Zevran vs. The Inquisition

Epilogue

Zevran stopped dead, staring down into the valley below them. "Tell me this is not the surprise you promised."

Glancing back at him, Misamahl'len smirked. "Something wrong, old man? I thought you and the Hero of Ferelden killed plenty of dragons."

"That, dear Herald, was a matter of necessity. We did not hunt them."

"I told you not to call me that."

Dorian stepped between them, readying his staff. "Our Inquisitor has developed something of a mad streak, ever since he started training with that Knight-Enchanter. The idea of mages fighting from the fore just seems so..."

"Messy?" Zevran supplied helpfully.

"You should see the sort of filth he tracks home. Silk was not made to take such punishment."

"Ah, and I have lost too many good boots in the dispatching of vigorous bleeders." He looked to Misamahl'len. "Could we not simply sneak around it? It would certainly spare our good looks."

Dorian nodded. "A wise man, your father."

Misamahl'len rolled his eyes. "At least Bull's still with me. Right, Bull?"

The Iron Bull already had his axe in hand, staring hungrily at the beast below them. His response was half a growl. "Best. Day. Ever."

Misamahl'len grinned at the other elf. "See? And you wanted to spend more time together."

"A guilt trip, is it?" Zevran chuckled, reluctantly readying his blades. "As you wish, then."

The Iron Bull straightened suddenly, staring down at him with an eager grin. "We could try that thing you said you'd let me try."

"You will have to be more specific, my friend. I promised to let you try a great many things."

The Qunari laughed, lifting him bodily.

"Oh, no."

"C'mon, Varric won't let me do it. Neither will Sera."

"How sensible of them." Zevran looked down and saw Misamahl'len smiling up at him. With a groan, he settled back on the Bull's shoulder. "Fine. Just... let us get a bit closer before you launch me toward certain death, yes?"

But they did not die. After a somewhat undignified flight onto the beast's back, Zevran found himself lost to the rhythm of the battle, laughing with the familiar thrill of it. The Iron Bull drew the beast's attention, while Misamahl'len and Dorian worked their magics. He had to admit that the Inquisitor's glowing sword was rather impressive. He had known warriors who could not wield a blade quite so well. Zevran smiled to himself. Was this... fatherly pride?

But the dragon had children of her own. When she summoned them, three rushed straight at the Inquisitor. Dropping from the dragon's back, Zevran landed on the nearest, driving his blade down through the creature's skull.

Misamahl'len smirked. "Not bad. But I had it."

"So much for gratitude." Zevran tsked. "What did those Dalish teach you?"

The boy scowled, thrusting his blade forward. Zevran ducked instinctively as it passed over his shoulder, watching as it cleaved the head from the dragonling rearing up behind him. Misamahl'len shrugged. "A few things."

"Good to see you can handle a blade, at least. Even if it is imaginary."

Rushing past them, the Iron Bull guffawed.

Misamahl'len spun to meet another dragonling, putting his back to Zevran's. Together they turned, facing down the creatures. The boy smirked back at him over his shoulder. "Careful you don't strain something, old man."

Soon enough, the dragonlings were dead. As their mother roared, Zevran's eyes roamed up the length of her. "So this is the plan, then? Hack at the beast's legs until it falls down?"

Misamahl'len shrugged, slashing at the creature's belly. "Pretty much."

He shook his head. "No sense of artistry. If you are going to do a job, why not do it well?"

"Let me guess – you did things differently during the Blight?"

For answer, Zevran leapt onto the dragon's leg, driving his blade into the soft flesh behind its knee and using the leverage to swing himself up onto the creature's back. It snapped at him, but he was already running for the neck, grabbing for the spiny ridge on the back of its head. With a final grunt, he hauled himself up and drove one of his daggers into its eye. The beast howled, shaking him off, but he landed lightly, rolling out of the way. He righted himself just in time to see the dragon stagger, giving Misamahl'len the opportunity to open its throat.

Dorian's laughter floated across the battlefield. "Terrible show-offs, the both of you." They turned to him with twin smirks, which only made him laugh harder.

Misamahl'len shook his head, giving Zevran a bemused smile. "Maybe you do have a point."

Zevran dropped into a bow, but the effect was somewhat spoiled by the sudden appearance of the Iron Bull, scorched and bloody but grinning like a madman. Again, he lifted him, but this time he simply let him dangle, those hungry eyes roaming over him. "Hmm... that was nice work, Crow."

"It does get the blood pumping." Zevran glanced down, arching a brow. "In a manner of speaking."

Misamahl'len stepped up behind him, sharing a smile with Dorian as he clapped a hand on Zevran's shoulder. "Did I mention how much Bull loves dragon slaying?"