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Zevran

The Black Shadow
Canon Character
DAO/DA2 Timeline
Posts
25
Featured Thread #1
((OOC: Harvestmere 30, 9:35, Late Evening, Alistair Theirin))

Zevran lazed about on the King’s bed as he had done on more than one occasion in the past. Surprising Alistair in such a way had become one of Zevran’s favorite things to do when visiting the Royal Palace.

Alistair’s marriage to the Teyrna of Gwaren brought with it many benefits; many experienced by the King himself. The new Queen had sought to place her touch upon the Palace and that meant upgrading and improving many things in the palace including the royal bedding. How Alistair got out of bed when surrounded by such sumptuous fabrics, Zevran did not know.

Nor did Zevran know when he might ruffle the King’s velvet and gem dusted coverlet again. The next day he planned to leave for Kirkwall for an indeterminate amount of time. A contract and the prospect of change drew him to the Free Marches. Would such be enough to keep him there? Time would tell.

The curmudgeonly elf had agreed to follow Zevran to Kirkwall, planning her arrival some time after his. His invitation was the largest commitment he had made to another on a personal level since Rinna. Caution he employed around others had found a way to erode around Elunara and Zevran was not entirely sure why. A connection of some sort existed between them and he wished to see where such things led.

But before he endeavored on new life adventures, he wished to spend some quality time with his old friend, Alistair. What type of quality their time might be, remained yet to be seen.

Legs stretched out before him, his cheek lazily propped against the palm of his hand, he kept his eyes upon the door and readied for Alistair’s return to his rooms.
 

Alistair Theirin

King of Ferelden
Canon Character
Noble
Grey Warden
Post DAI Timeline
DAO/DA2 Timeline
Posts
77
#2
Alistair had been a bit surprised after the honeymoon to discover that the royal couple had separate bedrooms. A bit disappointed, too … not that he was some randy adolescent who thought he needed sex every night (although to be completely honest, it wasn’t something he would have turned down, either). It was just that … the idea of growing old with someone had always included going to sleep beside them each night and waking up beside them each morning. Or maybe just sleeping in and cuddling …

But evidently, such things were not done by the nobility. He’d known that Eamon and Isolde had followed the custom, but, well … Isolde. Not that he was anything close to deprived, mind you. Constance seemed to enjoy their intimacy, had been patient in teaching him what would please her, and even encouraged him to express his own preferences. Let’s be real, though: he was young, male and having regular sex for the first time in his life. The idea that it could get better than that simply hadn’t sunk in yet, so for the moment, he was quite happy with whatever his wife wanted. But once it was done and a bit of cuddling indulged in, Constance had made it quite clear that she preferred to go to sleep and wake up alone. All things considered, though, it was nothing to complain about.

It wasn’t every night, however, and once a month, there was an extended hiatus. This being one of those times, he had kissed her goodnight after dinner and tucked the children in, a task that he seldom left to the nannies. That done (after one pirate raid on Peter’s boat-shaped bed, three stories for Bran and two glasses of water for Arwen), he made his way back to his own chambers, well aware that any or all of the younger ones would likely climb in with him during the night and almost ridiculously content with the notion of waking up with feet in his ribs. Read a bit with Calenhad purring in his lap, stretch out in bed (and those Antivan linen sheets that Constance had insisted on had been totally worth it), and -

To his credit, he didn’t squawk or jump at discovering his uninvited guest, and after a quick run of double-time, his heart returned to its normal rhythm. It was almost old hat by now, and he saw his companions from the Blight so rarely that he wasn’t going to turn up his nose at any reunion, however impromptu.

“You’re going to get some poor guard fired,” he remarked with a smirk. Not really, though; he left most of the decisions on that to Donal and Grissom, but he wasn’t going to let anybody lose their job because Zev or Leliana liked to surprise him.

Didn’t mean that he couldn’t use it to improve security, though. “How’d you get in?” he asked, ambling forward and dropping into a chair beside the bed. One of these days, he was going to surprise the elf by taking a flying leap onto the bed beside him, but the sure knowledge that Zev would immediately up the stakes had so far kept him from it.
 

Zevran

The Black Shadow
Canon Character
DAO/DA2 Timeline
Posts
25
#3
“You’re going to get some poor guard fired,” Alistair noted, a smirk playing light upon his lips.

A transparent threat. Alistair would do no such thing. Guards, no matter how diligent, would not stand in Zevran’s way when he set his mind to mischief and this evening his motives were pure as the ivory skin covering the most sumptuous set of breasts.

“How’d you get in?” Alistair questioned before taking a seat next to the bed causing Zevran’s mouth to circle into a pout.

Slender fingers patted the coverlet in front of him. “This is far more comfortable than that,” his chin tipped back, gesturing to Alistair’s eat, “chair.” As if to demonstrate the statement, a delighted sign warmed his throat with the stretch his body out atop the bed.

If the King expected a direct response to his question, he would receive none. “My smile makes the most magnificent key. Leliana teases me for never learning how to open locks. But when one looks as I do,” he rolled slightly atop the bed to give Alistair a better look at his slender and muscled legs, “there is no need for lock picks.”

Such tactics, a flash of a smile, a whispered promise inside a wanting ear, had served Zevran well throughout the years. This evening, he earned his entrance into Alistair’s room in a different manner. The roof tops of the palace were some of Zevran’s favorite to scale.

Changing the subject, he explained his presence, “I leave for Kirkwall soon and I thought I might come see my friend before I depart. Now, how shall we entertain one another?” Coy, the corners of his mouth rose in a teasing smirk. “What memories will you leave me with as company during my journey?"
 

Alistair Theirin

King of Ferelden
Canon Character
Noble
Grey Warden
Post DAI Timeline
DAO/DA2 Timeline
Posts
77
#4
Zevran gave Alistair a reproving look when he opted not to join him. “This is far more comfortable than that chair,” he pointed out, patting the elaborate brocade of the duvet and stretching luxuriously.

“Oh, I know,” Alistair retorted. “I sleep like a baby in it every night. Real goosedown and everything. Still -” He patted the well padded arm of the chair. “This isn’t bad, either.” All of it was a significant upgrade from anything he had experienced in his life before becoming King, and if he occasionally felt a wistful twinge of longing for the days when he slept on the ground and woke among friends, on those nights when sleet was whipped against the window panes by driving winds, he would wake up long enough to listen and remember the times spent shivering in his tent in such weather, then roll over and drift back to sleep with a contented sigh, cocooned in blissful warmth and secure in the knowledge that a hot breakfast and tea were his for the asking in the morning.

He hadn’t answered Alistair’s question, and he likely wouldn’t. “My smile makes the most magnificent key,” he remarked expansively, putting said key on lazy display. “Leliana teases me for never learning how to open locks. But when one looks as I do,” he shifted and stretched his legs ostentatiously once more, making sure Alistair got a good look, “there is no need for lock picks.”

Possible. He was known to most of the palace servants by now as a friend to the King; it wouldn’t have been difficult for the elf to convince one of them to admit him, and since Alistair knew he wouldn’t get a straight answer, he chose to accept it. That he was here was good enough. “How have you been?” The elf had been present at the wedding, though they had foregone a repetition of the Remigold at the subsequent ball, but had vanished soon after as unobtrusively as the stray cats that slipped in and out of the shadows of the Market District.

“I leave for Kirkwall soon and I thought I might come see my friend before I depart,” Zevran remarked.

“Kirkwall?” Alistair sat up a bit, curiosity warring with concern … and more than a touch of envy for the elf’s freedom to make such a declaration without triggering a weeks-long flood of bureaucratic, diplomatic and security concerns that would have to be addressed before a step could be taken. About the only place that Alistair could decide to go spontaneously was the loo. “Business or pleasure? Or is Leli there?” He hadn’t seen the bard in months; he’d hoped she’d have made it to the wedding, but -

“Now, how shall we entertain one another?” the elf inquired, eyebrows arching and lips quirking into a suggestive moue. “What memories will you leave me with as company during my journey?"

“As though you ever lack for company?” Alistair shot back. He probably already had bedmates lined up … or maybe he just planned on trusting to his infallible luck to provide. “Besides, my wife has requested to be present if we ever decide to consummate, and she's a bit under the weather, so -” He shrugged. Revealing that was probably a mistake, but he’d pay that piper when the bill came due. This particular running joke had been going on since shortly after Aedan had ignored Alistair’s recommendation to kill the assassin that had just tried to kill them, and he no longer blushed like the virgin he had been. And he liked being able to say ‘my wife’. “The children would love to see you, but they’re already in bed.” Hopefully the elf would linger until morning. “We could sneak out into Denerim; I haven’t done that in a bit.” He’d tried to convince Constance to join him; she had declined, but seemed to understand the need which drew him out had nothing to do with sowing oats, wild or otherwise. She trusted him, and he repaid that trust by keeping his outings low-key: a couple of ales, a bit of gossip, maybe a game or two of cards or dice if he found some opponents that didn’t look as though they’d try to shiv him after a few lucky hands. “We could go to the Flagon.” Bernie could always be counted on to maintain his anonymity, and she had a soft spot for Zev.
 

Zevran

The Black Shadow
Canon Character
DAO/DA2 Timeline
Posts
25
#5
“Kirkwall?” Was that a touch of jealousy within the King’s tone? Alistair’s mixed feelings about his current circumstance was something Zevran was well aware of. In a way, he almost pitied his friend. His life was no longer his own in a way. Zevran well understood the restrictions of being bound by blood. He was free of his bonds now. Such freedom might never be Alistair’s.

“Business or pleasure? Or is Leli there?” Alistair asked, prying further into the purpose for Zevran’s trip.

If Leliana had not informed Alistair of her whereabouts, Zevran would not do so for her. He evaded the question with one of his own, asking how they might entertain themselves instead.

“As though you ever lack for company?”

Zevran tutted the King lightly at his quick retort, his tongue clicking against the roof his mouth and a reproachful light playing within the amber of his eyes. “I do not want just any company."

Alistair had a response for that as well. “Besides, my wife has requested to be present if we ever decide to consummate, and she's a bit under the weather, so -” He left things there. “The children would love to see you, but they’re already in bed. We could sneak out into Denerim; I haven’t done that in a bit. We could go to the Flagon.”

“To the Flagon then,” Zevran replied without a moment’s hesitation. As much as he liked to tease Alistair, the best mischief they could engage in would be outside of the palace and it would be nice to see Bernie once again.

With a cat’s grace, he removed himself from the bed in a single leap. “We shall see what you can do to convince me to stay the night with you, Alistair, so that I might see the children in the morning.” His brows waggled. He did love to tease the King after all.

“Now, shall I wait while you put on your,”
his hand flitted about in the general direction of Alistair, “James-mail?” Zevran did enjoy being the center of attention. Alistair did not so much when sneaking out.
 

Alistair Theirin

King of Ferelden
Canon Character
Noble
Grey Warden
Post DAI Timeline
DAO/DA2 Timeline
Posts
77
#6
“To the Flagon then,” Zevran agreed readily, rolling from the bed with a cat’s lazy grace, eyebrows arching suggestively as he added, “We shall see what you can do to convince me to stay the night with you, Alistair, so that I might see the children in the morning.”

“Maybe I’ll surprise you,” Alistair quipped, bracing his hands on the arms of the chair and pressing himself upright. It was as likely as sneaking up on Leliana or out-drinking Oghren, but he was already fairly sure that Zev would be around come morning, and for that, he would gladly play the fool … within certain limitations, of course.

“Now, shall I wait while you put on your,” Zevran’s hand made an expressive swirl in his general direction, “James-mail?”

“Won’t take long,” Alistair promised. The splint mail he’d been wearing at Ostagar had been replaced during the Blight - and the replacements had been replaced - as they found or had been gifted better pieces (he had flatly refused to use Cailan’s recovered armor because in the first place, the gold-plating had been entirely too garish for his tastes, and in the second place … yeah, no, not wearing the armor that his dead brother had spent nearly a year rotting in, thank you very much). But he’d had the Drydens store it for him at Soldier’s Peak, then retrieved it after his coronation. It was the first armor he’d worn as a Grey Warden, and much like the well worn and oft-patched tunic and trews that he kept well away from Ingram, there were memories tied to it, some bad but a lot of them very good, indeed.

He had no fewer than three sets of plate now: the steel plate that had been a gift from King Bhelen of Orzammar, a set of ceremonial armor made of silverite that looked lovely but would cave under attack from a butter knife (all right, maybe it wasn’t that flimsy, but he definitely wouldn’t wear it to fight darkspawn) and the set of Wade crafted dragonbone plate that he really, really wanted to test in battle one of these days. But he still pulled on the splintmail in practice from time to time; if nothing else, when it started feeling tight, he knew it was time to lay of thirds and fourths at meals.

Plus, it was a vital part of the kit of an unassuming (and totally non-royal) mercenary named James.

The nice thing about splintmail: you didn’t need any help putting it on. So it was that in very short order, he was armored, wearing a simple longsword in a scabbard at his hip and tugging on the nondescript cloak that completed the disguise. “Shall we?” he invited his friend with a flourishing bow. He had long since committed the routes through the secret passages in the palace to memory. A few of them led to some interesting places, indeed (such as between bedrooms), but the ones that he used the most often were the one that ended behind a cupboard in the kitchen and the one that came out in the gardens on the east side of the palace. He took the latter one now, leading Zevran past guards who pretended not to recognize him, but who would undoubtedly inform Donal that the royal bird had flown the coop. Which might mean that the Flagon would be getting a few more patrons, or not; he was with Zev, after all, and probably as safe as if he had a regiment about him. From bodily harm, anyway. Humiliation was another thing entirely, but he’d take his chances.

The routine at the Dragon’s Flagon was well established by now: Bernie recognized him on sight and didn’t make a fuss, nodding to indicate that his usual corner table was free, the slight widening of her smile the only public acknowledgment of Zevran’s presence. Gio, looking resplendent - or eye-searing, depending on your tastes - in blue and orange checked tunic and bright yellow tights, tipped them a casual wave.

“Game of darts?” Alistair offered, lowering the hood of his cloak, stepping to one of the boards and plucking the darts out, then returning to the table. “Blue or red?” he asked, holding out the two sets, leaving it to Zev to choose. A server brought two mugs of ale over. Alistair picked up his and took a drink, dropping into his chair, legs stretched out lazily in front of him.

“Why Kirkwall?” Zevran hadn’t answered before, but he hadn’t asked so directly.
 
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