hmmm yeah this is a dragon age fic but its cute and i dont care so im posting it here. also, the little aesthetic board/face claim up above is for kala, in case anyone was interested in knowing what she looked like
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Kala stayed in touch with Esmeray no matter where they went. They still go back to Ferelden to visit often– the King and his Queen Consort, the Hero of Ferelden, were always happy to have them stay– but Kala and Zevran were made for travel. He had promised to show Kala all the things she had never seen, and to be beside her the whole time, and he had so far lived up to that promise. Orlais, Rivain, Antiva- wherever she had wanted to go, they found their way there together. Rewarded and revered as they were for their part in the defeat of the Archdemon and the Blight, they went comfortably, adventuring wherever they went. And so, letters were her only options to keep in touch, make sure everything was okay. She told Zevran often how lucky she was to have him– who else would have been patient enough to teach her to read and write?
The letters always came early in the morning, drawing her from the bed and keeping her at the desk while her love slept. Some days she would join him again in bed before he woke up, but most times he would wake by himself while she scratched away at a reply across the room. Today was one of those days.
When Zevran woke up, and the bed next to him was cold, he figured she must be at the desk- when he sat up and saw her, half naked and back turned to him, one hand on the wood of the desk, he almost laughed at the predictability of it. Esmeray used to tease her for always being so spontaneous and hard to follow, but he knew her better than that. She had small routines, most of them things you might miss if you weren't paying attention.
No matter how many clothes Kala bought or made, it was always a toss-up whether or not she was actually wearing them at any given point. Not that he minded, of course; there would never be any complaints from him. Today, she had a pair of blue silk shorts on that she had made, sitting low on her hips– inches under the dimples on her back, evenly spaced on either side of her spine. Long, bronze legs stretched on forever past the ends of the silk– she had freckles even there, but they were few, and light enough that they could be missed at a glance. Zevran was sure, though, that he had memorized every mark, scar, or freckle on her body– kissed every inch of her skin.
He slipped away from the bed, a bit begrudgingly, but he had followed her to much worse places– across the bedroom wouldn't be the death of him.
He may move quietly, as an assassin should, but she still wasn't surprised when she felt his hands on her hips, then her stomach, and then his chest on her back. He could see Esmeray's neat handwriting on the paper in her hand, looking at it briefly over her shoulder, before planting a cluster of lazy kisses on the back of her freckled shoulder.
Kala breathed a laugh as he touched her. "Good morning," she spoke, voice soft, as it was only for him. "Esmeray says hi as well."
