The Winter's Queen [Magus AU]

[Tethras Clan]

"Of course," Zevran replies softly. "How could I forgot the night I met the first woman I-" He sucks in a sharp breath. "The first of the three most amazing women I've ever met," he says carefully, though far too late to go unnoticed as an evasion.

[Isabela]

The first woman you loved? Isabela pushes away the thought to deal with later. "I can't stand to see you still trapped," she says quietly. "Stuck in this doomed city, trying to save someone who's already dead."

[Tethras Clan]

"It's... not as bad I feared," Zevran says strangely. "Love. Chains chosen are... they secure instead of bind. Keep me from falling apart. It's not the same," he repeats. "And worth every clipped copper of cost."

[Isabela]

How can anything be worth this? This pain, this--

Unbidden, tears begin to drip down Isabela's face. Stupid, Isabela. You're better than this. You don't need to-- to--

"It's not," she says, her tone bitter, her throat closing.

[Tethras Clan]

Zevran reaches over to brush away her tears with the pads of his thumb. "This is... not the most attractive side of things," he admits. "But all the good has to be paid eventually."

[Isabela]

"You could have chosen better," she adds, still bitter. It's unclear if she's talking to herself, or to Zevran. "She doesn't deserve your tears."

[Tethras Clan]

"That's not for you to decide," Zevran says, though the words are gentle. "Only I can chose whom I love, though my love doesn't entitle me to their own love. I do not expect anything from... those I love. "

[Isabela]

"This is an old fight," she says, with a sigh. "You know what I'm going to say." It's better to be alone. You can only depend on yourself when things get tough.

"Hawke got what she wanted. She's a martyr now, just as she planned."

[Tethras Clan]

Zevran tenses for a few seconds at the cut. "She would never have planned for this, never wanted it," he says, voice tight. "Distance yourself if you must, but please do not... cheapen the past."

[Isabela]

"Anders," is all she says. 

[Tethras Clan]

"A mistake," Zevran allows. "She wanted to spare the rest of us danger and hardship, feeling it was her mistakes and failings that allowed things to explode into the mess they became. She has, however, learned from that mess. She would not have gone into the Delve ahead of us anymore. Would she step in front of a blow to save one of her Clan? Yes. But so would Merrill, Varric or I." He hesitates a moment. "I would do... if it were you in that temple, and Hawke laying atop me now, I would do exactly the same as I am doing," he says a trifle nervously, hoping this doesn't spook her.

[Isabela]

She's quiet for a while, absorbing that information. Finally, she looks up at him, through her tears; she makes eye contact, earnestly, and says, "Thank you." It's perhaps the most sober he's ever seen her; she turns her face away after, tears streaming down her face. 

[Tethras Clan]

Zevran presses a gentle kiss to her temple, his body lax and heart content for the moment. "Always, ma'bela," he murmurs again, hoping she understands what the phrase really means now.

[Isabela]

She dissolves, then, into big, wracking sobs, pressed close to him, letting herself mourn -- and letting him comfort her at the same time. 

[Carver Amell]

There's a serious downside to being in Carver's body, able to hear his thoughts: Varric is also treated to his dreams. At first, it's fascinating, being lucid inside someone else's dreams. Carver is not a highly intelligent person like his older sister; his dreams aren't clear and logical like Varric's own, but instead blur together in a tangle of impressions, feelings, images. People turn into different people when he looks away; settings blur together in ways that defy physics. 

It seems young Carver has a lot to process tonight. Over and over, his dreams come back to an image: naked flesh, tangled in silken bedsheets. Isabela's flesh, to be precise. But each time, before he can obtain satisfaction, the image vanishes. Once, the woman turns to his sister in his arms: a gruesome, undead version of his sister, rotting as she grins at him. Several times, something interrupts him, and he has to take his sword and rush off to battle undead hordes. 

Twice, the look in her eyes turns from rapture to the muted, buried pain Varric probably didn't think Carver noticed in Isabela's eyes. 

When Carver finally wakes, freeing Varric from the onslaught, he sighs, raking a hand through his hair. Another nightmare night. Just when I could have used the rest, too. Oh well.