Work Text:
Erina backed away slowly from the ugly little magic-slinger in front of her, just as a glob of something green and painful-looking landed at her feet. She continued to back up, looking for a weakness in his armor, looking for a chance to get behind him, looking for Alistair to come distract this idiot away from her.
Her back collided against a leather-clad body, and for a moment, she panicked. It wasn’t until she heard Zevran’s laugh that she relaxed, itself a confusing revelation. She glanced over her shoulder to see that she and Zevran stood back-to-back, facing separate foes.
“Going somewhere, sweet Warden?” he called.
“Shut up and fight your bad guy!” Erina echoed, but a smirk was growing on her face.
“Wanna swap?” he asked, ducking the fist of a larger, skeleton-esque hurlock.
“I have a better idea. Walk toward your guy.”
“Ah,” he hesitated, “there are easier ways to kill me, you know.”
“Zevran. Trust me.”
He didn’t offer any further objection. She felt them move a few paces backward, and Zevran began striking at the hurlock to parry and dodge his blows.
“Now crouch!”
Wordlessly, Zevran obeyed her order and bent his knees low to the ground. Feeling his back slipping, Erina braced herself and placed excess amounts of her energy into her calves and core. Using the ground as a launchpad, she leapt backward into a single flip, over Zevran and the hurlock, landing gracefully at the hurlock’s back.
Now flanking the beast, the elves’ daggers sank into the stinking, tainted flesh of their enemy with increased precision. The hurlock fell, gagging on its own disgusting blood, leaving Zevran and Erina panting at each other in its absence.
“Clever, spry, Warden,” Zevran praised her, grinning.
Erina smirked, wiping her brow. “Not so bad yourself, blondie.”
Zevran beamed. “Did I get any blood in my hair?”
“No, you vain—DUCK!”
“I’m a duck?” Zevran managed to ask before a bolt of lightning hit him in the back. Blue tendrils of electricity spun webs down his arms and ionized his hair, and he fell to the ground groaning in pain.
Erina threw a dagger at the genlock, which struck true in its eye and distracted it for a moment. She sank to a knee, shaking Zevran.
“You alive?”
“Unnngh,” he replied. “Quack.”
Erina laughed, grabbing him by the hand and hauling him to his feet. “Fight’s not done yet.”
“Is it ever?” he whined.
“Nope.”
Grabbing his daggers from the ground, he observed, “Life with you is never dull, I suppose.”
Erina rolled her eyes. “Yes, because I’m here for your entertainment.”
“Promise?” Zevran waggled an eyebrow.
“You may be the death of me after all,” Erina sighed. “Go fight something.”