Work Text:
Going after the murdered seemed like an every day quest for them. Hawke always wanted to save the world, one maniac at a time. What no one was expecting was for the ‘murderer’ to casually walk out and address them. What Fenris wasn’t expecting was for his Hawke to casually flirt with this ‘Zevran’ during the assassin’s explanation for why Nuncio was coming after him. He’d heard of the Antivan Crows, but Hawke apparently was dim on the details. This snide elf had taken down a Guildmaster? And countless others apparently? Despite his words, he seemed to be on a mission to take down the Crows entirely. What would have set…no, Fenris knew exactly what would have set the other on that path. If given the chance, he would hunt down every Tevinter magister and make sure they died a slow, horrible death at the hands of their own slaves.
He had all but opened his mouth to put his word in when Hawke agreed to let Zevran go. Zevran advised them to ‘take care’ of Nuncio, and Hawke didn’t take well to being lied to anyway. His fingers began to twitch in anticipation of the battle.
The battle itself was hardly worth mentioning. He and Hawke moved fluidly side by side, the bladed staff as much of a weapon in his hands as the mage’s magic. He’d long since gotten used to Hawke’s magic. He could feel it in the air around him, but it didn’t carry the same animosity as Danarius’ and it wasn’t tainted like Anders’. It was pure, even beautiful. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a blade glance off the shimmering barrier now surrounding him. He looked over at Hawke, and the mage winked at him before freezing the nearest mercenary with a flick of his fingers.
When the last of them fell, Fenris twisted Lethendralis and hooked it into the clasp on his back. By the time he turned around, Zevran had jogged over to Hawke, and he scowled, stepping closer.
“I will be on my way then…unless you wish to get to know each other better, Champion?”
Before Hawke could even speak, Fenris’ hand went back to his sword, a snarl curling on his lips.
“That depends on how far you wish you push that luck of yours.”
“Ah!” Zevran smiled. “I see then. You have your own elf.”
“I am not his elf.” Fenris snapped, and Zevran tilted his head.
“But…”
“We are together.” Hawke’s voice carried a hint of laughter. “But he doesn’t belong to me.”
“Ah!” Zevran chuckled. “I understand. I was once a slave myself, before the Crows purchased me. Besides, I’m afraid I am all bark and no bite. I cannot help but flirt, it is who I am, but alas! I am a married man.”
Varric snorted behind them. “You? Somehow I find that hard to believe.”
“Everyone does!” Zevran tossed up his hands. “I lie about many things, but not about this. Yet no one believes me! They especially do not believe who my husband is.”
“Okay, I’ll bite.” Varric grinned. “I’m a sucker for a good story. Who are you married to?”
Zevran gave a little waggle of his eyebrows. “The Hero of Fereldan.”
“You’re full of shit!” Anders yelped behind him. “I met him at Vigil’s Keep, you were nowhere.”
“Ah, so you must be Anders!”
Anders paused. “H-How did you know my name?”
“He wrote of a blond apostate he conscripted at Vigil’s Keep.” Zevran smiled. “Said that you reminded him of Alistair.”
“Alistair? King Alistair?”
“Yes.” Zevran smiled. “You do know he traveled with us before he was king? My Warden and King Alistair were the last Grey Wardens after Ostagar.”
“And how did you end up with them?” Varric prompted.
“The traitor Loghain hired the Crows to eliminate all remaining Wardens.” Zevran leaned back, looking up with nostalgia. “It was not a particularly fair fight, and the Wardens killed my entire team. Except for me. My dear husband spared my life in exchange for my assistance. I swore my life to him, and well, who could not fall for a face like mine?”
Fenris narrowed his gaze, for there was something behind Zevran’s words, like he couldn’t believe his own story. How could someone like the Hero of Fereldan fall for an escaped assassin with a entire guild vying for his head? Fight to protect him? Love him?
Fenris looked over at Hawke, sighing softly. How indeed.
“I don’t believe it.” Anders shook his head. “There’s no way you’re married to the Hero of Fereldan. They don’t even marry men in Fereldan.”
Before Zevran could answer, the sound of horses—a lot of horses—alerted them to someone’s approach. Zevran turned, sprouting up an outcrop of rocks and Hawke followed him. They stayed hidden until a parade of horses could be spotted. Zevran crept towards the edge of the rock, and Fenris watched him narrowly. What was he doing? There were dozens of guards down there.
Fenris’ eyes widened when Zevran suddenly leapt out, and there was a cry below as he landed on one of the men riding by, dragging him from his horse. The guards were instantly on alert, shouting as they tried to figure out where the threat was, and Anders swore as a man in gleaming armor turned, riding down the column.
“Stop! Stop, he’s no threat!”
“King Alistair…” Anders whispered.
The circle of guards slowly cleared, giving Alistair room to reach the man Zevran had tackled, and now they could see the two of them on the ground, Zevran straddling the other, peppering his face with kisses.
“Andraste’s ripe holy tits…” Varric breathed.
“Zevran!” Alistair shouted, laughing. “Let him breathe.”
Zevran sat up, looking up. “But I have to check all of him and make sure he’s still there. All of him. With my lips. It’s important.”
Alistair turned pink, shaking his head. “You two are going to be the death of me.”
“You’re not a virgin anymore!” Zevran called after him. “You don’t get to blush!”
Zevran disappeared behind a wall of guards once again as Alistair spurred his horse on, but he appeared again on horseback behind the same man he’d tackled onto the ground.
“Wait, wait,” He smacked the man’s shoulder, pointing over to the rocky outcrop.
Hawke stood up and stepped down to meet them. Fenris followed quickly, not trusting the elven assassin. Varric was just standing there, committing the scene to memory, and Anders ducked down to hide.
Zevran poked the man’s side. “Give me money, I must pay my associates.”
The man chuckled, digging out a few sovereigns and passing them to Zevran. Zevran passed them to Hawke.
“Thank you, my friend.” Zevran lifted his head back to his husband. “My love, this is the Champion of Kirkwall.”
The other leaned down to offer Hawke a hand. “Pleasure to meet you.”
“And you, Warden-Commander.” Hawke gripped his hand firmly. “You better go, you’ll lose the escort.”
The Hero shrugged. “I was thinking of losing them anyway. I haven’t seen my husband in two years. We have some catching up to do.”
“Well, if you decide to stop in Kirkwall, you’ll have a couple drinks waiting for you at the Hanged Man, courtesy of Varric Tethras.”
“HEY!” Varric shouted from the rocks.
“Maybe we’ll see you there.” The Hero nodded, then Zevran wrapped his arms around his waist and said something in his ear that had him shaking his head.
“And tell Anders I said hello.”
Hawke laughed, and the Hero covered Zevran’s hands with one of his own, spurring the horse around, chasing after the King. Anders slowly unfolded himself, watching them go.
“Huh. I really never knew he was married.”
Varric turned on him. “Why didn’t you tell me you knew the Hero of Fereldan!?”
“Oh, I thought I did. He was the one who conscripted me into the Wardens.”
“You little shit!”
Fenris moved a little closer to Hawke as the two argued about them. “I suppose…if someone like Zevran can end up with the Hero…there might be hope for us.”
Hawke turned, and slid an arm around his waist, their armor clinking together. Fenris stepped forward, touching his forehead to Hawke’s, and felt Hawke’s hand splay over his lower back, firm, but not confining.
“Well, whatever happens, I’d rather have you.”