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“I don’t know if I can do this.”
They were lying in bed, housed in the spacious quarters Eamon had so generously provided. It was luxurious, compared to the little tent they had been sharing for so many nights now. It was late, but who could sleep at a time like this?
Both of them were pressed together, in each other’s arms, bare skin to bare skin. It comforted the Dalish elf like few other things could, and right now, he needed it.
“Ah, but you are the kind of man who will do it regardless.” Zevran held his lover close. Theron’s hair was loose and unbraided, allowing the assassin to drift his fingers through it. “One of the many reasons I adore you.”
But instead of relief, or reassurance, guilt flooded Theron’s heart, and Zevran could not help but notice as the Warden’s face fell.
“I have to tell you something,” Theron admitted in a whisper, then told Zevran about Morrigan’s offer. He spoke of the matter with such horror, as though he had contemplated the murder of an innocent, but Zevran’s only response was a raised eyebrow.
“That’s it? Sleep with a beautiful woman, to save both your lives? And there was real debate over this?”
The Dalish elf huffed. “It is not that simple!” He struggled to find the words, but the common tongue was failing him. “We are bonded,” and he frowned, for that word simply did not bear the right weight. “Our fates are intertwined. It would not feel right, giving myself to anyone but you. It was out of the question. I could not do it.”
Zevran grinned, but he understood. “I know, but I would not have blamed you. I would have rather you lived. Besides, Morrigan is quite easy on the eyes. Alistair could do a lot worse, for a first bedmate.” He flashed the Warden a roguish grin. “You should have told me. I could have given him some tips, or even these roots from Antiva, to chew on for stamina.”
The other elf smiled, despite everything. “I think the last thing he wanted was to prolong it. Probably just wanted it to be over and done with.”
“What a shame.” Zevran clucked his tongue. “A virgin should enjoy their first time.”
“Duty over pleasure,” Theron sighed.
“Is that the Grey Warden motto? No wonder you are all such a grim bunch... All three of you, anyway.” The Warden swatted at him, out of loyalty to his brothers. Zevran sniggered, continuing, “And speaking of easy on the eyes, that Riordan…” The assassin let out an exaggerated purr, rolling his tongue. “If you like the rugged type. And his Orlesian accent is very charming - though not quite as seductive as an Antivan one, of course.”
He made Theron giggle, at least. “I can’t disagree with you,” was all he would concede. After a while, the Warden spoke again, hesitant. “Riordan… being the eldest, it is tradition that he slay the archdemon, but should he fail…” The gloom had overtaken the Warden yet again. “This might be the last time we…” He could not finish his sentence. He glanced at Zevran, and for the first time since knowing him, the assassin saw fear in his eyes.
“And it also might not be,” insisted the Antivan, with vehement false cheer, though he was not wrong.
The Warden snorted. “You’re normally the more pessimistic one.” But still, there was sadness in his face. And what could Zevran do, except cheer his beloved up?
“When all this is over,” the assassin said, stubbornly ignoring the unspoken ‘if’, “I would love to take you to Antiva. The sights, the smells! And, you will finally taste food with actual seasoning. No more of Alistair's grey Fereldan stew. Imagine!” He grew animated, in the way he always did when speaking of his homeland. This time, Theron chuckled, and it seemed his mind had turned to happier thoughts, to Zevran’s relief.
“That does sound wonderful.” The Dalish elf threaded his fingers between Zevran’s. “In return… Would you come with me, to find my clan?”
“Of course,” Zevran said, without hesitation. He lifted the archer’s battle-scarred hand, just to press a tender kiss to it. “There is still the matter of making an honest man out of you.”
“It’s not me we have to worry about making an honest man out of,” the Warden grinned, poking the other rogue in the ribs, who wriggled in discomfort and protest.
“Still, I would like your keeper’s blessing,” Zevran said, in a tone rarely this serious.
Theron looked him in the eye, even if he already knew the answer, deep down. “You’d do that for me?”
As if he even had to ask. “I am about to fight an archdemon tomorrow for you, amore,” Zevran pointed out, smirking. “There is little else I would not do for you.”
Some of the fight seemed to come back into the Warden. “It is settled. I want the bonding ceremony of my dreams, and no one, least of all a bloody archdemon, is getting in my way. I have planned this since I was a boy, damn it!”
“Since you were a boy?” Zevran peered at the other elf curiously.
“Oh.” Theron paused, his outrage stemmed for the moment. He looked a little sheepish. “When we were little, Tamlen and I used to stay up late and talk about what our ideal bonding celebrations would be like,” he explained. “Like what you would wear, what food you would have, who you would invite. Tamlen once said he wanted a statue of Sylaise the Hearthkeeper, carved from halla butter, as the centrepiece. I told him that was ridiculous, and we didn’t speak for three days.” Theron paused, noticing how nonplussed his lover looked. “Do... do other people not do that?”
“I’m sure they do,” Zevran answered, but his tone verged on patronising, and the corners of his lips were threatening to quirk up. “Well then. We must make haste, and slay this archdemon at once, so that my Warden can have the bonding celebrations he desires.”
A look of steely resolve passed over the Warden’s face. “I have spent hours planning what I will wear, to look as magnificent as possible. If you do not weep at the sight of me when I walk out of my aravel, I’m turning around and going back inside to change.” A thought occurred to the Dalish elf. “Remind me to recruit Leliana for this purpose. She has excellent taste in fine garments.”
Zevran snickered. Like him, his Warden had a flair for the dramatic. “I’d better watch her back in battle tomorrow, then. We can’t have your fashion consultant being eaten by the archdemon, can we?”
“Funny, it’s normally my rear you have your eye on.”
Zevran laughed. Theron was so close he could feel it rumble within the other’s chest. “Never fear. I shall do both. I am quite fond of you two.” And he was. They were all comrades now. It was strange, considering how the Warden’s companions had shown him such animosity when he’d first joined their motley crew, though Leliana had always been the kindest to him. It was just her nature. “And I know you will be watching over me with your keen archer’s eye, hm?”
The Warden gave him a weak smile. The idea of failing at this task scared him like few other things did. Even his own dying did not terrify him so. “I will try my very best, vhenan.”
“Oh, do not be so modest. You are a master archer. I know you will keep me safe, my sweet.” Zevran pulled his beloved close to soothe him, stroking a slow hand down his back. “I have more faith in you than I do in the Maker.”
“So no pressure then,” the Warden mumbled into the assassin’s chest, his reply a little muffled.
Zevran let out a small chuckle. “It is the utmost honour to be able to fight with you. And if I die, at least it will be by your side in battle. A glorious way to go.”
“No!” Theron lifted his head to protest, in dismay. “No one is is allowed to die tomorrow. I forbid it.”
“All right. The Warden has spoken. So it shall be,” said Zevran, in his most placating tone. Slyness crept into his smile. “Just out of curiosity… how do the Dalish, ah… consummate their bonding ceremonies?”
“We do it on a large canopy bed, in the middle of a forest clearing, surrounded by every member of our clan, who throws flower petals on the couple the entire time,” was the Warden’s deadpan response.
“Maker’s breath. I did not realise the Dalish were quite so adventurous in their lovemaking,” Zevran said, his eyebrows threatening to disappear into his hairline, but the grin on his face was a salacious one. “A tall order, but I do love to work in front of an audience.”
“I’m only joking, Zevran. How would we even get a canopy bed into a forest clearing?” Theron rolled his eyes. “To answer your question, the couple retires to the aravel set aside for them at some point. Usually on the first night of the two-day festivities. If they can wait that long.”
Zevran had a faraway look in his eye, as he pictured the scene. He sighed. “I know I would not be able to.”
“Not with the outfit I have planned.” Theron smirked.
Zevran let out a groan of longing. “No more delays, then. Perhaps we could slay the archdemon right now?”
“I am surprised you would wait until then, vhenan. Considering we are in bed with each other already,” the Warden teased.
“Ah, but we have a big day tomorrow.” Zevran tucked a stray lock of hair behind the other elf’s ear. “Slaying an archdemon requires much beauty sleep.”
“Oh.” The familiar little furrow formed between the archer’s brows. “I just thought you’d want to… You know. Given the circumstances.”
“Amore, I desire only your company. We do not have to make love tonight if you do not want to.” Zevran kissed his beloved on the forehead.
Trust the rogue to be a gentleman at a time like this. “But I do want to,” Theron insisted. “I don’t want my final thought when I face the archdemon tomorrow to be ‘Oh, I should have had lain with my lover last night!’” And if they only had tonight, he thought, but did not say, then at least he would have one last embrace with his love.
“Well, when you put it like that...” Zevran let out a low chuckle, allowing his hands to wander past the other elf’s waist. It had required the utmost self-control before this, not to let them roam too far. “I believe I can arrange that for you.”
The Warden laughed, as Zevran rolled the other elf onto his back, straddling him in one graceful movement. Theron beckoned him closer, wanting their mouths to meet, but his lover’s parted thighs were all the invitation Zevran needed.
“And here I thought these thick stone walls would spare us the noises for once,” Alistair sighed. He and Riordan had, unfortunately, been given the rooms next to the elf Warden and his Antivan bedmate.
“Can you blame them?” Riordan replied, lying back on his bed with his hands behind his head. He was staring at the ceiling, a smile playing at his lips. “I think it’s sweet, two lovers fighting side by side in battle.”
“Sweet??” Alistair threw up his hands in exasperation. “You haven’t had to put up with that infernal moaning night after night, coming from the tent next to yours. It’s unbearable!”
Riordan grinned at his comrade. “Still. I am sure the bards will sing tales of their love, long after they are gone.”
“And I will pay them to go away,” Alistair grumbled, pressing his pillow around his ears. It was going to be a long night.