Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Ok so, here's what happened. We moved into a new house, and I set up my computer and reformatted (I was having some virus trouble at the time) after moving all my 'works-in-progress' to a thumb drive. Then, I needed to move my computer so we could put new drywall up in the room I had it in. Sometime between when I dismantled my computer and put it in it's current location, the thumb-drive was lost (or maybe 'borrowed without permission' by my dirty hobo brother-in-law). Or my husband grabbed it thinking it was one of his and he left it at work somewhere, and hasn't really looked for it yet despite my nagging. So basically, all the stories that it says are 'in progress' on my profile are missing.

Once we're done the remodeling (paint and new floors are all that's left), and I can finish unpacking everything, I will hopefully find my wayward thumb drive and all will be well. Until then, I don't really want to attempt to recreate what's missing. Sorry for those of you waiting for a Ghosts update. :(

Anyway, here's a Lyna+Zevran blurb. It's jumping to the end of the story and I'm totally going to leave it as a cliffhanger, so I hope you're all ok with that. I know, I'm cruel.

Disclaimer: Bioware owns everything good.

Lyna stared at Riordan, her violet eyes fading to a pale grey as the implications of what he'd just said sunk in. She glanced at Alistair out of the corner of her eye, finding him in a similar state of shock. Riordan, as the eldest Warden currently in Ferelden, had offered to make the killing blow against the Archdemon, sacrificing himself to end the blight, but the Dalish Warden knew, deep in her gut, that he would fall before he got the chance. She didn't know how she knew, but she trusted her instincts. The consequences if she was right were... unpleasant. Alistair was to be king, after all. And he would make a great king, the elf knew. He had changed slightly after encountering his sister, he was... stronger now. More capable. Just as humorous, but now he had embraced his innate talents, and Lyna wished she could see the Ferelden he would forge after the blight...

The slender elf nodded, murmuring, "Until tomorrow then. We'd best get some sleep. We have a long march and a longer fight ahead of us." As she turned to leave the room, Alistair met her eyes briefly and was alarmed to see how pale his sister Warden's normally vibrant eyes were. She seemed... resigned. Lyna turned gracefully on her heel, offering Alistair a slight nod as she slipped out the door several paces ahead of him. By the time he made the hall, she was nearly around the next corner, her hand firmly gripped around Zevran's wrist, who had been waiting for their meeting to finish. The Antivan appeared concerned by her haste, and was whispering urgently as the pair darted out of sight.

Morrigan watched as Lyna slipped out of the meeting, immediately catching hold of her lover and dragging the alarmed assassin down the hall and out of sight. The witch knew why Lyna looked so upset; she had a plan, something that would give them a chance... but it seemed that the elf was in no state to hear any plans, and Morrigan herself was too... invested, to intrude on what could be the elves last full, undisturbed night together.

Alistair sighed, running his fingers through his short-cropped blond hair as he slowly made his way to his quarters, just down the hall from Riordan's. He was startled out of his musing by Morrigan, who, it seemed, had also been waiting for the Warden's meeting to end. The young man frowned; Alistair and Morrigan did not get along at the best of times, and now, after learning exactly how a Warden ended a blight, he definitely didn't want to deal with the witch and her sharp tongue. At least, not until he got a look at her face, as she stepped out of the shadows near his door.

She was wringing her hands together, and her golden eyes were slightly glossy. Alistair refused to believe there could be un-shed tears anywhere in the offing, but the witch looked distraught, to say the least. Her normally sharp voice was low and soft, and her eyes looked everywhere but at his face as she said, "Alistair... I... I would have words with you. 'Tis... most important."

Surprised, but curious, Alistair nodded and opened his door, leading the way in as he stripped off his gauntlets, dropping them on the chest at the foot of his bed. He turned to Morrigan, only to find her standing by the door, looking uncomfortable, her eyes staring blankly at the bed. "What is it, Morrigan?"

"Oh. I..." The witch frowned, still wringing her hands together; finally, she lifted her gaze and met his eyes, saying, "I know what sacrifice a Warden must make to end a blight."

Alistair blinked. "Why am I not surprised?"

Instinctively, she answered, "Perhaps you are not as stupid as you look?"

The Warden rolled his eyes and dropped down into a chair, surprisingly glad to be back on more familiar footing with the witch; they always insulted each other. It was how they communicated. Having her look nervous, and stuttering, was... unnatural.

"What of it? Riordan is going to make the strike."

Morrigan paused, shifting her weight again. "What if he fails?"

Alistair blinked again, his mind travelling down an unwelcome path following the leading question. Before he could answer, the witch continued. "You know she will not let you do it. You're to be king. She saw to that."

The man stared at Morrigan, unwillingly coming to the same conclusions she had. If Riordan failed, if he fell before killing the Archdemon, then Lyna would make the sacrifice. His sister in all but blood would give her life to end the blight, so Alistair wouldn't have to, so he could be king. The dainty Dalish elf who had traversed Ferelden from the depths of the forest to the bowels of the deep roads to unite nations against their common enemy would die, and there was nothing he could do about it.

"I know." He dropped his warm brown eyes to the floor, not wanting his longtime nemesis to see the pain the thought of Lyna's death caused.

There was a long, somehow heavy pause, and then Morrigan moved forward, firelight dancing off her skin as she dropped to her knees before his chair, falling into his line of sight as she looked up at him. Her eerie golden eyes were faintly pleading as she whispered, "There is another way..."

...meanwhile, in a room not far away

"My dear Warden, please, explain why you are so very agitated? Perhaps you require a massage? I would gladly oblige, you know." Zevran leaned against the door frame, watching Lyna as she stripped off her weapons, her normally graceful motions jerky. The fireplace was lit, casting a warm glow throughout the room, and the assassin thought the lighting was particularly flattering to his lovely companion. Finally, her actions stilled as she removed the dagger from her boot; it was the Antivan dagger he had given her some time ago, and she stared at it for a long moment before saying, "I think I will use this when I strike the final blow against the Archdemon."

Zevran smiled and pushed off the wall, his voice teasing as he replied, "Ah, and what a fine assassination that will be. We shall have to find a fitting celebration after such a victory."

He had made it halfway across the room before her voice stopped him, her words freezing him in place.

"I won't live to see it, I'm afraid."

Still she stared at the finely wrought blade, her normally vivid violet eyes a pale grey, colored by her emotions. Zevran stared at her, almost positive he hadn't heard her right. "Now, what could you mean by that, my dear Lyna?" He started towards her again, his pace slower then before and his teasing expression gone.

Her voice was calm and matter-of-fact when she answered, sounding for all the world as if she was reading a shopping list rather then discussing the means of her apparent death. "When the Archdemon dies, it's soul flees, drawn by the taint to the nearest darkspawn; the darkspawn, being empty vessels, allow the beast renewed life, gradually reshaping into a more fitting body for the thing. However, if a Grey Warden strikes the final blow, the soul is instead drawn into the Warden... And there, the Warden destroys the soul of the Archdemon, but is destroyed in turn."

The assassin froze again, his chest tight as her words sank in. He reached out and took the dagger from her hand, placing it on the pile of her equipment as he turned her to face him, his voice soothing. "Ah, but surely this Riordan will make such a sacrifice, as he has been a Warden for much longer then you or Alistair. I see no reason why you should be concerned, mi amora."

Lyna looked up at the endearment, her pale eyes glistening with un-shed tears and the firelight glinting off the emerald earring she wore. She reached up slowly, her fingertips tracing the tattoos on his cheek.

"Riordan will fail. I do not know how I know, but I do... That leaves me."

Zevran stiffened, his hands moving up to grip her arms as he shook her lightly, his mind clouding over with panic as he began to ramble at her. "No. No, I will not let you. Riordan will not fail. You cannot throw your life away, I won't allow it. Alistair could...You cannot..." She rested her fingers against his lips, stilling his protests as she stared up at him from only a few inches away.

Her melodic voice dropped to a whisper, "Zev, please. If this is to be our last night, we had best make it a good one. I... I would have you remember me, when I'm gone."

The normally stoic assassin stared down at her, his amber eyes suspiciously glossy as he pulled her into his embrace, his hands fisting in her clothing as she trembled against him. Her ebony locks fell out of their loose bun, and he buried his face in her hair, inhaling the scent of wildflowers. A single tear slid unnoticed down his cheek as he whispered, "Ah, but my love, I will remember you. Until the day I die..."

...several days later, atop Fort Drakon

Lyna ducked behind a large chunk of masonry as the Archdemon bellowed in rage and pain, spitting fire towards her position. The weary elf glanced behind her, noting several mages, guided by the First Enchanter himself, taking cover as well. Arl Eamon was somewhere on the lower floors with his men, holding back the darkspawn that were trying to force their way to the roof to aid the dragon. On the other side of the roof, she could hear Sten, who she had put in charge of the dwarves, yelling for another charge. The Warden could feel that the battle was nearing it's end; she could feel the Archdemon weakening, could sense that the time had almost come. Lyna wished she could make it around to the west side of the roof before the end, where Zevran was leading a contingent of the Dalish, his honeyed voice just barely audible over the din. She wished she could see him, one last time...

There was a brief moment of eerie silence, and the slender Warden glanced over her cover; the Archdemon had spun to face the dwarves, who were once again making their charge. From the west came a volley of arrows, and from her flank she heard the sound of spell casting, and she knew the mages were making another push. And then she felt it; the Archdemon faltered, though it did not appear afflicted. Lyna knew. She was glad, in this moment, that she had left Alistair by the gates.

With a final, sad thought of her assassin, the elf set her massive bow carefully on the ground behind the fallen masonry, drawing the Antivan dagger from her boot. It gleamed in the faint light, and it seemed as if time slowed for the Warden, sounds becoming muffled as she drew herself up, her violet eyes fixed on the massive blighted dragon. She began sprinting forward, her steps determined and graceful as she vaulted over any obstacles; the dragon whirled, perhaps sensing her approach, it's maw open as it faced the Warden, flames building up in the depths of it's throat, but she was unconcerned. Suddenly, time resumed it's natural pace, the sound of battle roaring into being around her, and the mages behind her finished their incantations, a massive wave of purple energy soaring over her head to strike the dragon squarely. She felt it stagger, and the soldiers and mages on the rooftop inwardly rejoiced as it slumped, momentarily stunned by the blast.

Sensing her moment, Lyna leaped forward, her dagger leading the way, and the roof erupted into cheers as she plunged the long-bladed dagger home, the assassin's blade finding the burning eye of the thing. The dragon shuddered, it's wings half raising and tail lashing briefly before falling still.

Lyna was frozen, her hand seemingly fused to the hilt of the dagger as light began to leak out around the blade. The Warden gritted her teeth, unprepared for the searing pain as it roared up through her arm, signaling the dragon's death, and faintly, over the cheers of those watching, she could hear him cry out.

Zevran ran forward, the few darkspawn who had gotten through Eamon's line forgotten as he abandoned those elves he led to deal with them. He had eyes only for his Lyna, his love, as she stood triumphant over the fallen Archdemon, her hands still on the hilt of the blade thrust into it's eye. Her face was a mask of pain, her eyes closed, and he yelled out as he ran, "Mi amora! Let go!" As he spoke, white light burst forth from the dragon around the blade, surrounding the Warden; she opened her violet eyes and sought him out unerringly, a faint smile gracing her lips even as she shuddered in pain. Her hair lashed the air around her as if caught by a fierce wind, torn from her usual loose bun, and the roof fell silent, all staring at the spectacle as the last darkspawn on the roof fell dead; a faint shockwave went out, staggering all on the roof and knocking the sprinting Antivan back a few steps.

"Let go!" he shouted, as he steadied himself, his eyes fixed on the slender Warden, his heart in agony. She was beautiful there, her dark, silken hair billowing around her with light all around, her purple eyes darkening slightly as she watched him. Time seemed to stop, and she whispered , "I love you, my Zevran." Somehow, he heard her whispered words and started running towards her once again, and then, there was light, and pain, enormous sound, and the Antivan found himself flying backwards through the air, losing sight of the Dalish Warden and the Archdemon, slipping into dark unconsciousness as he landed on the far side of the roof.

...to be concluded...

There will be a chapter 2, eventually. I haven't decided quite how it ends yet, so there may be a bit of a wait involved, but I wanted to post SOMETHING while I hunt fruitlessly for my missing work.

Chapter Text

So here's chapter two. I think I may leave it like this. I was originally going to wait til I finished the other threads of Zevran/Lyna I have half-finished, but that's just mean. Especially since now this would also have been holding up my DA2 story. Sorry it's not longer. If I'm feeling ambitious I might add a third chapter later with the wrap-up.

Zevran stirred, wincing inwardly at the pain in his left arm; his head was throbbing, red pain drumming on the back of his skull, and he groaned briefly as he struggled to open his eyes. He was sure there was something important he was supposed to do. Something he had forgotten... As he opened his amber eyes, he found Morrigan kneeling over him, her usually sharp gold eyes distant as she wrapped a white bandage around his arm. He blinked sluggishly, attempting to get his mind to focus...

And then it came back to him. Denerim. The battle. The Archdemon... Lyna! He sat up with a jerk, surprising the witch as he leaped to his feet, swaying unsteadily as the blood rushed to his head. Morrigan was at his side immediately, her voice low and soothing, but he had no time for her words. He shook off her surprisingly gentle hands, not registering a single word from her lips, and ran across the rooftop, towards where he could almost see the broken form of the Archdemon; the roof of Fort Drakon was shrouded in some sort of white, misty haze, and he could faintly make out the forms of people walking about, tending the wounded. The assassin stumbled to a stop as the head of the beast came into sight, a familiar Antivan dagger jutting from it's left eye, blackish blood already drying in a pool beneath it.

Desperate, Zevran looked around, only to find Morrigan once again standing next to him, her eyes somber. She met his gaze and reached out, touching his arm briefly as she silently pointed off towards the edge of the rooftop.

The assassin turned in the direction indicated, and saw nothing at first... until a large form began to materialize out of the mist. Sten stepped out of the fog, still partially shrouded as he approached the two companions, something cradled in his massive arms. His face was... unreadable, as always, and Zevran found his eyes dropping to the diminutive form cradled carefully against the giant's chest. It was Lyna, her face pale and her ebony hair streaming down towards the ground. Sound seemed to fade as he watched the giant of a man approach, the woman he loved dead in the qunari's arms. His chest tight, the elf swallowed hard and took a step forward, his hand reaching out as the qunari stopped next to him; he dropped his hand before touching her, though, not quite wanting to know that she was truly gone. He watched, frozen and his breathing ragged, as the giant knelt, placing the Warden carefully on the stone, and Morrigan dropped to her knees at his side, her lips moving as she murmured to herself, wringing her hands as she rocked slightly in place. Sten remained in his position, carefully clasping the Warden's hands together on her stomach before leaning back slightly, his oddly bright purple eyes fixed on her still face.

Sound came back to the world, and Zevran dropped to his knees, finally reaching out to brush a lock of ebony hair off her cheek, surprised at how warm Lyna still was to the touch. Beside him, Morrigan whispered, "It has to have worked. It must have worked. Please. It must have worked, it has to... Please..." She chanted it like a prayer, and after several minutes passed this way, during which Zevran stared at his fallen love, the witch reached out a tentative hand, her slender fingers clasping gently around the Warden's wrist.

There was a pause, and the witch cried out, burying her face in her hands, her shoulders shaking with sobs. Zevran, his body cold as the last tiny ember of hope died in his chest, watched in a detached sort of fascination as the supposedly cold witch cried into her hands. He reached out almost absently and patted her back, murmuring, "There there..." Sten stared at them, as implacable as always, wondering if it was going to be up to him to bring order to this little... incident.

At his touch, Morrigan looked up at the assassin, her golden eyes bright, despite the obvious signs of tears. Suddenly, she smiled, her voice a whisper, "It worked. She's alive." Zevran blinked, and then he narrowed his eyes at the witch. His voice was a low his as he hissed, "This is not a joking matter, witch. I saw her take the final blow. She told me what happens when a Warden kills the Archdemon." Morrigan only smiled wider, seemingly unconcerned with his venom.

Kneeling on the other side of the fallen elf, Sten spoke up. "The witch speaks the truth." The assassin whirled, his amber eyes searching Sten's face before dropping his gaze to the Warden they all hovered over. Surely they were cruel, to make such a joke at his expense... and yet, he was unable to resist the tiny spark of hope in the back of his mind... He found his eyes falling into old habits, searching for the faintest hint of life... only to find more then a single hint, so many so that he was surprised he had missed them until now. The skin at her throat moved faintly with her pulse; her pale cheeks were flushed with life; her chest rose and fell very slightly, and her eyelids fluttered under his scrutiny. The signs were there, if fainter then he would like. Hope blossoming fully, Zevran sprang into action, pulling the Dalish Warden into his arms with a ragged breath; he buried his nose in her hair briefly as he stood, absently surprised that, even now after such a battle, the scent of wildflowers clung to her.

Zevran turned on his heel and stalked towards door leading inside, ignoring the witch and the warrior as they fell into step a few paces behind him, Morrigan pausing only long enough to retrieve the Warden's bow and Sten the dagger she'd used to strike the final blow. He needed to find Wynne. If anyone could make sure his Lyna was going to be alright, it was the elderly mage. The assassin made his way downstairs quickly, finding his way outside with little thought and inwardly thrilling at every little movement from the elf in his arms.