Vazkor Mahariel for Uastis, thanks for commissioning me!
Look at that! Isn’t he dreamy? Thank you so much, you super talented artist, you.
"Sit still, Vaz!" "Ugh, Zev, you know I have trouble sitting still like this." "Please, mi amor, could you do this for me? I need this." "Fine! I guess I have to smile, too?" "Yes, please, for me."
Vazkor sighed, got all the thoughts out of his head, and smiled. Sometimes he shifted his behind a little because the chair he was sitting in wasn’t really comfortable. After a few minutes, he blew a lock of hair out of his face and took a quick glance at his surroundings. He noticed Zevran staring at him with a lucid but sad look on his face. He tried not to show the worry that started tying a knot in his guts. What’s going on in that beautiful head of his? Why all of this now?
Zevran looked at Vazkor’s face. He aged so fast during the Blight. You could still see the youthful demeanure in his eyes but underneath you can see the lines that formed due to mourning and sadness.
How many times did he hold Vazkor tightly until he slept? How many times did he need to caress and kiss his face when he woke up from another nightmare? Some weeks more often than others. Sometimes every day. Worrying about the old god child, his child, about Duncan and Cailin’s death, about all the people who suffered while he had to rally the dwarves, elves, mages and humans to fight the darkspawn.
He noticed Vazkor playing with his necklace, an old worn leather rope he got from one of the girls from his clan. How much does he miss them?
This beautiful creature chose to be with him, to love him, even though they would get hunted down by assassins, and here and there an old supporter of Loghain. Is this really what he wanted? He has expressed no desire to turn back to his people but Zevran kept wondering.
"Zev…..ZEV!" Zevran shook his head to banish the thoughts. "Yes?" Vazkor rolled his eyes. "I can handle looking like a trained monkey now but please don’t look at me like that. It scares me. What’s wrong?" Zevran smiled. "Nothing, my dear warden, I was thinking of all the passionate nights I’m missing with others while I stay true to you." Vazkor scoffed and stuck out his tongue "Well you don’t need to, you can go if you want. We could also search for Isabela, if you want, or see if someone else is interested?" No answer. More deep thoughts. Silence.
"I’m done, gentlemen." The painter used a tiny brush to write down her signature on the portrait. Vazkor stretched and jumped out of the chair. "Finally!" Both Zevran and Vazkor looked at the painting. "Hmpf, looks alright, looks like me, I guess." He stretched again, put his hands in his neck, blew another lock of hair out of his face and strolled away. "Time for you to repay me for this unwanted torture, Zev. Off to the pub for a good meal, a drink, and a warm bed. Then you can show me how grateful you are. By the creators’ arses, that chair started to feel like a marble anthill"
Vazkor’s gone and Zevran’s left alone with the portrait. His fingers wandered over the contours of the face in the painting. “I am yours.” He took a deep long breath and pushed back that painful feeling in his chest. “Yes…..yes, this will do for when you’re gone.”