodded, and clearly made his excuses with Teagan before he headed over. Alistair opened his mouth, hesitated, and then grabbed Zevran's elbow and dragged him inside. The courtyard was not exactly the most private of locations, and he didn't want to be overheard. Zevran's room was the closest for privacy, and he headed there.
"I am not normally one to say 'no,' Alistair, but--"
"It's not that," he said quickly, pushing the door open. "I needed to talk to you."
The Antivan shrugged, looking away as he moved to sit lightly on the edge of the desk in his room. He looked comfortable enough, and Alistair considered the available seating in the room for only a moment before he sat on the edge of the bed. He reached up and rubbed his face with one hand before he found the thread of conversation he wanted to start with.
"How bad is our situation? Really?"
"Truly?" Zevran's voice was smooth as silk, not concerned, not stressed at all. It was one of the few things that had kept Alistair sane. No matter how nosey or out of line the elf seemed to get, he was always calm about it. "It's bad, Alistair." He heard the other man shifting his weight, and he turned around so that he was facing the assassin. "We are keeping ahead by not demanding tithes owed to us or demanding a constant stream of recruits. We're well within our rights to do so, but I thought it would be a bit ... impolitic."
A faint smile lit the templar's face. Zevran, concerned about being impolitic? That was new. "So, the complaint is that I'm unfit?"
"It is that no one has seen or heard from you in the past two months. And your behavior towards the Queen when we left wasn't particularly helpful, no matter how entertaining it might have been."
"Right, right." He rubbed his face again with his hand, and he sighed. "So," it pained him so much to have to ask, but Zevran would be the one to know, "what do I do? If... If I want to keep the Wardens under my command, I mean."
There was a moment of silence, and Alistair refused to look up. He didn't want to see what he was sure was written all over the elven face studying him. Needless to say, when he felt the bed dip behind him and hands touch his shoulders, he stiffened and looked up, surprised to see the Antivan kneeling just behind him, both hands resting on the tops of his shoulders. Slender fingers began to press into the muscles there, and the Warden almost moaned with pleasure. Somehow, he managed to bite it back, and instead, he tried to just savor the feeling of someone touching him.
"If your desire is to keep the Wardens, I would begin by visiting the Queen and offering a formal apology. Claim whatever you like, it won't really matter. It just matters that the Banns see you in public, speaking and behaving ... normally." That voice was low in his ear, and Alistair shivered at the heat that it sent spiraling through him. "It would also help if you affirm yourself before the court again, swearing off your bloodline. Prove to them that even if the Blight is over, you hold to the promises made in the heat of the moment."
"Ad then?" His own voice, by comparison, was outright shaky and soft, just barely making words audible at all. Zevran didn't seem to notice, only continued what he was doing, his hands working their way down and over his shoulder blades.
"It would not hurt to confirm our allies again. See how many markers we can call in to keep you here, if necessary." Hands were lower still now, in the middle of his back. Alistair was rapidly turning into a boneless heap at the edge of the bed, and he was starting to wonder why he had been so insistent on staying away from the elf in the beginning.
"So, back on the road again." It wasn't a question. And he could feel the Antivan shrug behind him. "Not something I look forward to."
"It will be painful," Zevran agreed quietly, and then he stilled. The warrior did too, trusting the instincts honed so sharply by the Crows. Silently, the assassin eased off of the bed and over to the door, where he pressed an ear to it. Several minutes went by, and then he shook his head. "I thought..." He stopped himself, and then offered Alistair a disarming smile. "It was nothing," he said, moving back to the bed. However, he stood in front of the Fereldan, his hands resting on his hips as he studied the other man.
Alistair managed a bland expression as he returned the look. The elf was thinking something, of that he was certain. However, he never knew what exactly was going on behind those dark eyes. It was part of Zevran's charm, he supposed, part of the allure that drew everyone's gaze. He had asked Leliana what it was about the Antivan once, and she'd never really given him a straight answer. Maybe this was why; it was one of those things you had to simply know before you understood it.
He couldn't stand the look any longer though, and he found himself burying his hands in those long blond locks. Zevran didn't seem too surprised as the warrior pulled him down, and if his reaction when their lips touched was any indication, Alistair would even go so far as to say that he had been expecting it. He pulled the elf closer to him, and when Zevran threw one leg over him and let his weight press down on the Warden's hips, Alistair nearly groaned into the kiss.
He couldn't argue with this; he didn't want to. If he knew anything about the Antivan, it was that Zevran wouldn't take this any further than Alistair allowed him. The assassin was many things, but a forced lover was not one of them. Alistair needed the touch, the intimacy, and Zevran was available to give it. It would be that simple to the elf.
His thoughts were pushed right out of his head though when he felt the Antivan pressing against his hips. He gasped softly, and his hands slid down out of silky hair, over his back and down to stop on slender hips, where his fingers seem to find this perfect spot--
"ALISTAIR!"
Alistair groaned as Zevran pulled back from the kiss. "Maker take him," he hissed, and then he swallowed, taking the moment to compose himself. "What is it, Teagan?" he called, his gaze locked on an elf who looked for all the world as though he were about to burst with laughter. His eyes glittered dangerously, daring Zevran to so much as giggle.
"Did you know they brought the blood mage here?!"
Zevran rolled off of him lazily, a wicked grin on his kiss-bruised lips. "Best to settle your house, my lord," he drawled, pulling Alistair to his feet. Alistair shot him the dirtiest look he could manage. This was not finished, he swore to himself as he carefully adjusted himself. His hand rested on the door, and Zevran pulled himself back up to sit on the desk. Another glare, and the door was wrenched open.
Teagan was on the other side, looming as best he could considering that he was not only about an inch and a half shorter but also a bit smaller framed than Alistair. The Warden gave his very best scowl at his uncle-by-marriage. It didn't seem to be doing much good though. "Why is Jowan here?"
"He wasn't serving a purpose where he was," Alistair said cooly, doing his best to remain composed despite the fact that he could feel Zevran staring at his backside. At a particular aspect of his backside that he was quite sure hadn't been stared at in a long time. He felt heat flooding his face, and he quickly stepped out of the room, shutting the door on the chuckle that drifted out behind him.
"He's a murderer--"
"Technically, an attempted murderer," he corrected, frustration mounting. He wanted nothing more than to be in the room behind him, showing Zevran how very rude it was to laugh at the commander of the Grey Wardens, and instead, he was out here, trying to remain calm in front of a shouting Bann. Great practice, that's what this was. He just had to remind himself that it was practice for Denerim. "Julien wanted him for Orlais; I've already claimed him for Ferelden. It would be better to keep him here, where we know what he's capable of, right?"
That seemed to deflect the air from the Bann's sails, and slowly, the self-righteous anger seemed to fade away. What it left behind caused an unexpected pain in the Warden's chest. Teagan looked old, standing in front of him, nothing to animate his worn face. He reached up a hand to put over his mouth, hiding the sharp frown of displeasure, then the eventual sigh of defeat. It was a hollow victory, particularly since it wasn't one that could be used in front of the Orlesian Wardens.
He placed a hand on Teagan's shoulder, then drew him closer into a sort of half hug. He sighed faintly before he released him, and then he said softly, "I wouldn't allow Jowan to hurt anyone else. I swear it." He looked past the Bann's slowly nodding head, and his eyes locked with Julien's. A sardonic grin was on the other Warden's face, and Alistair bristled at it. The door opened behind him, and Zevran slipped out, heading back toward the courtyard.
He offered Alistair a little smile, but what really shocked him was how, when Zevran eased past the Orlesian to head out, Julien brushed past him. It was only a moment, a heartbeat of contact between the two, but it was enough. The templar's jaw clenched, and he followed the elf's escape intently. He was commander here, no matter how he'd acted the last two months. Everyone, it seemed, would do well to remember that.
- 6
- 7
- 8
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Shades of Grey