#Cyna Mahariel

[hunnybadgerv]

Happy DADWC! Could I request a bit of ❛ i’m not wearing any underwear. thought you’d like to know. ❜ for your Mahariel and Zevran?

Summary: Zevran’s revival attempts after battle can be quite unorthodox.

a/n: A DADWC @dadrunkwriting prompt from @imperatrixvini for Cyna and Zevran. “I’m not wearing any underwear. Thought you’d like to know.”

Battle Prowess

Cyna hopped onto a boulder in an elegant motion, but her advantage on the field was short-lived. She managed to fire two arrows at the caster standing at range near a tree, before an orge barreled down on her. One more shot, she thought, then dove a few seconds too late to clear it’s grasp.

One meaty clawed hand caught her ankle and yanked her toward the ground. A cloud of dust from the side of the road choking and blinding her momentarily. She couldn’t even groan properly, but she pulled one leg up and grabbed the knife from her boot flinging it at the beast. It stuck into the hide of its neck, only pissing it off more.

It screamed at her; hot, rancid breath like rotten meat, blood, and death tried her gag reflex. It took one crashing step toward her, looming menancingly as she tried to get back to her feet.

A roar rose to her left. To her right a taunting gutteral yell and the bashing of metal and wood rang across the field. The air crackled with magic around her, making the hair on the back of her neck prickle up. These were the sounds she’d grown to expect, appreciate. They gave her comfort.

A flash of black fur and thick muscle placed itself between the elven ranger and the ogre, offering Cyna enough time to get out of their paths.

It was only a matter of seconds, but it felt like too long. She fired freely, backing up with slow even steps to put more distance between herself and their enemies. Once the ogre was swaying from the beating, Morrigan, Alistair, and Zevran imparted, her green eyes went back to the caster.

Taking a chance at making herself a target again, she hopped onto the fence post along the road and readied her shot. The only thing that moved were her fingertips, she followed through and never took her eye off the target. In a smooth motion from her hip to her cheek she knocked and fired three more arrows, all of them sinking into the shoulder, torso, neck, and finally eye of the magic weilding darkspawn. But it wasn’t quite fast enough.

The spell he cast, didn’t fizzle, but hit her like a fist of rock, tossing her into the grass a few feet away.

“She’s fine,” Wynne yelled to keep everyone focused.

Cyna coughed violently, clutching her ribs with one hand and reaching for her bow with the other.

“Relax.”

The warden did not possess the temperament to listen to an order of that sort. By the time she reached her hands and knees to pull herself up to her feet. There were several pairs of boots in her eye line, familiar pairs of boots.

“We got ‘em,” Alistair pronounced with a smile in his voice. She could almost imagine it from the sound of his words alone.

Mahariel opted to sit back on her calves and breathe for a minute or so. “Check the bodies,” she told her fellow warden.

He replied with a nod and the others joined him.

Well, at least she thought they had. Until she felt a tickle against her cheek.

“I hope I didn’t distract you my dear Warden,” Zevran trilled against the shell of her ear.

She said nothing, just pulled in heavy breaths and coughed up dust from time to time.

“You see, I’m not wearing any underwear.”

She nearly choked on a laugh.

“Thought you’d like to know,” he pressed a kiss against her cheek and started to walk away.

“And here,” she chuckled between attempts to catch her breath, “I didn’t think you owned any.”

Zevran’s laughter was lyrical, rich, and light, like playful music from a festival. He spun and winked at her.

[hunnybadgerv]

@oxjenayxo tagged me for this. It was kind of fun. I decided to make Cyna Mahariel, because that's who came to mind with the cute little beastie.

Tagging: @chyrstis, @twistedsinews, @alyssalenko, @theoriginalladya, @foofygoldfish, @painterofhorizons, @shallow-gravy, and anyone else that wants to take a stab at it.

I just found this beautiful picrew! it's so cute I'm crying,, check it out!!

credit: @carr0tkake | Link

tagging @raleigh-edward, @dimis-yiddies, @robintora

if you do/don't want to be added to be tagged in future picrew posts lmk!!

[saintedfury]

((Let the New Zealand wine flow. I’m participating in a drunk writing circle tonight. So, I’m actually going to go all in and fully participate this evening.

If anyone wants to support this decadent and tipsy endeavor the prompt are here.

Though they are for Dragon Age Characters--I have three: Cyna Mahariel, Aderyn Hawke, Rhys Trevelyan.))

[hunnybadgerv]

Happy Friday! I am back to request Cyna Mahariel / Zevran Arainai with “I want you right here.” from the desire prompt list!

Summary: The cool waters of the stream Cyna finds to bathe in get a little sultry.

a/n: Written to address a DADWC @dadrunkwriting prompt sent by @anders-did-nothing-wrong for Cyna Mahariel/Zevran Arainai—“I want you right here.”

Here and Now

Cyna cupped the crystal cool water and poured it over her dry, aching skin. Every inch of her felt parched and cracked, like their time underground had aged her by centuries. She couldn’t believe the heat down there. One would have thought living beneath the surface might prove cooler, but the lack of a discernable breeze just made it sweltering. There were places where it bordered on temperate, and some where the Deep Roads felt dark, dank, and cold like death. But near Orzammar and some of the thaigs it was like standing too close to a fire.

Just thinking about it inspired her to dunk herself completely under the surface of the stream once more. As she stood, she pushed her dark hair off her face and looked up at the bright full moon hanging huge and close in the sky. Letting her hands drop to her side, she stared, studying the patterns visible and clear on its surface. It spurred stories in the back of her mind.

“Did you know—”

Cyna turned, ducking as she spun and came up with the dagger. It landed in the rocky back near his feet.

“Now, my dear Warden, is that any way to greet the love of your life?” Zevran replied. He crouched and plucked up the weapon and studied it. “Or to treat such a fine blade?”

“When you’re wandering about peeping, it most certainly is,” Cyna replied. Her fingertips danced across the surface of the water that lapped at her hips.

Zevran just grinned at her. “I would prefer to call it ‘keeping watch.’”

With a gentle laugh, she shook her head. “You can call it whatever you wish. Doesn’t distort the fact that you were skulking at the edge of the water, hoping to covertly catch a glimpse.”

He pressed one hand to his chest with practiced drama. “You wound me. I am not some common boy just seeking out his first glimpse of the curves of a woman.”

“Certainly not,” she agreed, turning and moving out into the deeper and colder water.

She smiled when she heard the sound of leather slap against her own discarded armor. It had taken him longer than she’d expected.

“If you had told me—”

“Where’s the fun in that?” she called over her shoulder. “I thought you found the chase at least half the fun?”

Zevran’s warm laughter echoed off the still water. “Indeed. Should I take that mean you intend to be prey this evening?”

Cyna turned again, and her assassin halted. “When have you ever known me to be prey?”

“Ah, only before I met thee, mi amor. And then only because I was an ill-informed fool.” He gestured rather dramatically, still carrying the dagger she’d thrown at him.

When he got closer, he laid the flat of the blade across the base of her throat, crossing over one clavicle. There was not even a sliver of threat in the gesture. He gazed into her eyes with a smirk and a quick raise of his eyebrows. “Now, where might you have been hiding this, my dangerous beauty?”

Her tongue pressed over her lips as she tipped her head, staring into his eyes. She let her leg move against his in a way that would reveal the sheathe belted around her calf. His smile tilted with lust, the mere idea of her wearing absolutely nothing but a blade played tricks with his mind.

“Oh my!” He stared down at his hand, moving it over her supple skin as he returned the blade to its proper place. When his head turned back toward her again, she was so close he could feel the warmth of her skin radiating between them. Her every breath teased his lips with ghosts of many kisses and the promise of so many more left to share. “I do have a weakness for deadly women.”

“I’ve noticed.” Cyna tilted her head the other direction, managing not to touch him at all as her leg sank back into the water.

“You have a keen eye. And sharper discretion.”

“Flatterer.”

“Speaker of truth,” Zevran countered. This game could be intoxicating. The water shifted between and around them as they kept the barest sliver of space between their bodies for the gentle night breeze.

Cyna laughed loudly, raucously.

Zevran’s smile lit his eyes.

“I adore you, Zev.”

“That, my dear Warden, is because I am simply irresistible.”

Her eyes twinkled when she looked up at him. “You do have your moments.”

Gasping in shock, he shifted back a step. “Moments?” He turned, his long blonde hair flicking cold drops of water at her.

She giggled and sputtered dramatically. “I want you.” The words were barely audible above the splash of water against skin, but she knew he’d heard her.

He glanced over his shoulder at her. “Pardon. Did you say something?”

Cyna knew how much he loved to hear her ask for it, speak her desire for him. “I,” she stepped closer to him, “want you,” her hand came to rest on his chest, “right here.”

A wicked grin curled his lips. Before her next heartbeat, he embraced her as his lips landed firmly against hers. This too was part of the game. Temptation, promise, and fulfillment. She needed him, all of him, in every way he offered himself up to her. It was the only way she could see this through. Cyna clung to his lithe body partaking of his radiance under the watchful gaze of the full moon.

[hunnybadgerv]

Snowball fight prompt for whoever you’d like!

Cold splattered on the side of his head, falling into the collar of his cloak. Zevran turned on the spot, not seeing who threw it. He knew, just knew it had to be Cyna. He took a step away from the cliff’s edge and only caught the flash of white in his peripheral vision. 

A chill shook through him as snow sneaked beneath his armor and started melting. “Oh you sneaky minx,” he yelled, dashing in the direction the snowball came from. “When I find you my Warden, and I will find you, I will exact my revenge.”

He followed the sound of crunching snow, until it halted. Zevran froze too, his eyes skimming the forest for the least sign of her. But he found none.

Another shot hit him in the back of the head. He spun on his heels, eyes rising to the trees.

“Ah, ha.”

Cyna laughed, a bright, full sound that rang in the cold air. The sound instantly warmed him to the core, as well as the grin she wore. “For an assassin, you’re an easy target.”

“I wasn’t trying to go unseen, my Warden.”

She tossed another snowball in a gloved hand. 

“Don’t you dare,” Zevran warned.

Cyna’s smile broadened. “What are you going to do? Punish me?”

The former Crow’s smile curled with mischief. “Sounds like that’s exactly what you want.”

“And if it is?”

“Then all you had to do was ask, amor.”

Cyna chuckled, her eyes dancing with playfulness. “I thought you enjoyed the thrill of the chance,” she countered.

When she threw the snowball at him, Zevran ducked. When he faced her once more, he noticed she was gone. He knew Cyna was lithe, had seen it in battle more often than he’d like to know, but seeing her launch herself from branch to branch amused him. She seemed to just know where to jump and land to make her way through the trees.

It took him a moment to realize she was getting away and he took off after her. His gaze never left her, either her form or the flutter of her cape. But she never looked back. She wasn’t looking to see how close he was; she focused on where she was headed.

He was sure she was leading him toward something. The thought made him smile as his breathing started to become heavier. He let her lead, never overcoming her, even once she jumped to the ground.

Eventually, she ducked into a cave. He followed, and quickly found himself whirling around. His back slammed into a cold wall, then her lips crashed against his. Zevran’s arms circled her waist and pulled her body against his. 

“Why were you pelting me from the trees?” he asked.

“You weren’t paying attention,” she whispered against his mouth. 

“And this?”

“A surprise,” she said, as she nibbled his neck. 

“I do enjoy the occasional surprise.” He brought her lips to meet his then stuffed a snowball down the back of her cloak.

Cyna broke their kiss with a screeching gasp. “Zevran!”

He laughed and pulled her back into his arms. “I told you I would exact my revenge.”

[hunnybadgerv]

Through the Smoke | Vir Tanadhal | Dragon Age

Summary: In war decisions are made that not all will agree with or like.

a/n: Inspired by a prompt from @katalyna-rose. Thank you so much for this. Though I’m not sure I managed to capture the extra angst. Written for @dadrunkwriting sorry that it took so long. Thank you again for the prompt.

Links:  AO3 | FFnet

Through the Smoke

Smoke billowed in the distance. A sure sign that the armies of Ferelden were hours behind the Darkspawn force descending on Denerim. Perhaps it was a trick of the wind, but keen hearing made the elf certain he could hear screams on the whipping breezes that rushed through the trees and stirred up the dust kicked up by more than a thousand feet trudging through the Bannorn. They’d marched for hours, some of the force marched for more depending on where their journeys began—an army built of elves, dwarves, mages, and men of the Bannorn conscripted to the service of Ferelden by the remaining Grey Wardens to replace that force lost at Ostagar. A few miles outside the city with pillars of black smoke rising behind her, Queen Anora rallied the troops, praising Cyna Mahariel as a stand-out among the Grey Wardens, a true daughter of Ferelden.

Zevran snorted a quiet laugh. He knew the truth. Cyna hadn’t been born in the borders of this land. Her people had migrated here after.

The blond noble, whose own father was a reason for her husband’s death and the ravaging of the land, rallied the troops with a cry to avenge Cailan. It drew vibrant cheers from much of the human contingent. But what struck home more sharply among the crowd, himself included, was her cry to show all Grey Wardens that the people of Ferelden remembered, and honored their sacrifice.

What Zevran recalled keenly more than any of the queen’s words was the way Cyna Mahariel, “an elf raised to the ranks of the Grey Wardens” as Anora put it, shied away from the praise the armored blond woman tried to lay about her shoulders. She and Alistair stood to the side stoic and calm, knowing their place was at the front of this force, not only because of their station as the last two—no, three now that Riordan finally arrived—remaining Grey Wardens in Ferelden, but also as a beacon to rally and inspire the troops. Their fight, their blood, their determination would encourage the others to the same—that was the thought in times like this, Zevran told himself. The leaders must be at the front, an example to the others. Yes, that was the logic. It felt foreign to him.

He worked in the shadows, in the quiet. Not out in the open. Even so he watched the spectacle for what it was, a show. Anora would be nowhere near the fighting, he was certain. His place was amidst the army, with the Grey Wardens’ company, as he’d been for months now. A single Crow could do little to excite or prop up anyone’s bravery, he knew. But none of that force looked to him, their eyes were on the wardens, on Cyna.

Staring at her brought back near memories. She had visited his room the night before in Redcliffe. Neither could claim to be well rested for the battle ahead, but they were still primed for the conflict that was unavoidable. Even so, worry spun a tight web around Zevran’s spine. Both last night and as the army closed on an embattled Denerim, he could sense something in her. A tightness in her body, a distance in her eyes. He could not put a finger on it, but he could feel it. Despite his certainty, he did not inquire, then or now. He did not push. In truth, he feared knowing the answer behind why they spent the entire night in one another’s arms, drinking deep from the cup of lust and love.

It was easier to ignore the reasons. Easier to rush the gates of the city and cut a swath through the darkspawn horde to their tainted Old God than it was to face the truth that he somehow knew in his heart.

Or so he thought.

The pillars of dark smoke that had been defined at a distance became nothing more than a swirling mass that moved to blot out the sun as gouts of flame licked into the sky belching forth more. It turned the sky unnatural shades of red streaked with gray. At the gates Riordan rejoined the company Cyna commanded. Told her of his plan to draw the dragon to Fort Drakon, then suggested splitting her band—the ones that had traveled with her so far—and leaving half of them to defend the gate from any darkspawn reinforcements.

Zevran saw it in her eyes even before she nodded her agreement. She would leave him behind no matter how he might argue that his place was at her side.

As always, the warden was pragmatic in her decision. A keen strategic mind lay behind those mesmerizing green eyes, even so, he wished he could affect her decision.

“Alistair, Wynne, and—”

The Crow wanted to hear his name. Here her request him to remain at her side even to the last moment of this battle. He stepped forward even as Mahariel called another’s name.

“—Morrigan. With me. Sten, I need you to lead these men. Hold the gates. Do not let the darkspawn pass.”

She shared a word with Leliana. Then Dog, the beast sensing she was leaving him behind too, nudged at her thigh. She scratched his clipped ears and nuzzled its forehead, speaking to it in Dalish. Dog barked a few times, and there was a soft laugh from her in reply. “Be valiant,” she told the hound before she stood again.

When her gaze fell on him, Zevran couldn’t disguise the hurt in his heart. “So, it is here that we part ways,” he said, his inflection almost turning the statement towards a question. He stepped toward, her taking her hand. It was the wrong time and the wrong place to broach the subject, but he needed to know. “You do not with me to stand by you in the end?”

“Zevran.” Her bare fingers traced his cheekbones. “I … I don’t want to put you in harm’s way.”

“Oh, now you worry about my health?” he laughed. It forced the corners of his mouth upward, but only long enough to make their fall into a frown more obvious.

She mirrored it, closing the scant distance between them.

“In truth,” he told her, “for the chance to be by your side I would storm the Dark City itself. Never doubt it.”

“I know,” Cyna replied.

Her reaction surprised him. The velvety softness of her lips brushed against his, the kiss deepening quickly.

“Whatever happens, Zevran,” she said against his mouth as her vibrant gaze met his, “I love you.”

“Cruel to the end,” the told her. Fear cracking through his heart and his voice.

For so long, he thought his faith in her knew no bounds, but as she slipped out of his arms and turned away he worried. Feared that this might be a challenge she may not be up to task for. He watched her, every single step, as Cyna walked into Denerim. Darkness wrapped around his heart and squeezed when she looked back over her shoulder at him before disappearing into the smoke with her bow in hand. She left him. Left him to wonder, and worry.

Would he ever see her again? Would he ever know the feel of her hand on his cheek? Her lips on his?

In an instant, a panic set in. He hadn’t paid enough attention. He couldn’t recall how her lips felt against his. Taking a step for the gates, he felt a thick hand against his chest.

“She needs us to hold this gate,” Sten stated.

Looking up into the sharp features of the hornless qunari warrior, Zevran felt hollow. The words rang true. Safe was a relative term, he knew. While she would not take him with her to face the dragon, Zevran and her other companions were only slightly safer than those she led to the fort. A far-off screech signaled all the fighters at the gate that more darkspawn approached.

Zevran met Sten’s gaze again and nodded once. She needed him here. He would not let her down, even if this might prove his final act of devotion. As he turned, daggers now in hand, a look of determination etched itself across the Crow’s features. As long as he drew breath, no more darkspawn would enter via this gate. He would not disappoint her.

He would hold that gate until he saw her again, even to his very last breath. That she could be certain of.

“Hold!” Sten called out to those companions and soldiers as the force rushed toward them.

[hunnybadgerv]

For DWC - “I’d like it if you stayed" for your ship of choice please :)

Summary: A lazymorning that shouldn’tbe all that lazy.

a/n: Written tofill a prompt from @stargeant. Thank you very much. Sorry it is on the shortside.

Sunrise

The chilly mountain winds sneaked through the flap of thetent, tickling bare flesh and raising goosebumps. Cyna grumbled into the pillowand pulled the blanket over her shoulder, baring Zevran’s pert rear to the cold. The assassin cuddled closer,pulling back a bit of the thick furry cover. The warden growled. Her hand hadfisted tightly, which brought Zevran that much closer. He tugged gently at herwaist and covered part of her back with his own body.

“Zev,”she mumbled beneath him.

He didn’twant to be awake, so kept his eyes closed, despite the hint of sunlightbleeding through the canvas of the tent. Burying his face between her shoulderblades, Zevran attempted to hide from the encroaching day.

Cyna hummed and shifted beneath and beside him. He didn’t know quite what state ofwaking she was in, but he was stoic in his beleif that it was far too early towake. Soft caresses. Twittering birds. The whistle of the wind. Each soundeventually registered in the sleepy fog of his mind. Then her soft laughteraccompanied a tug at the arm looped around her middle.

“Zev,I need to get up.”

“No,you don’t,” he muttered against her back. He pressed a kiss there for goodmeasure.

“Thesun’s up.”

“So?”

Cyna laughed and wiggled. Zevran, true to his role assleeping lover, kept his eyes closed against the sun and its threat to end thatmoment he wanted to extend. “We’vegot to pull up camp if we want to make it to Orzammar.”

“HangOrzammar,” he mumbled, nuzzling into the dark curve of her neck.

She chuckled when his lips teased at her skin. “Zevran Arainai.” Cyna had aknack for speaking his name in that same way a mother might. It was almostlecturing, though still quite loving.

“Yes,my dearest.” He grazed the length of her neck with the tip of his nose. When agentle moan escaped her lips, he pressed a kiss against the thin skin there.

“Wereally should leave as early as possible.”

“Itis very cold out there.” Another kiss, placed inches below the first.

“It’swinter. We’re in the mountains,” she argued, her fingers burying in his hair ashis mouth continued its track toward her collarbone.

“Indeed.You shouldn’t leave without proper warming.”

Finally, his eyes opened, but only once his lips hoveredabove her exposed nipple. Just the waft of his breath brought it to a tautpeak. He stared at her, poised to take it into his mouth.

“Zev,”she said. It was part plea, but held a note of scolding, like she stillcouldn’t decide is she wanted him to set her skin alight or not.

“I’dlike it if you stayed,” he said.

That’sall it took. A simple request. When she shook her head, Zevran latched his lipsaround her nipple and sucked at it fervently. Her back arched in his arms,fingers tightening in his golden hair of spun sunlight. The low moan she letout surely would inform any awake companions that they would be setting outlater than planned.

Zevran turned all his attention on Cyna. Kisses trailed overher skin. Their hands clasped at some point, and he waylaid their march toOrzammar with the woman who had stolen his heart somewhere along the way.

[hunnybadgerv]

A Warden in Need | Dragon Age: Origins | Vir Tanadhal

Summary: Cyna Mahariel is a creature of habit, but Zevran enjoys finding seemingly innocuous ways to interfere with them.

a/n: Writing to fulfill a DA DWC Writing Prompt—”If I was blind I would see you.”— sent by @motherofgriffins (aka @distractthegoddess ). Thank you so much for the wonderful request, and sincerest apologies for taking so long to fill it.

Links: AO3 | FFnet

A Warden in Need

Zevran stared across the camp, even in the low light of a waning moon Cyna still stood out at least to his keen eyes. She pushed long, thin fingers through her short, inky hair in an effort to get it to dry faster in proximity to the fire. Her free hand scribbled notes in a tattered old journal that she always kept close.

He wondered if it were her truest confidante. Certainly, she shared things with him, but in her openness, he always found something lacking, like there was some greater truth beneath each word, each look, something that she could not or would not share with him. Like any good mystery, it intrigued him.

Standing, he walked away from the fire unnoticed. Creeping around the edge of camp, the assassin came up beside her.

“Warden?” With that single first word, the book slammed closed. As he sat on the ground beside her, she glanced over at him. “What is it that you write about so furiously?”

“Just making notes on our journey,” Cyna replied with an ease that suggested truth. But the tapping of her fingers on her knee gave her away.

Zevran leaned toward her. “I do love it when you lie to me, Warden.”

Her eyes narrowed at his accusation.

“It takes one to know one,” he added. Then he moved a hair closer. “I’d be glad to help you spice up a boring log.”

Cyna just stared at him for several breaths, then the book and quill fell between her legs as she grabbed his collar. Zevran hummed as her tongue pushed past his pliable lips with a hunger that inflamed him.

“Andraste’s knickers,” Alistair called out. His exclamation was quickly followed by the unraveling of a tent flap.

The pair of them chuckled against one another. Zevran shied away from nothing. If the warden wanted him then and there, he had no qualms. Sadly, she broke their passionate kiss and stood. He followed her to her tent when she crooked her finger at him in a come hither gesture.

When he ducked into it, he tossed his shirt into the near corner, pleased to find her doing the same. He’d peeled out of his in the handful of steps between the fireside and her tent. His eyes raked over her tawny skin in the candlelight. The flickering flame added strange shadows that only accentuated the long lean muscles that bunched and flexed beneath her skin.

Both stared at one another, moving like two disparate beings staring at one another through mirrored glass. They slipped off boots and socks with almost synchronous gestures. Deft fingers unlaced trousers, letting them fall to the ground with quiet rustling. Then they teased a moment at the waistbands of small clothes. Zevran was already half-hard by the time he stepped out of the last vestige of his clothing. It left him a few precious moments to tease her as she unfurled the band that kept her breasts from interfering with the aim of her bow. Or at least that’s the reason the Dailsh elf gave him once when he inquired.

Unbidden, he knelt before her, placing his thumbs on her labia to spread them enough for his tongue to delve between.

“Zev!”

How he loved hearing his name on her lips, even shortened with surprise as it was. It made him greedy. His tongue darted out again—another slow lick and a swirl around the rising nub at the apex.

Her breasts unbound and the cloth discarded, her hands delved into his hair. He hummed against her and she cried out again. Too many women were reserved, even in pleasure. Cyna’s freedom of enjoyment excited him, emboldened him. Slipping her leg over his shoulder, Zevran thrust his tongue into her. Cyna dug her nails into his scalp, holding on for balance and encouragement.

He hissed against her, savoring the sharp bite of her short nails against his skin. Zevran didn’t shy away from pain during sex. Quite the opposite, for him it could be the best kind of foreplay. It spurred his hunger for more, more of her. Pressing his tongue flat against her, he brought his mouth back to her clit and sucked it hard into his mouth.

“Creators!” she gasped, her head falling back. Her knee buckled a moment, but the warden caught herself. The reaction only buoyed his resolve.

Zevran could only imagine the way her eyes screwed shut tight against the sensations his clever tongue inspired; he could almost see the way her lips parted to allow those panting breaths to swirl around them in the low light. He stared up at her body with nearly insatiable desire. The tip of his tongue fluttered through her folds with lascivious ease. Finally, he gave up her flesh only long enough to lick his fingers. One teased into her slowly as he wrapped his lips around her clit once more, giving it a firm suckle.

The shudder in her moan made him smile against her. Single-minded in his focus, he worked that single digit into her, teasing at first. He savored the response of her body as much as her vocalizations—rapid quivering in strong, supple muscle. Her body flexed tight around his finger.

In a come hither gesture of his own, he curled his index finger against that rough spot inside her. He stared upward at her as he placed measured licks over her sensitive flesh. Her nipples were taut, one hand tugged and squeezed at her breast. Her chin rested against her chest and from time to time her green eyes found his before a flick of his tongue or calculated suck screwed them shut again with a reverberating moan.

Her other hand remained in his hair. Sometimes she tugged and pulled, there were tender caresses as well where she threaded her long fingers in spun gold silk. When her hand fisted tight in an attempt to hold him fast, he knew she was close. Cyna didn’t like to give up her release, especially when she was at the precipice.

“By Mythal, Zevran,” she grunted, her hips rubbing against his face with her own need and greed. It made his cock twitch. She came with a moan that no one in camp could have mistaken, missed, or slept through.

Her shameless enjoyment of him excited Zevran even more. He licked at her, hands moving over her legs waiting for the tremors to subside. But her fingers twisted in his hair and pulled his face away from her body as she sank to her knees before him. Her lips crashed against his, the sharp smack of teeth pulling a groan of discomfort from both of them, but it faded quickly. Pain outweighed pleasure as their tongues thrust against one another.

Zevran captured her bottom lip as Cyna broke the kiss. He sucked at it, his teeth tugging it with him. With the hiss passing through her clenched teeth, he grinned and gave it another sharp suck before letting go.

The hunger in her eyes threatened to consume him. Her nose nestled beside his, and that shade of green of her eyes, like the sun filtering through a forest canopy filled his vision. Her fingertips danced over his flushed skin with the lightness of butterfly wings. The sensation stood in exquisite contrast to the forceful manner she’d used on him when he happily buried his face between her thighs.

One ethereal stroke from a single well-calloused finger plucked at the sensitive tip of his cock, making it jump as if begging for her attention. The fluttering renewed, traveling over his thighs and stomach and chest, making muscles jump beneath featherlight touches.

Maker, he wanted her. Every muscle in his body seemed attached to the desires of his now aching cock. Even in the back of his mind, he could see it play out—pushing her backwards, and as her knees were already opened wider than his he could settle his body right between her thighs without a thought. In a heartbeat, he could bury himself into her wet cunt, prop his hands above her shoulders and pump himself to his finish with wild abandon.

He groaned at the thought, it fell deeper as that same touch flickered against his balls. His sack tightened. When her fingers continued along the length of his shaft, Zevran’s jaw tightened, locking a growl low in his throat as his eyes closed.

“Will you do nothing but tease me, my warden?” he asked when he blinked his eyes open once more. His lilting voice was drenched in honey.

Her smile sparkled in her eyes and crinkled them at the corners. “This is the only time I see your restraint in action.”

“So, it is a game?”

“No. No game. I enjoy seeing you struggle against the base desire that you’re so free with in the world. You speak freely of sex and desire, but you’d never take it without the permission to do so.” She stared at him, then slid her cheek against his, placing her lips at his ear. Her whisper tickled against his skin. “Even if in the back of that naughty, beautiful head of yours all you can think about is how my body would feel against yours. How I would welcome your cock and spur your release.”

His eyes slipped shut. A sound rumbled in his chest when her fingers danced that same inflaming but infuriating dance around the head of his cock. The groan and his breath strangled in his throat when at the same time her lips clamped around his earlobe and her hand gripped his shaft, giving him a firm pump in stark contrast to the delicate flit of her fingers.

“Cyna!” he gasped, his hips chasing her touch as it pulled away.

“Tell me you want me, Zevran,” she whispered against his neck as she placed slow wet kisses down toward and over his shoulder.

His cock ached for her touch to return, but her palms pressed gently over his ribs. “Yes. More than anything.”

He hissed as her tongue burned a trail up his throat and ended in a sharp bite. “What will you do to me?” she asked, as her plump lips brushed against his.

“Anything and everything you desire.”

“Tell me.”

The pleading in her voice made him ache. And as she scratched down the center of his chest past his hips, Zevran hissed in anticipation of having her touch him again. But her hands parted and continued down his thighs, raising a displeased but rapacious hiss.

His mind fogged with desire, taking far too many heartbeats to clear. “It would be far too easy,” he started, giving her nipple a tug. “Your legs are already spread. One push and I could bury myself in you before you even catch your breath.”

“But that’s not what you want, is it? I thought you preferred a challenge.”

His tongue darted out over his lips. “Well, now,” he purred. “You know me, I’m always up for a challenge.”

The next moment she pulled away, her hands covering his eyes. “Can you keep up that confidence without your keen senses?”

“Si, Amora, I can master any challenge.” He leaned toward her until he felt breath on his lips. “Even blind, I would still see you.”

Her lips crashed against his, her hands diving into his hair. The momentum of her body pushed him back on his calves. Following her lead, he unfurled his legs as her thighs straddled his. The welcome heat of her enveloped him with an easy flick of her hips, practiced as they had become at this together. Her body moved against his with a frenzied rhythm. Her fingers threaded through his hair as she clung to his shoulders. His own palm splayed at the small of her back, guiding the rock of her hips.

Foreheads pressed together gasping in one another’s breath, they lingered, engulfed in one another. Her gaze held his even as her pants quickened. Her body tightened around him and as she went silent. Finally, her eyes slipped closed. He snapped his hips in an effort to bring forth the content groan building beneath that lack of sound. More than anything, wanted to hear it, see that look in her eyes when it all washed away except the pleasure he brought her.

“Zev!” she cried out when it broke free. Green eyes snapped open and she held onto him tight as her body shuddered in his grasp.

“Yes, Amora,” he growled.

Her hips bucked wildly against his. The tight pull of her body brought his own release with it. His long, low grunts joined the chorus of her sharp, short moans.

“Cyna,” he groaned, repeating her name with each pump of his hips as he spilled within her.

Arms around one another, they sat there. Bodies slick with sweat, foreheads touching and still locked in a sexual embrace—his arms circled her waist, as hers pulled at his cradled his shoulders and head—neither moved. They just stared at one another as their breathing slowed, as he softened within her, as the quivering muscles in her stomach calmed.

“I am yours,” he whispered against her lips, but it was Cyna that sealed the kiss. Zevran knew it was all the reply he’d get, and at that moment it was enough.

[hunnybadgerv]

One Revolution | Dragon Age | Vir Tanadhal

Summary: A day in the life and travels of Cyna Mahariel, Warden of Ferelden.

a/n: Written for #Fictober. Day 02: Under the sun and moon.

Links to full text: AO3 | FFnet

One Revolution

-1-

The sun shone through the leaves of the canopy, playing across paper thin flower petals and beaming through leaves like stained glass. The twitter of birdsong from a dozen different species fluttered on the breeze like so many wing beats of the singers. The peaty scent of the forest floor, rotting leaves, new shoots of grass, and animal aromas welcomed each footstep that brought the warden and her associates deeper into the Brecilian Forest. If anything in Thedas could be called a sanctuary, for Cyna Mahariel, this was it—this kind of day, in this kind of place. Even the company could be deemed enjoyable.

Her muscles tensed when the sweet music that filled the air fell silent. She, too, froze, keen eyes darting about the clearing below.

At the jangle of Alistair’s armor, her hand shot out and struck his chest, stilling him and serving to halt the others as well. Then she felt it—the telltale twist in her gut. Darkspawn, she thought, casting a narrow-eyed glance at her fellow warden. The hint of a nod in his movement confirmed that he felt it as well.

The wardens knew they would be no hiding from the force. Wardens and darkspawn could feel one another’s presence. Sometimes it came as intuition, some thin thread pulling and guiding them toward one another. At others it felt like the way the ground would pull a falling body to the ground—inevitable, inescapable, palpable, and painful.

As the first screech rang out in the now still forest, a clatter echoed through the trees as several weapons were drawn. Alistair’s blade sang as he drew it from his sheath. The fistful of arrows whispered in comparison as Cyna pulled them from her quiver. Wynne’s staff cracked upon the ground as if it had found stone, lightning crackling across the clearing. Zevran, in contrast to them all, made nary a peep; his daggers were in hand and his footsteps carried him across the overgrown path in utter silence.

The string of her bow rebounded with each heartbeat as she and Wynne tried to control the mob of darkspawn from above. Alistair and Zevran set themselves at the foot of the path to deal with any creatures that might seek to approach the snipers from that direction.

A new sound shook the trees. Pounding steps thudded through the forest, approaching their position.

“Maker, what is that?” Alistair shouted.

Cyna made no reply. There were darkspawn in her sights to deal with. She couldn’t spare the thought for what approached as they still pushed forward. The last one fell not to her arrow, but to a dagger thrown by a smirking elf.

“Warden,” Wynne said in her calm tone, though worry wilted the edges of it.

The Dalish elf’s eyes skimmed the perimeter, her stomach twisting with every heavy footstep. Trees whined and cracked under the beast’s approach. She knew it could only be one thing. ��Ogre,” she warned.

A great purplish-gray hand grasped the thick trunk of a tree and pushed it aside. It’s roots pulling from the ground filling the air with the scent of fresh turned earth, which mixed almost sickeningly with the rusty smell of blood and foul of death.

“Alistair,” Cyna yelled. “Keep its attention.”

“What?” he squawked back.

“Just keep it focused on you.” She drew another fistful of arrows, glancing down to take a quick inventory. Yes, should be fine, she thought. “But don’t let it hit you.” They both knew one good swipe from the ogre’s long, meaty arms could leave Alistair out of commission for days. And that would not do them any good.

Alistair muttered something Cyna couldn’t decipher at this distance. She took aim, waiting for her fellow warden to enter the fray.

“Here, allow me, friend.” Zevran’s voice carried to her ears. As soon as the knife left his hands, the rogue all but vanished in a distracting flash that was followed by smoke. A distraction.

The blade sank into the soft neck of the ogre. Behind the massive darkspawn, others peeked out, adding their screeches to the cacophonous roar that pained her ears. The beast turned its face right toward Alistair, as had been intended. As it batted at the stinging bite upon its neck, the warrior dashed across the open expanse of delicate grasses and bashed its knee with his shield while taking a swipe at its Achille’s tendon with his sword. It barely broke the skin, which left Cyna free to target softer areas—once the other darkspawn were dealt with.

“Take out the smaller ones first,” Cyna told Wynne. “But keep your eye on Alistair.”

Zevran knew battlefields better than all of them perhaps. Throwing daggers buzzed through the air, and he moved with the skill and ease of a dancer on a stage. Though his dance was one of poison, blood, and gore. The screams his performance earned were not all adoration and praise, but the cries of the dying, of the failed.

Wynne’s hands wove with her staff, warding Alistair as the ogre reared back a heavy hand. When it swung at him, the young warden showed great skill and deftness of movement. He dodged out of the way, with a careful roll that brought him back to his feet. He made another swing at the heavy hide of the creature, shouting all the while to keep its focus on him rather than the archer or the assassin felling its comrades.

The din of dented metal, pulled Cyna’s attention back to the ogre as Alistair tumbled through the grass and against the trunk of a tree.

“I’m all right,” he called with a cough as he struggled to stand.

Wynne responded quickly. A swirl of white, like an ethereal spirit swirled around the warden, giving him a second wind.

“Try that again,” he challenged, bashing his shield with pommel of his sword. His battle cry curved Cyna’s mouth into a smile as he dashed at the creature again, dodging another punch meant to wind and wound him.

Taking aim at a hurlock at the edge of the forest, Cyna fired another shot that snag across the battlefield. Her arrow sank home into one eye socket as Zevran leapt from the bushes—both his daggers drove home into the beast’s back, crumpling it to the ground. The Antivan even found a moment to give Cyna a wink before darting off for the brute that now found itself alone.

The wardens and their compatriots managed to down the beast, though not without injury of their own. Of course, from Cyna’s perspective the injury to the forest was far greater. The lush green grasses which met darkspawn blood faded as if the life had been ravaged from them. Great black puddles of it oozed back into the earth, seemingly sucking every iota of life there.

The trees upended by the ogre’s trek through the forest and those he’d tossed at his attackers in desperation lay strewn about the clearing and along the path the darkspawn took from the cave they spilled from. While Wynne insisted upon treating contusions immediately, Cyna’s eyes surveyed the damage to the wilderness. It made her heart ache, made her wish to never visit here again if it could keep the darkspawn far from places like this. Of course, in the deepest reaches of her soul, she knew that wouldn’t help. They’d find their way to places like this whether a warden’s blood drew them or not.

 -2-

After dinner, thankfully Cyna’s night to prepare, the warden’s companions decompressed from the battles of the day. Each eventually traded the comradery of the fireside for the comfort of their tents and bedrolls, such as it was.

Finding herself alone, the warden leaned against a sizeable boulder, which allowed her to recline enough to peek at the bright stars glittering just beyond the breaks in the canopy. The Brecilian Forest felt so familiar and foreign at the same time. The calls of insects, the snap of twigs under the feet of scurrying nocturnal gatherers, the occasional hoot of an owl letting all around know it was awake and ready for a night’s hunt—all these sounds, familiar to her ear were a welcome change to the chatter and bustle of the towns.

One could find calm in these woods, a calm she never seemed to find in Denerim or even Redcliffe. Something rustled to her left, the smell of leather and spices made her lips curl upward.

“Zevran,” she said quietly in greeting.

“What are we doing, my dear warden?” he asked in that lilting tone of his. She could almost see the licentious twist of his mouth when he called her warden.

“Listening, my talented rogue.”

There was a gentle hum added to the sounds of the night, his content hum. He liked being appreciated for any and all of his talents. “Are we … listening for something in particular?”

Cyna’s chin dipped and she turned to find his gaze upon her, though that wasn’t a surprise. “Everything,” she said with a smile.

“Oh.” They stared at one another. Then his smile broadened. “That is quite the endeavor. Should I keep a list for us?”

Her serious countenance faded, a smile breaking the serious facade and showing off her teeth. “I don’t think we have the ink for that,” she said with a chuckle in her tone. “How are you feeling?”

“Oh, I’m fine.”

She gave him a skeptical glance. “Even after that backhand from the ogre?”

“Ah, that was nothing,” he said, waving away the thought.

Despite her feelings on the matter, she let it go at that, choosing not to push. If he said he was fine, she would take his word at face value. After all, she’d come to trust Zevran with more than her life. She now trusted him with her friends’ lives, and even with some of her secrets. She leaned back against the rock, finding the stars once more. Her hand swept the tufts of the short grasses, letting them tickle her palm, until her fingers found something warm and surprisingly smooth. When her hand rested atop his, another soft hum joined the sounds of the night in the forest.

“Is this much like the places you grew up?” he asked, his voice quiet and serious.

“Yes. In fact, we were not far from here where … I was conscripted.” Cyna did not expound on that event, and Zevran did not push. He knew she preferred not to talk about it.

“Is this the only forest you’ve visited?”

Cyna’s laugh was warm and quiet, not wanting to disturb any of the wildlife that might be creeping close to the camp. “Far from it. Though he had visited this particular wood several times. I felt I knew it well, but I realize now that even the places you know can harbor dark secrets—some of which are best left untouched.”

His hand turned beneath hers and laced their fingers. “My dear warden that is true of every place—wild or civilized. It can be true of people as well.”

Her vibrant green gaze found his warm eyes again. She could only guess that he meant himself, though the statement aptly applied to both of them in equal measure. The shift in her body went almost unnoticed, until she closed the distance between them. As her hand brushed at a hint of bare skin at the open neck of his blouse, his hand skimmed her cheek, encouraging the move she’d started to make; perhaps even silently praying she wouldn’t pull away in better judgement.

When her lips brushed his, Zevran’s fingers dipped into her inky, black hair, fastening them in the silken strand of night to keep her close. The soft peck deepened quickly, as their kisses were apt to do. Their clasped hands released finally, but only once she’d invaded his lap, which made him chuckle.

“I thought it was our watch,” Zevran teased, letting out a low moan when Cyna nipped his neck.

“You are,” she replied, gliding the tip of her nose along his skin until she could look into his warm, golden eyes once more. “But if you cannot maintain your keen senses amidst the distraction of a mere woman ���?”

Zevran’s hearty chuckle rumbled through his chest, vibrating down her spine. “You, Cyna Mahariel, are no mere anything,” he told her, pulling her lips back toward his. “But if you wish me to prove my self-control. I will make myself a model of it, but only for you.”

Cyna smiled and kissed him once more as his arms wrapped around her waist. She had no doubt that he’d prove himself. Zevran always did show her the best of himself, even when it wasn’t evident to everyone else.

[hunnybadgerv]

Sunrise | Dragon Age | Vir Tanadhal

Summary: A lazy morning that shouldn’t be all that lazy.

a/n: Written to fill a prompt from @stargeant. Thank you very much. Sorry it is on the short side.

Links to Full Text: AO3 | FFnet

snippet under the cut 

Sunrise

The chilly mountain winds sneaked through the flap of the tent, tickling bare flesh and raising goosebumps. Cyna grumbled into the pillow and pulled the blanket over her shoulder, baring Zevran’s pert rear to the cold. The assassin cuddled closer, pulling back a bit of the thick furry cover. The warden growled. Her hand had fisted tightly in the fabric, which brought Zevran that much closer. He tugged gently at her waist and covered part of her back with his own body.

“Zev,” she mumbled beneath him.

He didn’t want to be awake, so kept his eyes closed, despite the hint of sunlight bleeding through the canvas of the tent. Burying his face between her shoulder blades, Zevran attempted to hide from the encroaching day.

[hunnybadgerv]

Does any of your characters have a trinket or a talisman? Or does any have a strong opinion about it (good or bad)?

Most of my characters have a talisman of some sort. 

Furia: Early on, she has her mother’s cross that she gave to her at her confirmation, which was a few months before her mother died. She ends up passing it down to her sister. But later, she has another talisman--the tattoo on her hand. For awhile, there is a time that talisman brings bad painful memories, later it’s incredibly comforting. She also keeps old journals full of writing, sketches, pictures. She loses most of these things after the explosion.

Nyx Shepard: Nyx has a family heirloom, her grandfather’s military-issue K-Bar. She also has collections of service coins and photos and other silly memorabilia. For her, the service is her family, so those pictures, bits and pieces of her life with her family. 

Maritza Ryder: Morbid as it is, she keeps the helmet her father put on her on Habitat 7. She has a clay hand print thing that her mother made of she and Ramon’s hands and feet, when they were babies. She also has some photos that are incredibly important to her, and journals. 

Feign Shepard & Remy McGinnis: These two are similar in one way. They wear their talismans and memories in scars and tattoos. Feign has a few, not nearly as many as Remy, but hers are all for people she’s lost. Old friends. People she doesn’t want to forget.

With Remy, it’s more literally like a visual story. She has various black images inked onto her skin (runes, animals, other signs). Some are for people, others mark events. But if there is a scar for that event--it doesn’t get a tattoo. Her arms and ribs are covered in little images that really only she knows the meaning of. The only one not on her arms, and not black, is the fleur de lis on her neck.

Ravi: She has always had a stuffed alligator, and a little gator on her key chain. Her father called her that, as does Johnny. 

Cyna Mahariel: When she left the Dalish, she took Tamlen’s bow with her and refuses to part with it, even if she acquires more powerful instruments (though she tends to use the more better bows in combat, she keeps his even running from the blight).

Aderyn Hawke: Similarly, Aderyn keeps her father’s staff. She keeps track of the few handkerchiefs her sister made her before she passed. She also has little trinkets that a remind her of her mother and her brother, as well as Cullen. 

Rhys Trevelyan: Rhys keeps his talismans secret. I know they exist, but even I don’t know what they are yet.

[hunnybadgerv]

DRAGON AGE DRUNK WRITING CIRCLE PROMPT LIST

DRAGON AGE DRUNK WRITING CIRCLE PROMPT LIST

Here is the current listing of prompts I’m taking for the DA Drunk Writing Circle, which I do on Fridays. Just send me an ask with a character(s) name(s), the prompt category, and the number.

If you are so inclined, you could alternatively send me a situation for a character(s). Though I do ask that you only send in requests from the open prompts section. Thank you so much.

Links to my AO3 & FFnet

Filled Prompts:

“Let go.“ - Rhys Trevelyan & Dorian Pavus

“Stop trying to cheer me up!” - Rhys Trevelyan & Cassandra Pentaghast

“I’m lost.” - Rhys Trevelyan & Dorian Pavus

“Where the fuck did that clown come from?” - Aderyn Hawke & Friends

“I’ll never unsee that.” - Carver Hawke & Isabela

“Tell Me You Don’t Love Me” - Cyna Mahariel & Zevran

“I’d like it if you stayed.” - Aderyn Hawke & Cullen Rutherford

Wine-stained Carpet - Aderyn Hawke & Cullen Rutherford

Sunrise (”I’d like it if you stayed”) - Cyna Mahariel & Zevran Arainai

A Warden in Need (”If I was blind, I would see you”) -  Cyna Mahariel & Zevran Arainai

Prompts In Progress

“You know damn well why things are the way they are.” (In Progress)

“If I don’t say it now, I’ll regret it later.” (In Progress)

“If we die, I’m going to kill you.” (In Progress)

“If I was blind, I would see you.” (In Progress)

“Please stay.” (In Progress)

Sting from a fresh cut (In Progress)

Shrouded in thick and black smoke (In Progress)

“Because I want you so badly! I want to take comfort in you. And I know it will cost me my soul, and a part of me doesn’t care.” (In Progress)

Fingers curled up in hair. (In Progress)

“You forgot to say the magic word.” (In Progress) x2

“This isn’t some fairy tale. When I kiss you, you don’t wake up from a deep sleep and live happily ever after.” (In Progress)

Arms wrapped around you when hope seemed far away (In Progress)

Open Prompts:

“Wait right there, don’t move!“

“That’s a good look for you.“

“Could you repeat that?”  

“Hey, have you seen the…? Oh.”

“Shh… I’m sleeping.”

“Everything’s going to be fine.“

“Come here. Let me fix it.”

“This isn’t exactly what I had in mind.“

“The stars look especially lovely tonight.”

“Last time I ask you for a favor!”

“We really need to talk about you diving headfirst into everything.”

“I need this.”

“You’re afraid you’ve let people down.”

“I think you missed your calling.”

“I loved him more than I will ever love anything in this life!”

“Don’t you ever do that again!”

“Have you slept?”

“I know everything that you did, because you did it to me.”

“Strong is fighting! It’s hard, and it’s painful, and it’s every day. It’s what we have to do. And we can do it together.”

“I felt your heartbeat.“

“I just gotta… I gotta walk away from this.”

“I’ve been looking everywhere for you.”

“I just know that when you’re around, whether I see you or not, I feel you inside and it throws me.”

“You’re really soft.”

“Oh my God. You’re in love with her.”

“We’re in the middle of a thunderstorm and you wanna stop and feel the rain?”

Prompts for the Senses:

Fresh baked apple pie

Waiting in a lonely tower/room

Moon in a star speckled sky

Morning dew against the skin

Field of lavender blowing in the wind

Leaves crushed beneath bared feet

Warmed skin in the noonday sun

Whispered breaths against the tip of an ear

Cold fingertips against warmed lips

Soft boar bristles through silken hair

Feet curled up in satin

Metal clashed against metal

The crack of a bone

Rough rocks beneath calloused hands

The shock of ice to exposed skin

The warmth of campfire

Liquid running down your throat

Taste of rain on the tongue

The sound of laughter on a dull day

The sight of something you lost, returned

Dirt in the palms of your hands

The taste of a decadent red wine

Flashes of lighting across an angry sky

Cold fingers run along your spine

Warm water against sore muscles

Cold air burning in your lungs

The scent of perfume on the air.

You can find prompt lists I’ve used for this event under this tag: DA DWC.

[hunnybadgerv]

A Moment of Truth | Vir Tanadhal | Dragon Age

Summary: Under a quiet full moon, Zevran’s patience comes to a head, forcing Cyna to confront her secretive nature.

a/n: Written for Friday night @dadrunkwriting​ on 4/1. Prompt sent in by @superfluouskeys: “DWC: “Tell me you don’t love me.” And I’d love to hear about your Mahariel and Zevran; otherwise whatever pairing speaks to you! Original draft posted here.

Links: AO3 | FFnet

A Moment of Truth

The shadows danced across the floor like the curtains in the breeze. A softness cradled the night in near silence, but perhaps that had more to do with location of their room more than anything else. Cyna carefully moved the hand on her hip; its grip had been tight, protective and comforting, once they decided to sleep. But as he succumbed to his rest, the embrace loosened, which allowed her to slip from it and inch toward the edge of the bed where she sat up.

Her back bowed, with shoulders slumped in tension and fatigue, while her mind raced. Something was not right, she could feel it in her blood. But what? That she could not determine. She pushed her hand through her shorn black hair and stared at the edge of the decorative rug that lay beneath the bed, creating a small island of softness against the cold wood floor.

“Tell me you don’t love me.” His voice, though a mere whisper, peeled like chantry bells in the silence.

The demand came out of nowhere as Cyna battled with her own thoughts. She’d thought Zevran fast asleep, but perhaps she should have known better. When she turned, the sight lifted the corners of her mouth, through little will of her own.

The bluish light of the full moon flooding through the open window made his skin glow. Black, arcing strips—his tattoos—accentuated the shape and definition of his body, but allowed his keen eyes to remain hooded. His blond hair glistened, lying loose and smooth over his shoulder and curving across the muscular, flat plane of his chest as he leaned up on one elbow.

He embodied seduction, even without trying. Just like in the heat of battle when every lunge and lithe twist of his body bespoke a life of lethal training.

“What?” she finally asked, ending her contemplative stillness.

He edged toward her, seeming to float across the surface of the bed with the ease of fog gliding atop a lake. His hand was so warm, and hers so cold that when their hands clasped—and hers closed around his with as much haste and strength as his—it felt like plunging her hand in a crackling fire.

Everything about Zevran had become like that. He fought like a raging inferno—quick devastation as he flitted about the field like embers hoping between trees in a forest fire. Between the two of them, it had all started with hasty flash overs brought on by his smoldering glances and sizzling smirks, each paired with clever turns of phrase in that lilting Antivan accent. But neither those nor his blatant propositions caught the grief-doused, wet wood buried deep in her soul … at first.

No, for Cyna it had been his friendship and glimpses of his true nature that brought her to his fireside. Slowly, she’d grown accustomed to it, his heat, which dried the dank sorrow within her until a spark could finally catch. Eventually, she walked right into the blaze of her own volition. And she’d come to crave that connection, need that scorching warmth—needed him.

“Tell me you don’t love me,” he said again, looking her in the eye.

“Why would you want me to say such a thing?”

“Perhaps then I could explain why it is that you still, after all this time, try to sneak out of my bed once you think I’m asleep.

“I—” Her mouth snapped shut. She could not … well, would not lie to Zevran. He knew her too well, perhaps better than anyone. Except, Tamlen, she allowed herself to think. She felt the wrinkle of her nose, which was followed by the warmth of Zevran’s skin skimming her own as he stood to bring them eye to eye, or at least closer than they had been.

“He still haunts you.”

Cyna’s chin lowered in shame and a desire to avoid the topic.

“Even after he freed you?” Zevran continued, his voice softened, held a bit less of the pained accusation that his tone had carried initially. “After you released him from his tainted existence?”

“No,” she started, then changed her mind. “Yes.”

He stepped away with a sigh that bordered between disgusted and tired.

“But it’s not that simple,” Cyna argued. “You saw him. Branka’s people, or what was left of them. That thing in the Deep Roads.”

“Of course, I did. But it has little to do with this,” Zevran said, gesturing between them.

“It has everything to do with this. I’m—” Her mouth snapped closed before she could say tainted. “Tamlen and I were both in the ruins. I became ill, only Duncan found me. He saw no signs of Tamlen.”

“And that is why you became a Grey Warden, yes?” He stood there, moonlight spotlighting him like some celestial being.

“Yes.” Cyna lowered herself onto the edge of the bed with careful grace. “But it couldn’t cure me. Taking the Grey could only delay my fate. Otherwise, I might have become like Tamlen by now. A dark husk on the way to succumbing to the darkspawn curse in my blood.”

His brow furrowed. She knew the weight of that raw gesture. He avoided it because it caused such deep, unsightly creases in one’s forehead. “But you are not sick.”

“No, I don’t look ill. I still carry the darkspawn taint in my blood, however.”

“How can that be?”

She stared at the ceiling. “I’ve said too much already. I can’t explain more.”

“Ah, yes.” His voice held that cunning she’d heard a few times, though only rarely did he direct at her. “Precious secrets of the Wardens,” he spat.

“Zevran.” She reached her hand out to him, palm up and up. “Zev, please. There is no one else.”

“Of that I am assured, but reassurances are not what I seek.”

“Then, please, tell me why.”

Even under the shadow of his brow, Cyna could discern the piercing stare. “With such an admission, I could perhaps dash this pesky hope that leaves me clinging to one who prides herself in her distance.”

Cyna’s jaw dropped, then snapped closed in reflex to hide the effect his words had on her.

He crossed to her in the silence, bare feet slapping softly on the wood. “I love you, Cyna,” he admitted. “You think you are protecting me by concealing the truth, but I assure you this is one lie that can only cause harm. Please, be honest with me.”

He stood there before her, looking down at her with pleading eyes. As his fingers grazed her cheek, her hands went to her face and held his against her cheek. Pressing her face into his hand, she screwed her eyes closed. Upon opening them, she met his gaze again and asked, “The truth?”

Zevran nodded.

“Then I cannot tell you what you ask. I cannot tell you I don’t love you.” Of course, she also could not, in good conscience, say that she did either. “I care for you, Zev. More than I should. Can that not just be enough? For now?” she added after a brief pause and a deep breath.

His gaze searched hers in the silent darkness. She always found it odd how everything—even a breath or a heartbeat seemed amplified at night.

“For now,” he finally agreed.

His lips, blazing and pliant, found hers. The kiss was as fragile as the tether binding them. One wrong move and it could break, perhaps to be repaired, or more likely, she feared, to be left sundered and just long enough for a noose.

[hunnybadgerv]

Heart of the Huntress | Vir Tanadhal | Dragon Age

Summary: Others have long seen the connection between the young huntress Cyna Mahariel and the strong warrior Tamlen, but it had taken some time for them to master themselves as well as their deep connection to one another. Cyna knows how to lure her willing prey, but once she agrees to be his, Tamlen seeks to prove he is just as skilled as she.

a/n: Just a fluffy little piece about the connection between Mahariel and Tamlen. I always thought these two were so sweet they'd make your teeth ache.

Links: AO3 | FFnet

[hunnybadgerv]

Keening Moon | Vir Tanadhal | Dragon Age

Summary: Setting camp in the Brecillian forest brings both trial and torment to Cyna Mahariel, but there is also relief and freedom offered at that familiar site where it all began so many long months earlier. On the spot marked with old, withered promises, she offers new, yet more conservative pledges to the man who brought her soul out of the darkness a fated encounter with the Eluvian left her in.

A/N: A companion piece to Heart of the Huntress. It is not necessary to be familiar with that piece to grasp this one, though there are some specific references from that piece that may not be quite as clear.

Links: AO3 | FFnet

[hunnybadgerv]

DWC: “Tell me you don’t love me.” annnd I'd love to hear about your Mahariel and Zevran; otherwise whatever pairing speaks to you!

a/n: Draftedfor @dadrunkwriting​ Friday Night 2017.04.01

 “Tellme you don’t love me.”

The demand came out of nowhere as Cyna slipped out of thebed. She’d thoughtZevran was asleep, but perhaps she should have known better. When she turned,the sight lifted the corners of her mouth, though through no will of her own.The bluish light of the full moon flooding through the open window mad his skinglow. Black, arcing strips—his tattoos—accentuated the sahpe and definition ofhis body, but allowed his keen eyes to remain hooded. His blond hair glistened,lying loose and smooth over his shoulder and curving across the muscular, flatplane of his chest as he leaned up on one elbow.

He embodied seduction, even without trying. Just like in theheat of battle when every lunge and lithe twist of his body bespoke a life oflethal training.

“What?”she finally asked, ending her contemplative stillness.

He edged toward her, seeming to float across the surface ofthe bed with the ease of fog gliding atop a lake. His hand was so warm, andhers so cold that when their hands clasped—and hers closed around his with asmuch haste and strength as his—it felt like plunging her hand in a cracklingfire.

Everything about Zevran had become like that. He fought likea raging inferno—quick devastation as he flitted about the field like embershoping between trees in a forest fire. With Cyna, it started with hasty flashovers brought on by his smoldering glances and sizzling smirks, each pairedwith clever turns of phrase in that lilting Antivan accent. But neither thosenor his propositions caught the wet wood doused in grief and buried deep in hersoul, at first.

No, for Cyna it had been his friendship and glimpses of thetruth that brought her into that fire. She’d grown accustomed to it, his heat, which dired the danksorrow with in her until a spark could finally catch. She’d come to crave thatconnection, need it—needed him.

“Tellme you don’t love me,” he said again, looking her in the eye.

“Whywould you want me to say such a thing?”

“Perhapsthen I could explain why it is that you still, after all this time, try tosneak out of my bed once you think I’m asleep.

“I—”Her mouth snapped shut. She could not … well, would not like to Zevran. He knewher too well, perhaps better than anyone. Except, Tamlen, she allowed herself to think. She felt the wrinkleof her nose, which was followed by the warmth of Zevran’s skin skimming her own as he stood to bring them eye toeye, or at least closer than they had been.

“Hestill haunts you.”

Cyna’schin lowered in shame and desire to avoid the topic.

“Evenafter he freed you?” Zevran continued, his voice softened, held a bit lesspained accusation. “After you released him from his tainted existence?”

“No,”she started, then changed her mind. “Yes.”

He stepped away with a sigh that bordered between disgustedand tired.

“Butit’s not that simple,” Cyna argued. “You saw him. Branka’s people, or what wasleft of them. That thing inthe Deep Roads.”

“Ofcourse, I did. But it has little to do with this,” Zevran said, gesturingbetween them.

“Ithas everything to do with this. I’m—” Her mouth snapped closed before she couldsay tainted. “Tamlen and I were both inthe ruins. I became ill, only Duncan found me. He saw no signs of Tamlen.”

“Andthat is why you became a Grey Warden, yes?” He stood there, moonlightspotlighting him like some celestial being.

“Yes.”Cyna lowered herself onto the edge of the bed with careful grace. “But itcouldn’t cure me. Taking the Grey could only delay my fate. Otherwise, I mighthave become like Tamlen by now. A dark husk on the way to succumbing to thedarkspawn curse in my blood.”

His brow furrowed. She knew the weight of that raw gesture.He avoided it because it caused such deep, unsightly creases in one’s forehead. “But you are notsick.”

“No,I don’t look ill. I stillcarry the taint in my blood, however.”

“Howcan that be?”

She stared at the ceiling. “I’ve said too much already. I can’t explain more.”

“Ah,yes,” his voice held that cunning she’d heard a few times, though only rarelywas it directed to her. “Precious secrets of the Wardens.”

“Zevran.”She reached her hand out to him, palm up and up. “Zev, please. There is no oneelse.”

“Ofthat I am assured, but reassurances are not what I seek.”

“Thenplease tell me why.”

Even under the shadow of his brow, Cyna could discern thepiercing stare. “Withsuch an admission, I could perhaps dash this pesky hope that leave me clingingto one who prides herself in her distance.”

Cyna’sjaw dropped, then snapped closed in refelx to hide the effect of his words.

He crossed to her in the silence, bare feet slapping softlyon the wood. “I loveyou, Cyna,” he admitted. “You think you are protecting me by concealing thetruth, but I assure you this is one lie that can only cause harm. Please, behonest with me.”

“Herhands held his to her cheeks. “The truth?”

Zevran nodded.

“ThenI cannot tell you what you ask. I cannot tell you I don’t love you.” Of course,she also could not, in good conscience, say that she did either. “I care foryou, Zev. More than I should. Can that not just be enough? For now?” she added aftera brief pause and a deep breath.

His gaze searched hers in the silent darkness. She alwaysfound it odd how everything—even a breath or a heart beat seemed amplified atnight.

“Fornow,” he finally agreed.

His lips blazing and firm found hers. The kiss was a fragileas the tether binding them. One wrong move and it could break, perhaps to berepaired, or more likely, she feared, to be left sundered and just long enoughfor a noose.