You are going to make that face, aren't you? That 'I am trying not to be sad on your behalf but honestly Zev that is so sad' face? [ As ever, when quoting Alistair, Zevran trips into his impression of him, drawling Fereldan accent and all. It's a fair impersonation. ] Yes, I was born on first day.
[ Lies. Lies, but he would very much like to not have this discussion. Sleep, they were sleeping, why is this a thing? ]
I'm not making that face. That isn't a face I make.
[ Yes he is, and yes it is, but it's dark, and Zevran's head is against his chest, and for good measure he moves his hand to cup the back of his head and hold him there so he can't easily lift up to check. There's no proof. ]
Don't lie to me. I never lie to you. [ Except about the faces he's making. He's not serious; he knows Zevran knows. ] Do you know what season it was?
You are so. I can hear it, the way your eyebrows are full of feelings.
[ And the way his lips twist change the shape of his words from the fond 'aw zev' to the sadder 'aw zevran'. He endures the hand, endures the question knowing full well that it out of kindness. Mostly. ]
I was born in a brothel, Alistair. That and how old I was when the Crows bought me is all I know.
[ Ugh, Crows. Ugh, buying. There's a moment of palpable unhappiness—literally palpable, Zevran can probably feel his chest and his arm going all tense, and the interruption to his otherwise steady breathing—but he doesn't say anything. He exhales the tension out and uses the hand on Zevran's head to rub the back of his neck with all of the sympathy that Alistair isn't going to voice because it's stupid and useless and unwanted. ]
Well, you should pick one. A birthday. Choose one during your favorite season so the weather will be nice.
[ Even while it is no longer new to him- the tension and anger on his behalf is something to which he will never become accustomed. It is what it is- it happened, this is how he lives- getting upset about it feels pointless and yet- Alistair winces when he is bruised, bleeds when he is cut. It is a kindness he still does not understand- but he softens under his touch. Loops an arm around his waist to squeeze him back.
He's here. He's fine. He's survived it. ]
Why? Counting my age by First Day has been good enough.
If you like First Day you can pick First Day, but then you have to share with everyone celebrating all these other things, and it will always be cold.
[ He tugs on a strand of hair as a stand-in for another harmless, chastising poke. This will go much faster if Zevran plays along. ]
You do have to pick one. I'm no good at presents, but if we're going to be seeing more of each other for a while I can at least make sure you have a good day.
I do not mind giving you things on yours- but I do not see much point in celebrating mine. I failed to die for another year. Hurrah.
[ He twitches away from the tugging, actually going so far as to untangle himself from where he's pressed against Alistair and move away. If they are going to be awake he may as well be doing something. Like relighting the coals, Maker, it's cold. ]
I think it's more like, you failed to die for another year, hurrah, [ Alistair says, with too much enthusiasm for the hour, probably, but at least no jazz hands. He might have done jazz hands if he weren't lying down and busy shifting around to let Zevran disentangle.
In his wake, Alistair sits up to watch him, stubborn-and-sad-but-mostly-pleasant expression fading to something just plain concerned. ]
[ Little things he can fix. He finds his flint and steel to spark it, blowing a cool stream of air to ignite them- soon there is a warm glow for him to stare at rather than back at his bed. Their bed.
The bed. ]
It is not something that is done, not in the brothel and not in the Crows. Why make a fuss over it? I am alive. What more do I need to mark a day I do not remember and, on my worse days, genuinely regret?
[ It's sharp; a preface for don't say that, maybe even using his rare ability to sound fully commanding. But Zevran looks small, and cold, and unhappy even from the back. Alistair swallows it back. If nothing else—if he can't really understand—he can remember desperately, sincerely wishing he'd died at Ostagar, and how being told to snap out of it didn't help at all.
He stands up and brings a blanket up with him. Not for him. He's bare chested but just fine, very hardy and Fereldan and all of that. He drops it around Zevran's shoulders instead and stands next to him without touching him, because the urge to shake him by the shoulders until he loves himself as much as everyone else does is very strong and also very unhelpful. ]
[ He is cold enough, tired enough, and mentally weary enough that he can't push down the instinctual flinch- in that he doesn't flinch at all but rather go very, very still. It's deliberate care in how he does not flinch to that tone, flinching is baiting, flinching is inviting.
Safety in stillness.
He'd taken a chance, telling Alistair that last bit. He is trying this 'honesty' thing a little more often. His worse days do not come near as often as they once did back during the Blight; then it was rare when he had a good day in truth. But they do come.
And he does feel that way.
It's not enough to keep him from twitching at the drop of the blankets. He could fake being fine with it, paste on a smile- Alistair would know it for the lie that it is. ]
Who else would darn your socks and rub your feet when you are cold, mm? Of course you're glad.
[ That's not true at all. Alistair holds his hands—the only part of him that's cold—toward the coals. ]
You know you're the only friend I have who really chose me, right? Not during the Blight, I know you were... [ Under duress, or being a hero, or varying combinations of the two. ] But afterwards, you didn't have to write me, and you did. That's one of the nicest things anyone's ever done for me. My feet would survive without you, but the rest of me—ehh.
[ Overdone, wincing uncertainty, followed by a quick sideways glance to see if it's working at all. ]
If you pick a birthday, I'll rub your feet.
Edited (gotta respect duncan) Date: 2016-01-15 01:35 am (UTC)
...You are the first person to call me Zev without wanting to bed me.
[ It comes slow, dragged out. This honesty thing- it is honestly exhausting. But this is him, trying, because Alistair tries and has always been honest with him when it mattered. He can't think of a single time when Alistair has wronged him, has meant him harm aside from when he was trying to die. Looking at him now is- he can't say this and see him. Weary, he lists to the side, leaning against him. ]
You helped me stand after I attempted to kill you. [ Jonas couldn't be bothered. ] You didn't see a Crow. You didn't even see an elf. You saw me. You've always just...seen me. I wasn't going to let the first person I've known that did not want anything from me but was still kind vanish. Not after Rinna.
[ Alistair has his arm out to go around Zevran as soon as he starts drifting his way, though he accidentally knocks him a little in the process and ruins how smooth it could have been, but otherwise he stays still, listening, still worried about Zevran's mood but content. As content as he can be. The Wardens are in trouble, he can no longer remember what it was like not to have this song winding around every thought and through every memory like it was always there, a talking darkspawn is trying to destroy the world, but hey. He's important to someone who's important to him. That's luckier than some people ever get. ]
Guardian is even colder than First Day, [ he says, instead of anything sappy, but he might sound a little choked up. Not in a crying way, just. Manly emotions. You know. ] But if that's what you want, that's what you get.
[ It wasn't when they met- that was muddy and dreary and past. But it was when 'Zevran' became 'Zev', when Alistair went from someone that was somewhat wary of him to someone willing to take a blow. It is hard to forget such a thing- and he would never wish to put it behind him.
Whether or not Alistair realizes this, he won't ask. ]
It gives me an excuse to use you as my personal warmer.
[ He murmurs, turning to press his nose against the bare skin of Alistair's chest. Icy nose- icy hands. Such is what siblings do, yes? ]
[ This might not be what siblings do, but in Alistair's experience what siblings do do is never speak to you once in your life despite being king and thus able to speak to whomever the like, or ask you for money and tell you it's your fault your mother is dead, so he'll take this instead, whatever it is, thank you, even though it's rude. ]
Aahhhhh. [ That's not a startled or alarmed aahhhhh, though his muscles do twitch at the touch; it's flat, calm, a little affronted. Again: rude. ] Since when do you need an excuse? Honestly—
[ He doesn't realize, for the record. Zevran didn't become Zev all in one day for him, and it was a busy year, and he's bad with dates. But he knows Guardian is cold, and he knows Zevran doesn't like cold. Thus the icy nose. Alistair tries ushering him back toward the bed. ]
If you picked a day in summer I could try to find somewhere to take you that has scantily clad somethings.
I was of the opinion days of birth were less about wanting them at a certain time and more about significant events?
[ Busy year, busier months, and he doesn't expect Alistair to remember. Not even a little. He'd been wrapped up in trying to keep up with Jonas, deal with his emotions and Morrigan and miles of grief, with vengeance and disappointment and death.
So much death.
But they'd lived in their own way, made it through. Made their way afterwards. Zevran makes his way to the bed, tugging at Alistair's hands to get him to lie down first- he could curl wherever he liked once he was settled. ]
If we spend it in the North, there will still be scantily clad somethings.
[ He flops down on his side and squirms back toward the far side of the bed to make room, kicking at the remaining blankets to work them down where he isn't on top of them and they can be pulled back up. It's all very graceless. ]
What's significant about the fifth of Guardian? Give me your feet, I wasn't joking.
Fine, if you must. But your hands had best be warm.
[ He lounges next to Alistair, slinging his feet into his lap- laying back on the bed to stare at the stones above them rather than Alistair proper when he makes mention of this.
He doesn't want to see the face. ]
We were in the Deep Roads at the time. A glenlock came in at my right quicker than I could see. You took a blow to your ribs and were laid low long enough to be vulnerable. I killed the darkspawn and when I offered you a hand up, you said "Maker's Breath, are you ok Zev?"
[ He sounds like someone trying to sound like they're making a face, and also someone trying to remember one single day a very long time ago. In the meantime he grasps around for blankets to toss over Zevran so he doesn't freeze while Alistair makes good on the foot thing.
He does remember it, he realizes—marked in his memory not as they day he decided that Zev was his friend, that was earlier, but as the first time he got angry with Jonas. Cousland. For bringing people who could be corrupted into the Deep Roads and charging ahead instead of guarding them.
He shoves Cousland back out of his head and focuses on Zevran's feet. ]
I think I spent a few weeks wondering if I was allowed to or not. I tried it on Wynne, first—have you seen Zev, all casual. I wanted to see if she would look at me funny. Annnd she did.
[ Probably because his attempt to sound casual made him sound like he was up to something. Or maybe like he had a crush. It is odd and completely bewildering how people keep coming to that sort of conclusion about them, Alistair thinks, while lounging shirtlessly on Zevran's bed and rubbing his feet. ]
The Fifth of Guardian is pretty soon. Can I tell other people?
...is that why she cornered me to ask if I'd slipped past her in the night?
[ All stern eyes and thin frowns, glowering at him for having the audacity to seduce the young templar and bastard prince. It'd be something from terrible romance stories, to be certain, and much as he had made a few attempts? He'd stopped by the in favor of courting Wynne's favor.
Apparently he hadn't been paying enough attention. ]
If you must. I cannot think of any reason why you might.
[ He arches his feet in Alistair's hands, sighing quietly. ]
She asked— [ He needs a second to put one and one together, but then he snorts, grinning, and gives Zevran's toes a full-handed squeeze strong enough to pop any joints that are in need of it. ] I miss her. [ Genuine, subdued; he brightens quickly, though, to add, ] No one ever defends my virtue anymore.
[ As for Zevran's birthday—Alistair only grins, willing to let him be a skeptic if he wants to be. For now. One last gentle dig of his thumbs into his arches, then Alistair lets go of his feet and clambers and flops to lie alongside him. ]
I'm sorry I woke you up.
[ He isn't sorry, and he doesn't sound it. He sounds pleased with himself. But the arm he holds out to invite Zevran to re-nestle is a little apologetic, sort of. ]
She did. She lectured me. [ About the proper treatment of young wardens and young men and how dare he attempt to take advantage. The idea was somewhat laughable now; even if it drags up the same ache. A more familiar, less painful one is popped and rolled out by Alistair's hands and Zevran sighs with relief- he hadn't even known he needed that. ] I miss her as well. I still have that scarf.
[ Hung over the back of a chair, carefully tended to, worn under his armor to prevent it from being cut. Still.
happier thoughts, happier times. He rolls easily into Alistair's side, nosing along his shoulder until he found his comfortable nook. ]
No you aren't. You are ridiculous and focus on ridiculous things.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2016-01-14 05:18 pm (UTC)[ Oh no. ]
You are going to make that face, aren't you? That 'I am trying not to be sad on your behalf but honestly Zev that is so sad' face? [ As ever, when quoting Alistair, Zevran trips into his impression of him, drawling Fereldan accent and all. It's a fair impersonation. ] Yes, I was born on first day.
[ Lies. Lies, but he would very much like to not have this discussion. Sleep, they were sleeping, why is this a thing? ]
no subject
Date: 2016-01-14 05:50 pm (UTC)[ Yes he is, and yes it is, but it's dark, and Zevran's head is against his chest, and for good measure he moves his hand to cup the back of his head and hold him there so he can't easily lift up to check. There's no proof. ]
Don't lie to me. I never lie to you. [ Except about the faces he's making. He's not serious; he knows Zevran knows. ] Do you know what season it was?
no subject
Date: 2016-01-14 06:04 pm (UTC)[ And the way his lips twist change the shape of his words from the fond 'aw zev' to the sadder 'aw zevran'. He endures the hand, endures the question knowing full well that it out of kindness. Mostly. ]
I was born in a brothel, Alistair. That and how old I was when the Crows bought me is all I know.
no subject
Date: 2016-01-14 06:48 pm (UTC)Well, you should pick one. A birthday. Choose one during your favorite season so the weather will be nice.
no subject
Date: 2016-01-14 07:02 pm (UTC)He's here. He's fine. He's survived it. ]
Why? Counting my age by First Day has been good enough.
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Date: 2016-01-14 09:05 pm (UTC)[ He tugs on a strand of hair as a stand-in for another harmless, chastising poke. This will go much faster if Zevran plays along. ]
You do have to pick one. I'm no good at presents, but if we're going to be seeing more of each other for a while I can at least make sure you have a good day.
no subject
Date: 2016-01-14 09:31 pm (UTC)[ He twitches away from the tugging, actually going so far as to untangle himself from where he's pressed against Alistair and move away. If they are going to be awake he may as well be doing something. Like relighting the coals, Maker, it's cold. ]
no subject
Date: 2016-01-14 10:18 pm (UTC)In his wake, Alistair sits up to watch him, stubborn-and-sad-but-mostly-pleasant expression fading to something just plain concerned. ]
Are you upset?
no subject
Date: 2016-01-14 10:27 pm (UTC)[ Little things he can fix. He finds his flint and steel to spark it, blowing a cool stream of air to ignite them- soon there is a warm glow for him to stare at rather than back at his bed. Their bed.
The bed. ]
It is not something that is done, not in the brothel and not in the Crows. Why make a fuss over it? I am alive. What more do I need to mark a day I do not remember and, on my worse days, genuinely regret?
no subject
Date: 2016-01-14 11:20 pm (UTC)[ It's sharp; a preface for don't say that, maybe even using his rare ability to sound fully commanding. But Zevran looks small, and cold, and unhappy even from the back. Alistair swallows it back. If nothing else—if he can't really understand—he can remember desperately, sincerely wishing he'd died at Ostagar, and how being told to snap out of it didn't help at all.
He stands up and brings a blanket up with him. Not for him. He's bare chested but just fine, very hardy and Fereldan and all of that. He drops it around Zevran's shoulders instead and stands next to him without touching him, because the urge to shake him by the shoulders until he loves himself as much as everyone else does is very strong and also very unhelpful. ]
I'm glad you were born.
no subject
Date: 2016-01-14 11:36 pm (UTC)Safety in stillness.
He'd taken a chance, telling Alistair that last bit. He is trying this 'honesty' thing a little more often. His worse days do not come near as often as they once did back during the Blight; then it was rare when he had a good day in truth. But they do come.
And he does feel that way.
It's not enough to keep him from twitching at the drop of the blankets. He could fake being fine with it, paste on a smile- Alistair would know it for the lie that it is. ]
Who else would darn your socks and rub your feet when you are cold, mm? Of course you're glad.
no subject
Date: 2016-01-15 01:20 am (UTC)[ That's not true at all. Alistair holds his hands—the only part of him that's cold—toward the coals. ]
You know you're the only friend I have who really chose me, right? Not during the Blight, I know you were... [ Under duress, or being a hero, or varying combinations of the two. ] But afterwards, you didn't have to write me, and you did. That's one of the nicest things anyone's ever done for me. My feet would survive without you, but the rest of me—ehh.
[ Overdone, wincing uncertainty, followed by a quick sideways glance to see if it's working at all. ]
If you pick a birthday, I'll rub your feet.
no subject
Date: 2016-01-15 02:51 am (UTC)[ It comes slow, dragged out. This honesty thing- it is honestly exhausting. But this is him, trying, because Alistair tries and has always been honest with him when it mattered. He can't think of a single time when Alistair has wronged him, has meant him harm aside from when he was trying to die. Looking at him now is- he can't say this and see him. Weary, he lists to the side, leaning against him. ]
You helped me stand after I attempted to kill you. [ Jonas couldn't be bothered. ] You didn't see a Crow. You didn't even see an elf. You saw me. You've always just...seen me. I wasn't going to let the first person I've known that did not want anything from me but was still kind vanish. Not after Rinna.
...the fifth of Guardian.
no subject
Date: 2016-01-15 04:46 am (UTC)Guardian is even colder than First Day, [ he says, instead of anything sappy, but he might sound a little choked up. Not in a crying way, just. Manly emotions. You know. ] But if that's what you want, that's what you get.
no subject
Date: 2016-01-15 04:49 am (UTC)Whether or not Alistair realizes this, he won't ask. ]
It gives me an excuse to use you as my personal warmer.
[ He murmurs, turning to press his nose against the bare skin of Alistair's chest. Icy nose- icy hands. Such is what siblings do, yes? ]
no subject
Date: 2016-01-15 06:13 am (UTC)Aahhhhh. [ That's not a startled or alarmed aahhhhh, though his muscles do twitch at the touch; it's flat, calm, a little affronted. Again: rude. ] Since when do you need an excuse? Honestly—
[ He doesn't realize, for the record. Zevran didn't become Zev all in one day for him, and it was a busy year, and he's bad with dates. But he knows Guardian is cold, and he knows Zevran doesn't like cold. Thus the icy nose. Alistair tries ushering him back toward the bed. ]
If you picked a day in summer I could try to find somewhere to take you that has scantily clad somethings.
no subject
Date: 2016-01-15 06:24 am (UTC)[ Busy year, busier months, and he doesn't expect Alistair to remember. Not even a little. He'd been wrapped up in trying to keep up with Jonas, deal with his emotions and Morrigan and miles of grief, with vengeance and disappointment and death.
So much death.
But they'd lived in their own way, made it through. Made their way afterwards. Zevran makes his way to the bed, tugging at Alistair's hands to get him to lie down first- he could curl wherever he liked once he was settled. ]
If we spend it in the North, there will still be scantily clad somethings.
no subject
Date: 2016-01-15 11:22 pm (UTC)[ He flops down on his side and squirms back toward the far side of the bed to make room, kicking at the remaining blankets to work them down where he isn't on top of them and they can be pulled back up. It's all very graceless. ]
What's significant about the fifth of Guardian? Give me your feet, I wasn't joking.
no subject
Date: 2016-01-16 04:51 am (UTC)[ He lounges next to Alistair, slinging his feet into his lap- laying back on the bed to stare at the stones above them rather than Alistair proper when he makes mention of this.
He doesn't want to see the face. ]
We were in the Deep Roads at the time. A glenlock came in at my right quicker than I could see. You took a blow to your ribs and were laid low long enough to be vulnerable. I killed the darkspawn and when I offered you a hand up, you said "Maker's Breath, are you ok Zev?"
..it was the first time you called me that.
no subject
Date: 2016-01-16 04:50 pm (UTC)[ He sounds like someone trying to sound like they're making a face, and also someone trying to remember one single day a very long time ago. In the meantime he grasps around for blankets to toss over Zevran so he doesn't freeze while Alistair makes good on the foot thing.
He does remember it, he realizes—marked in his memory not as they day he decided that Zev was his friend, that was earlier, but as the first time he got angry with Jonas. Cousland. For bringing people who could be corrupted into the Deep Roads and charging ahead instead of guarding them.
He shoves Cousland back out of his head and focuses on Zevran's feet. ]
I think I spent a few weeks wondering if I was allowed to or not. I tried it on Wynne, first—have you seen Zev, all casual. I wanted to see if she would look at me funny. Annnd she did.
[ Probably because his attempt to sound casual made him sound like he was up to something. Or maybe like he had a crush. It is odd and completely bewildering how people keep coming to that sort of conclusion about them, Alistair thinks, while lounging shirtlessly on Zevran's bed and rubbing his feet. ]
The Fifth of Guardian is pretty soon. Can I tell other people?
no subject
Date: 2016-01-18 08:34 am (UTC)[ All stern eyes and thin frowns, glowering at him for having the audacity to seduce the young templar and bastard prince. It'd be something from terrible romance stories, to be certain, and much as he had made a few attempts? He'd stopped by the in favor of courting Wynne's favor.
Apparently he hadn't been paying enough attention. ]
If you must. I cannot think of any reason why you might.
[ He arches his feet in Alistair's hands, sighing quietly. ]
no subject
Date: 2016-01-26 07:17 am (UTC)[ As for Zevran's birthday—Alistair only grins, willing to let him be a skeptic if he wants to be. For now. One last gentle dig of his thumbs into his arches, then Alistair lets go of his feet and clambers and flops to lie alongside him. ]
I'm sorry I woke you up.
[ He isn't sorry, and he doesn't sound it. He sounds pleased with himself. But the arm he holds out to invite Zevran to re-nestle is a little apologetic, sort of. ]
no subject
Date: 2016-01-26 07:23 am (UTC)[ Hung over the back of a chair, carefully tended to, worn under his armor to prevent it from being cut. Still.
happier thoughts, happier times. He rolls easily into Alistair's side, nosing along his shoulder until he found his comfortable nook. ]
No you aren't. You are ridiculous and focus on ridiculous things.