#then the fic would continue with her finding lirio and bringing him into the lords

[ghostwise]

Laaate WIP Wednesday tag from @lavampira, thank you my friend!! It's a busy time of year and I've been playing Veilguard, which, more than anything, makes me miss DAO and DA2. I'll tag @ruushes @thedragonagelesbian @isayashai @creaking-skull @inquisimer if y'all are up for it :) <3 (700 words, cw: death, mentions of past abuse)

She flings her husband’s clothes to the floor, pulling off the jeweled buttons and gold brooches. She clears the bedside table, too, with a sweep of her arm, and checks the inlays; opal and dragon bone. Valuable. With the ragged edges of her nails, she pries them off, and throws them into the bag, too. She kicks the dresser, pulls the drawers out haphazardly. Things go flying, and she only realizes what a frenzy she’s worked herself into when Zevran pouts from the bed, having been struck by a rogue slipper.

“Ow,” he says, “that hurt.”

Naishe whirls around and gazes at him. Candlelight dimly reflects off his golden hair and brown skin. He is reclining upon one of the velvet cushions beside her husband—her late husband, that is, as of, oh, fifteen minutes ago. Naishe’s face pulls into a broad grin, and she laughs, ecstatic.

She’s never been worth a damn thing in this world, not to her mother, not to Luis, and not to herself. But here is a man who thinks her worth killing for.

“What’s the rush, beautiful?” he asks with a lazy stretch.

“I hated him,” she says, hot and fast. “I hate him, I’ll always hate him—and as much as I’d love to come over there and thank you properly, over and over again—”

Zevran laughs, low and husky, and Naishe is at his side in an instant. She grips his hand. It’s steady, and strong, and only now she realizes her hands are shaking.

“… I’ve never wanted to run more than I do right now,” she tells him. “I want to run and never stop running. I never want to be in a room like this again. Fucking torture chamber. Never!”

“Then run,” Zevran whispers. He nods at her, urgently, his brown eyes gazing into hers. “I cannot; my cage is of a different sort. But you, run!”

They kiss, impassioned. His words stir something up in her chest, something that aches like when she first was sent away from home, and she breaks away with a smile.

“Where do I go?”

“Leave the city,” Zevran tells her. “Take these with you.” He pulls his daggers from his belt and hands them to her.

“Zev.”

“You know how to use them.”

“Thanks to you,” she says, clutching the gifts. “Won’t you come with me?”

“I cannot my dear,” he tells her. “But you can. That is why I did this, don’t you see?”

She does. She feels tears prickling at her eyes—not for herself, but for Zevran. He understands her. They’ve both been discounted by society, treated as currency, as tools. She won’t waste his efforts, but she wishes desperately he could come with her.

“I’ll ask about you, if ever I am in Antiva City.”

“I am… a dangerous man to ask after.”

Zevran brushes her hair from her face. The moment of their goodbye is drawing upon them, and both of them feel it at the same time: a monumental change in their lives, something that will reverberate for better or worse. They share a final kiss.

“I promise, I promise you, we will see each other again.”

“Be well, Zevran Arainai.”

“And you. Run, Naishe. Run.”

-

Leaving everything behind is not easy, but it is necessary.

She realizes loyalty cannot be bought when the Siren’s Call leaves her at a port in Llomerryn.

Alone. For the first time in her life, well and truly alone. And better for it, too. Good riddance to the lot of them.

Now she has nothing except the daggers Zevran Arainai gave her. These she keeps close at all times, and she practices with them daily, carving out her own personal fighting style, until calluses form over the palms of her hands.

These skills earn her respect and coin. She’s quick, smart, and deadly. She leverages all three into opportunity, and lands on a new ship, where her quicksilver tongue earns her a new name: Isabela.

Years tick by. Disrespect foments resentment, and she kills the first man who pushes her too far. As luck would have it, he is a captain of a ship, and she steps into command like she was born for it.

She takes the Siren’s Call back.

The Queen of the Eastern Seas.