Temper, Temper (4/9)

[serindrana]

Title: Temper, Temper (4/9)
Game: Dragon Age: Origins
Pairing: F!Tabris/Zevran
Chapter Rating: T
Series Rating: M/NC-17
Wordcount: 2965
Warnings: Vomiting. Spoilers for Soldier's Peak DLC.
Summary: Fynnea is a brilliant leader, no matter what Alistair says. (ff.net & Ao3)
Notes: The world and all characters except for the specifics of Fynnea's characterization are the property of Bioware. ♥ Oh, and Penny Arcade came up with the name Barkspawn.

Chapters: 1 Interlude 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 Epilogue





Sophia Dryden looks like death.

Fynnea is only listening to the demon-possessed Warden enough to keep milking her for information, drawing out memories and stories for Levi's benefit. The man had found their camp on the long walk from Orzammar to Redcliffe, and while he had been persuaded to wait until they met with Eamon (who is calling a Landsmeet even now, leaving them with at the least a month to tie up loose ends), he soon begged hard and long enough that Fynnea had caved. She and Alistair and Zevran had set off with him to satisfy his curiosity nearly a week ago, and all she can think is that This will be over soon, and I can get away from Alistair.

Ever since the incident at Orzammar, Alistair had been hovering close by. He's only recently let Zevran share her tent again, and he stands watch next to it just in case. She's had to resist the urge to tell him just how everything is okay now; she and Zevran have agreed to no restraints or blindfolds or gags while he's still uncertain of himself, after all, and doesn't that make them responsible? But saying all of that out loud would just make Alistair angrier.

She wishes, idly, that they could just go back to before the mess with the rose and Connor, but then remembers that she'd lose Zevran in that bargain. Better to stay here and now, and stop her wishing before it grows any stronger.

The demon in Warden armor is going on now about some sort of nemesis that keeps her trapped in this keep. And now- a bargain.

Bargains can be fun.

Fynnea smiles faintly, and asks, "What deal are you offering?"

Alistair groans and Zevran grins at her, leaning in to whisper, "Making deals with demons now, are we? I must say the Crows have misjudged Wardens. You are more cunning and ruthless than we suspected."

The demon wearing Sophia Dryden's corpse ignores the commentary, white eyes focused on Fynnea's face. "You shall kill the one who traps me here - he is up in the tower. If you free me, I will seal the tears in the Veil. I will be the only demon left on this side to leave the Keep. You will let me travel and explore."

Fynnea shrugs. "Well, I guess I should get that tear sealed..." Levi and Alistair both nod, "but it doesn't seem like that great of a reward. Especially if this nemesis of yours is that powerful, yeah? Are you sure that's all you can offer me, demon?"

"You wish to bargain."

"I do."

Sophia Dryden laughs, a crackling dry sound that sends shivers down Fynnea's spine, but she stands tall (if barely breaking five feet ever counts as tall), weight on one leg, hip tilted, arms crossed over her chest. The demon looks at her appraisingly, then nods.

"This woman Warden stashed gold away. I will reveal the location if you assist me."

"That will work just fine."

Alistair, as always, grumbles something disapproving and Zevran, as always, grins at her. It's simply how the world works. Fynnea teases out a few added directions to this tower, and then leads the way out of the room. Sophia has dropped the glowing shield on the only door they haven't searched yet.

Levi Dryden, once out of the office, has begun to babble about demons and never expected and my family name! Fynnea looks at Zevran and rolls her eyes. He shrugs. Forgive the man is in his eyes. She's gotten good at reading his expressions, ever since that long night at Tapster's, getting to know one another again. Hi, I'm Fynnea Tabris. You're an assassin who tried to kill me, but you failed, and I think you're amazingly hot. I think we should have sex. A lot of it. He'd responded with, Zevran Arainai, and you truly must be a deadly sex goddess. I think, with some limits, that can work. Who gave you your tattoo?

Alistair cuts into her thoughts with, "Dealing with demons, Fynnea? For just a bit of gold?"

She waves a hand. "You don't approve, blah blah blah, you're disappointed in me, this is probably Zevran's fault- can we just get on with this? I promise it'll be okay."

Alistair sighs, pointedly and loudly. It echoes.

"I just wish you'd listen to me," he whines, softly, but follows obediently when she sets out for the tower.

--

"No. Absolutely not. Fynnea, put that down!"

Fynnea dances away from Alistair's grab, laughing and back pedaling easily. She holds the jar filled with dark, sticky blood above her head. "Oh, come on. You read the notes! This is the culmination of the man's research! And good things always happen when I drink strange blood!"

"You collapse and are useless for at least a day afterwards," he points out, looking like he wants to tear out his hair. Luckily, his gauntleted fingers can't find purchase in his short-cropped hair, and so he just trembles ineffectually. He even shakes a fist at her, then points. "So just stop right there and put it down."

"But Zevran will catch me! Won't you, Zevran?" She grins over at him and he shrugs, holding up his hands helplessly.

"I can do little else, my Warden! Else Alistair will just let you fall, and then you will have a concussion, as well."

"How about you just don't drink it? It's bad news- think of where it's from!" Alistair's voice cracks a little and he has to look away as Fynnea laughs and shakes her head, pops the lid off the jar with her thumb, and takes a long swig.

She's still standing. "See! Not so bad at all!" She all but skips past Alistair to set the jar down on the table again. "And I even feel a bit better. It's- interesting, actually. Like my blood wants to come ou-"

And then she's falling, and even though Alistair is right there and moving to catch her, it's Zevran who darts in and stops her fall. He sinks to the floor with his burden, settling her head in his lap.

"I said she was going to collapse, but did she listen?"

"She listened," Zevran assures him. "She just didn't care. She is like that, often."

"Always, with me," he sighs, leaning against the table. "... I just can't believe that she'd make a deal with a demon, and then top it all off with a swig of blood taken from suffering, long-dead Grey Wardens who were experimented on. That's just-" He can't find the words and his sentence dies in a small, frustrated noise.

"She is having a cheerfully impulsive day," he agrees. "Actually, she's in a mood very similar to the one she was in when we fought Andraste, yes?"

"... Yeah, she is," Alistair says, thoughtfully, after a moment. "You- keep track of her moods?"

"To a point, yes. I at least can recognize them. She needs different things of me, depending, after all." His eyes flick down to her and he carefully brushes a lock of hair from her face. Even after he let his fears out to play in Orzammar, they're still not particularly close when they're both awake and around others. Alistair's not entirely sure what to make of Zevran's tender attention.

He only says, softly, "You're twisted, you know that? Fitting yourself to her moods- does she realize you do that?"

Zevran shrugs. "Probably not. But it is something many people do - it is, I believe, considerate. Being flexible and accommodating, when possible, no? At the very least, it is... pragmatic? And," he adds, winking at the former templar, "I don't think I could live if I were suddenly all straight. I far prefer the twist."

After knowing him for months, Alistair can listen to him and not blush too brightly. He still stiffens, though, before he sighs and sits down next to Fynnea and Zevran to wait.

Levi Dryden just looks on awkwardly, forgotten.

--

She isn't vomiting this time. It's a step up.

Of course, instead of just getting on with a holy Gauntlet, she now has to face down the mage who made the concoction she just drank. It seems rude to kill him right after supporting his research, and so she's talking, trying to keep both Zevran's and Alistair's quips in check. She lies without a second thought, assuring Avernus that Sophia Dryden is dead, and for all his talk of knowing the Keep, he seems to buy it. So, not all-powerful. That's a good thing.

Fynnea graciously steps aside and lets him lead the way back towards the Veil tear, shooting Alistair a stymying look when he opens his mouth. He closes it again.

She thinks Alistair and Zevran must have talked while she was unconscious (they won't tell her how long it took for her to wake up - it could have been hours), because Alistair isn't glaring at the assassin nearly as much. She has no idea what they would have talked about, but something is different. It's a little unnerving, really. Especially since Alistair doesn't seem any happier with her.

"Levi?" Fynnea slides up beside the merchant, stretching her arms above her head nonchalantly. "What did they plot while I was out?"

"Er, plot?" He looks surprised that she's talking to him.

"Yeah. Something's up with those two, right? I mean, look at them."

There is actually less than a yard between them. They never stand that close. But Levi looks between them and her and shrugs. "That's... abnormal?"

Fynnea sighs. "They hate each other. So they must have something sneaky planned. What is it?"

"Nothing? I mean, all they were doing was talking about you."

"But with no plotting."

Levi shakes his head.

Fynnea peers at him, but they're drawing close now. She sighs. "Oh well. Thanks, Levi. You know, you should probably stay out here - it's going to get nasty in a minute."

"I'll be fine." He smiles weakly. "I just keep thinking about what my family can do with each room of the Keep, if we can get the demons out. Some nice tapestries, new carpets..."

"We'll clear them out," she assures him, clapping him on the shoulder and smiling before she jogs up to where Avernus, Zevran, and Alistair wait. She pushes open the door.

Sophia Dryden is waiting for them.

"It's not dead!" Avernus growls, rounding on her. Fynnea is still smiling.

"He is not dead." Sophia's voice is low and dark. "We made a bargain, Warden."

Fynnea holds up her hands. "I just thought you'd want to watch, demon. Didn't want to give you any reason to flake out, yeah? And if I had killed him in the tower, well, you could have just run away. So, here we are." She unsheathes a sword, and Avernus stumbles back, lips forming words and hands grabbing for his staff, but Fynnea is faster. His words turn into gurgling as he clutches at the blade now stabbed through his stomach, and when he falls, he turns into dust. Only his robe and staff remain.

The body of Sophia Dryden claps, slowly. "A good show," she commends.

Fynnea bows as she kneels and cleans her blade on the ancient robes. "Glad you liked it. Now. The tears?"

"Of course," Sophia nods, then takes the lead towards the great hall. Fynnea keeps her weapons drawn.

"That was cruel," Alistair murmurs, walking at her side as they follow. "I mean, I agree the man deserved to die, but letting him think we were on his side?"

"He wouldn't have come with us if we hadn't," she points out in a low whisper. "And I don't trust our demon friend. Besides, a little bit of betrayal is fitting, with what he did."

Alistair nods, slowly. "I- suppose that I can't argue with that."

"Warden," Sophia interjects as they pass into the great hall, the very fabric of the world roiling around them in nauseating spirals, "other demons will come when I begin sealing the rift. Be prepared. I must not be disturbed if I am to knit it back up."

Fynnea nods, easily shifting from her furtive conversation back into the role of impulsive commander. "Of course. Bring it on."

The demon snorts but gets to work without another comment. Fynnea glances at Zevran and Alistair, and at her nod, they draw their weapons.

The world is on fire.

There's burning and freezing and hard blows and Fynnea dances through it all, faster now and more coordinated thanks to her experience fighting Zevran. She's picked up a few things beyond simple experience, and the demons fall so much more quickly than they had all those months ago in the Tower. She laughs and calls out taunts, shouts orders, bounces on the balls of her feet when the onslaught slows, urges Sophia to hurry to bring more of the battle on. Alistair is the center of the universe, drawing demons towards him while Zevran and Fynnea circle in orbit, ducking in and picking off. They're working together better than they have since Orzammar, maybe since ever, and they fight as if one being. It feels glorious. Something must have changed while she was unconscious, and she doesn't care what it is, anymore.

The battle is over too soon, leaving her hungry, aching for more. It was a clean fight, no injuries to speak of. Alistair had questioned leaving Wynne behind, but they don't need her after all, not this time.

"Thank you, Warden," the thing wearing Sophia Dryden rasps. "Your reward is in this human's office. There is a loose stone in the south-west corner, down by the floor."

Fynnea nods her thanks. "Oh, good! Glad to be of service. I think this was a great bargain all around, hm?"

The demon looks at her for a long moment, head canted, silent. Then, "... Yes. Are you not going to go off for your gold now, Warden?"

"In time, in time. First, though- as a Warden and a good citizen of Thedas, I can't really let you leave. You know that, right?"

Sophia Dryden's face contorts with rage, and Fynnea laughs. "You-" the demon hisses, and before Fynnea can bring up her blades to block, the demon crashes into her in a body-sized fist of metal and anger. "You dare to double-cross me-!" Her formerly dry, thin voice is deep and booming, unsettling dust from the rafters and battering at Fynnea's mind as she wraps her fingers around the elf's throat. Fynnea is gasping for breath, struggling, and where are Alistair and Zevran? It's like time has slowed down, and Sophia Dryden's body is unaffected, squeezing the life out of her. Alistair and Zevran won't get to her before her neck is snapped, and her blood is pounding in her head, all of it rushing to her neck where the demon squeezes and twists and-

Blood erupts from her mouth, but it seems like it comes from everywhere, shooting out of her and coating Sophia Dryden. The demon howls, falling back, clawing at her face even as the blood eats away at the preserved flesh. Fynnea claws at her throat, gasping for breath and rolling onto her hands and knees. The demon is back on her feet, grimacing through the pain, and she's advancing, but Alistair is in front of her, now, shield up, and Zevran is behind the demon, moving in for a kill.

Sophia's armored fist slams into Zevran mere moments after Fynnea regains her footing, and before Alistair can hold her back, the Warden is on top of the demon, her swords finding the only weak points in that heavy plate - neck and head. She's seeing red and there's the acrid taste of her own tainted blood in her mouth. She can't stop moving. There's nothing left of Sophia Dryden's face when Alistair finally hauls her back, and still she thrashes, spitting like a wild beast. He's shouting her name, trying to get her to listen, but it isn't until Zevran stands up on shaky legs and rubs at his jaw that she stills.

Zevran just winks at her. "I've had worse. No need to get all excited, my ruthless, double-crossing Warden."

The words are thick and a little muffled by his rapidly swelling cheek, but they're clear enough that she laughs shakily and relaxes. Alistair still doesn't let go, instead sighing and saying, while he still has her a captive audience, "Well, at least you didn't actually let the demon go. I was getting worried."

"I even managed to add to our war funds!" Fynnea agrees. "I am a brilliant leader. We should go get our reward. Let go?"

"Right. But first-" Alistair sighs as he releases her, "what was that?"

"What was what?" Fynnea asks, cheerful and beaming even though she's still trembling just a little from the adrenaline flood of going to die and Zevran is-

"The blood- thing. You threw up blood all over her."

"It got her off me, didn't it?" She's not really sure what happened, just that her blood had wanted to come out and now she's tired, with all the adrenaline gone. She nearly falls when she stretches to slide her swords back into their sheathes. Zevran is the one to steady her. "Think it was Avernus's research," she adds after a steadying breath.

"You're not really going to go around vomiting all over darkspawn, right? Maker's breath, now I'm imagining you sauntering up to Teryn Loghain and retching on him. Please promise me you won't do that at the Landsmeet."

She grins up at him through her exhaustion. "I promise nothing."

Alistair groans. Zevran laughs.

The world is working again.


5

Comments

[1smut-princess.livejournal.com]

Oh man, that is awesome. I also love the fact that Alipants isn't a wuss. He's a hardened, complaining, tough nosed, bastard - in the good big brother way.

[serindrana.livejournal.com]

I'm glad you enjoyed! :D And yeah, Alistair is quite competent - Fynnea is just completely exasperating much of the time. XD I adore her but would HATE working with her.