faderift | [ CLOSED ] THE ANTIVAN CROWS SEND THEIR REGARDS

Stronghold

When the dust has settled and the battle ended- through death or fire or flight- if there are any prisoners to interrogate or time to better examine the scraps of scrolls and ciphers left behind by the Crows, now is the time to do so. None shall come till dawn and by then it is best to be back on the road, returning home.

The Ride Back

While on the road Zevran is quiet, withdrawn. It takes the better part of a day for the worst of it to clear out of his system and even then? He seems as though he is in a daze, nodding along with conversation well enough; though sudden movement and sound causes him to go sharply still, an antithesis of a flinch. By the third day on the road scraps of his humor return, even if they are forced.

Edited 2016-02-04 20:16 (UTC)

"I say we kill them." Just in case anyone thought Beleth might be joking about the fate of their current prisoners, she had her bow drawn, arrow pointed right at the face of one of them. One slip of her hand, and there would be an arrow impeded in his skull. It was pretty tempting to just go ahead and do it. They deserved it.

And she'd promised that she'd kill everyone responsible.

"Crows aren't able to be interrogated. They're trained to withstand torture. You saw--" She faltered, and suddenly it was a lot harder to not let that arrow fly. "I'd rather not have them die feeling smug about our failure. We can just do it quick and painless and head out." And who said she wasn't merciful?

Sorry are we keeping them alive? Taas is already lifting his axe, ready to cleave their heads in one swing. You don't take prisoners in a situation like this - you kill everyone and set everything else on fire, salt the earth, and move on.

Sorry, but that's not the way this goes.

Bull's already reaching a hand to grab hold of the axe and halt its progress, eyes narrowed. "They surrendered. That means they're given quarter," he growls out. Not like he doesn't want to carve bloody vengeance out of them himself, but this isn't how they conduct themselves.

Not how he'll let them without having a say, anyway.

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Beleth is not usually someone that inspires a great deal of intimidation, and when she goes over next to Zevran, she channels as much meekness as she can. Her movements are slow, and careful, as nonthreatening as possible. She doesn't want Zevran to feel that she's any danger to him.

For a while, she doesn't say anything, letting silence settle between them. She's not even sure what there is to say, really. It's going to be alright? You're safe now? Would those help at all?

In the end, she leans her shoulder against his, a solid weight to let him know that she's there, that she'll always be there for him. She holds out to him a flower she picked while they were traveling--a silly little thing, but it couldn't hurt. Hopefully.

His eyes- his eye tracks her as best he can on her approach. It isn't even that the right is a ruin, cut and full of blood and slowly mending as a cateract. No amount of blinking or rinsing has given him back the vision, no amount of healing cured it. Still he tries and it gives him a headache but- she sits, he allows it. She leans and he- he does not flinch. He carefully does not flinch, outwardly appearing calm, but his shoulder against her is knotted tight.

The flower is startling enough to coax out a frown. There had not been flowers in...

He reaches out to take it, turning the stem between his fingers. No poisonous. Not a weapon. A new shade of the game?

Edited 2016-02-04 22:24 (UTC)

"It smells nice." Beleth comments quietly, leaning down to sniff at it, as if to demonstrate. She's watching his body language carefully, eyes fixated for any sign of discomfort. This is, oddly, easier for her to deal with than the stronghold. They're alive, there's nothing to kill, and no risk of her getting others killed. It's dealing with people, and that's what she's good at.

But it kills her that it's Zevran that she has to do this for.

"And it's pretty. Fragrant and pretty, just like you." She doesn't stop leaning against him--he's tensed, but she wants him to associate the feeling of a person touching him with good things. With compliments and happy thoughts. "Remember how you scolded me about how I needed to soak more? Maybe I'll do that when we get back. Even use some of those fancy soaps, so I start smelling like a flower, too." A gentle smile. "You can use them too, if you want."

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He leaves Zevran to more tender hands for the first few days, though he stays within line of sight. Keep an eye on their backs, making sure no one gets the drop on them on the return journey. He doesn't need to verbally affirm with Zevran that he's there. He just is, persistently.

It's not until the third day rolls around that he sees slivers of the elf starting to surface, even if they're just scraps of another mask. He pauses beside him as they're packing up, eye resting quietly on Zevran where he rests.

"Still here?"

He doesn't ask if he's alright. He isn't. That's plain enough for anyone to see, and he won't insult him by asking.

"More or less." More honest than he'd like but- any twist of humor he could manage is slow in coming. The worst of the fog is gone but there remains a shaken uncertainty about him. Is he here? where is here? What had they done to him, is this another trick, another ploy-

But not even the Crows could know how he'd come to trust the Iron Bull. He was everything they were meant to fear. Powerful and canny. Fingers stumbling a little over the laces of his pack he tries, for the third time, to knot them. "Does it become easier?"

The eye. If Anders has not been able to mend it by now...

He'd thought so, when he first looked at it. He might not lose the eye, but it wasn't going to be doing him any good from here on out. Not unless the healer had a miracle or two up his sleeve.

Bull sighs quietly. "It's always gonna be a pain in the ass," he admits. "But you got two for a reason. You're still alive. Always room for improvement, then."

Regretting it now was just a waste of time. Thought for Zevran that might be harder to put into practice. He's still got those shakes, still raw on the edges.

"Want a hand with that?"

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They've made their second camp since leaving the Crow's base, which means it's time to trade the tiring act of riding for something far more satisfying but also far more draining. Anders sits down next to Zevran slowly, carefully.

"It's me." His voice is quiet. He knows the Elf likely already knows who it is, and that doesn't matter. Experience being hunted, dragged, beaten, all of it, helps Anders here, even though he's never been actually tortured. "I'm going to get back to work on healing you. Is there anywhere that's bothering you more than the rest?"

He can cast and find the worst injuries, but it won't tell him exactly what Zevran's feeling. If Anders can alleviate some of the pain first he'll be happier. Less suffering, less trauma. Less guilt. Not like he could have stopped the Crows, but after what Zevran's done for him, he wishes there'd been a way.

The fog lingers- whether it is the magic, the opium, or whatever else the'd poured into him while he was hanging on that hook, Zevran cannot say. No venom or poison he's ever known did this; turning a man's mind against itself. Anders approaches and Zevran goes quietly still from where he'd been picking at the stitching of his cloak. Something mindless and meticulous to remind him that here is here.

That this is real.

Even if he remains ever uncertain.

His throat clicks when he swallows, but he manages the words. "My eye." Anders has likely done all he can for it but- he does not want to think of living without being able to see with both eyes.

Anders looks down for a moment before lifting his hand and casting, seeing what he can do to ease the pain.

"I... I can't fix it completely. I'm sorry. I can't even tell you that there might be a spirit healer alive who can." Maybe Wynne could have pulled it off, but the damage the Crows did is precise as if they knew exactly how to thwart a healer. Which, considering the Crows, is possible.

"Would you like to be touched, or would you like me to keep my hands off while I help?" He'll fully understand either, and as much as he longs to touch the Elf, Zevran's wants come first. By now the pain should be easing as Anders soothes nerves and repairs what damage he can.

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Taas remains near the elf at all times, but gives him a bit of space, instead focusing on things like food, bedding and tea for him rather than talking. He's not good at talking, he's a soldier, not a Tamassran or Ben-Hassrath. He's not sure what to say, what he could do to ease the turmoil that had to be going on inside Zevran.

Instead he cares for the little things, the vital things that could be glossed over.

Zevran, someone he would call 'kadan' as a friend... fuck, he couldn't think of a word to use for a lover that meant the same, but it was close enough. Maybe it worked? Damn good in bed, but also someone who always made him feel like a good person, who affirmed that he had made a good choice that day a long time ago.

So when he finally sits down next to the elf, he's quiet; just being strong, big and warm next to that battered body, ready for anything.

The further along they travel the better able he is to pull scraps of himself back together. To paste together a crooked mask to hide the depths of nothing that he can't fill. Even then he isn't certain it's worth it-

This might not be real.

But Taas is warm as they head back down into the chill. Taas is quiet- he does not look at him with pity or with some manner of grief, does not look at him with guilt. He is simply there. The lack of conversation is one that Zevran is deeply grateful for. Even with the fire he still shivers. Still feels wracked with the chill of that room. It doesn't take much to lean. Push his face, his wrong, marred eye against Taas' arm so he wouldn't have to cope with not being able to see.

Taas offers to let Zevran lean close, moving to lean his arm at the elf's back - not holding or steadying, just draping it there so he could warm more of the man's body and let him leech whatever he wanted. Warmth, strength, company.

There were no words after an experience like this. None he knew. He just remembers needing to find a rock to cling to after the explosion that took his hearing, and so that is what he can offer.

A rock, for Zevran to lean to, to scream, to hit, to do whatever he needs without judgement or fear. Taas is big and warm, a great mountain, and he offers footing on the climb up from that deep, dark place.

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"And what distraction can I provide you with today?"

In the past, the words have been used playfully, a knowing smile as his gaze might have wandered over Zevran, unabashed. It was a game, and it was fun.

He knows the line, and right here when Twisted Fate speaks, it's softer with patient eyes. There are few who will really understand, and he's far from claiming to assume he'd know how Zevran feels right now. Far from okay, and eventually he expects Zevran will pretend otherwise.

It's what he would do.

It's been long enough that he feels somewhat settled in his skin. Has more than one mask to pull up- but at least it is Fate who has never asked more than he can give nor expected anything other than what they share. Familiar enough to settle him without the glinting, painful bite of guilt and pity he finds in Alistair's company, Zevran extends a hand that yet trembles to snag Fate's. Tug him closer.

"Let us see if you cannot show me one of those card tricks, yes? I think I have it now." Something simple. Something mudane. Something he can do to steady his hands.

He tries to not make it obvious, how his eyes become curious as he watches how Zevran pulls him closer. There's no struggle, and certainly no judgment. It's a simple mental note before he moves on with a faint smile. Less his usual smug smirk and almost relaxed looking.

"What a confident bravado," Fate says. "We'll see, hm?"

His shoulder lightly presses against Zevran's as he pulls out his cards, because of course Twisted Fate brought them with him. They're close enough to everything to him, a source of comfort and something to do. When he shuffles them in the tavern, no one would ever know if he was tense and trying to distract himself or if he was bored with nothing to do.

Here, it's slower, comfortable, as he lets Zevran's eyes become distracted.

"We'll start simple, I think." Because he has seen before how those hands have shook, with every reason to, but he doesn't call attention to it. "Here."

A single card is taken, and with ease as if he was breathing, Twisted Fate twirls it between his fingers.

"Pick a card?"

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"Zev."

Alistair is still outside the tent flap when he speaks, ducked down to look inside. There are a few things he does know better than to rush into head-first without regard for the danger, and one of them is a recently traumatized ex-Crow.

But it's only a warning, and it's me, not a request for permission. He's coming in either way. He's sitting down on the ground next to Zevran's pillbug form; he's stretching his legs out ahead of them and twisting one sideways just enough to give him a very gentle nudge with his knee. He can't sleep, personally, now that he's been relieved of guard duty for the captives and finally has a chance to. But if Zevran can, or wants to ignore him, that's fine. Alistair will just sit here.

"Why." It's the one thing he cannot put together. He was taken, he was as good at dead- why? He wanted to be left- no. Not wanted.

Couldn't bear another round of watching someone with Alistair's face haggle for his worth or bare their throat to his knife and wait with the promise of relief behind making that last, fatal cut. Even now, even this is suspect. It's warmer, that much is certain, but-

Why.

why?

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It's a while before Korrin seeks Zevran out. He has plenty of people checking in on him and she doesn't want to overwhelm, after all. Besides, she has no idea what might help him, at this point. Her expertise is in battle, not the aftermath. Not like this.

Still, whenever there's a chance as they stop and Zevran isn't surrounded, she'll approach. There's no intent to surprise him, not that she can; Vashoth aren't built for stealth. Giving him a decent amount of personal space, Korrin sits down where he can see her, and takes out a bottle from her travel bag. Her expression is neutral or as much as she can make it, knowing she wouldn't want pity or dramatics were their roles reversed. "More orzata, if you want it. Detlef's probably stuffed you with all the healing you can handle, so have something different."

She's out of healing potions anyway, thanks to that last, brutal fight.

There is healing for the body- which has been done to the best that Anders can manage- and there is healing for the mind and the soul which- well. Zevran is on his own in that respect. But little things, small things, like the sound of the group around the fire at night, the warmth of a body next to him- or this.

Something so far removed from the Crows and what they've put him through that he's sitting in stunned silence at the offer. For his birthday (had that truly been only a short while ago?) a bottle and now? He takes it with hands that still shake, mumbling a soft 'Grazie.'

Uncorks the top and takes a sip and it is sweet, spiced, and soothing. All he needs is the warmth of a sun and the crash of the ocean. Eyes closed he can almost feel the hot air from the port combing through his hair. "If I have to drink another healing potion in the next few days- I may scream."

sliiiiiiiiides

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ombranera - 2016-02-05 23:27 (UTC) - Expand

Can they end up a snuggly pile? Qunari pillows are good for that.

gatheringstorm - 2016-02-05 23:41 (UTC) - Expand

i vote yes

foxsays - 2016-02-06 16:00 (UTC) - Expand

Yes, yes they can <3

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foxsays - 2016-02-23 22:19 (UTC) - Expand

Once everything is said and done, and they're heading home, Beleth feels bone tired. Worn and frayed, like one of her scarves before she has to toss it (this current one, after everything, is will due for that). She doesn't even have any clanmates to lean on. It's as bad as when she was first separated from her brother, she has a missing limb and she has to carry on even with this missing limb.

It's not surprising that eventually, she sees Taas sitting alone by the fire, and decides to approach. She doesn't want to be selfish enough to break down on him, but surely it couldn't hurt to just...offer some comfort, and get it in return? So she maneuvers so Taas can see her approach, and flops next to him.

"How are--" An issue presents itself. Sitting next to Taas makes it awkward for them to turn to face each other so he can read her lips. She has to think on this, but an idea comes to her, from when she and Sorrel wanted to talk in the Aravel, when they didn't want their parents to overhear. Gently, she reaches for his hand, and if he lets her, will use her finger to write letters slowly and carefully on his hand, occasionally looking up to make sure he understood.

'Are you doing ok?'

He watches her as she comes to sit next to him, and she looks like shit. A tired, frazzled little elf, and he has to remind himself that not everyone is a soldier. Not even he came out of that without nightmares.

For a moment, he's not sure if she wants to talk or just have a bit of company, but when she takes his hand in her (tiny, so tiny) one and draws letters into it, Taas would be a complete idiot not to get it.

"Yeah. Yeah, I'm doing okay. We got him out, that's what counts." He turns his head to look at her, a small smile on his lips. "Question is, how are you?"

The Aftermath and Ride Back

The Aftermath: The leftover Crows

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The Ride Back

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The Ride Back

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Ride Back

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The Ride Back

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Ride Back

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Ride Back

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