"And perhaps we shall find a valuable tome or two, yes? One that this enchanter will not miss?"

She turned in the doorway to the study, fixing the elf beneath a warning glare. "We're not thieves, Zev."

"Oh no? And what of this diary you have been collecting? These scrolls? The codex on—"

Behind him, Alistair put a hand to his head. "—Just… don't question her. Just… don't."

She sighed. "Look but don't touch. We need something, anything that will tell us what Uldred might be up to."

The elf shrugged. "As you wish."

Bending to the enchanter's desk, she jiggled loose the drawers. Papers, reports, a small painted box, a weathered journal.

Alistair was moving along the wall, trailing a finger along the bindings of the books stacked there. "Ooh, hey now."

She was on her feet. "What?"

"The Roots of Vengeance, Lord of the Stinging Swarm, 9:84." His grin was sheepish. "All of these books were banned by the Chantry."

"Ahh, the good stuff." Zevran slipped behind them.

"Heart of Darkspawn, Passage to Tevinter, The Shapechanger's Smallclothes…"

"I should like to meet this Irving, I think."

"…101 Corpse Gall Crafts, The Boy's Field Guide to Mushroom Handling…"

She blinked. "Why was that one banned?"

The elf snorted as Alistair shrugged.

Zevran crouched now, running a finger along the lowest shelf. "Oh ho."

"What?"

"Poetry."

"Great. Let me know when you find something useful."

Already she had turned, but he stood now, chuckling incredulous. The tome was open in his hands, grin spreading wide.

"What?"

"I… cannot read it."

Alistair was peering over his shoulder. "Is that…?"

Moving to stand behind them, she felt her jaw go slack. "No."

Three sets of eyes rose slow, fixing on the man standing cross the room.

He must have felt it, but he was a long time in turning, eyes narrowing suspiciously. "What?"

"Esaam… tamassra?"

Sten's growl rumbled deep. "Put that down."

She snatched the book from Zevran, slipping it behind her back with a spreading grin. "What does it mean?"

"It is… not important." He was striding toward her now, scowl deepening as she moved to put one of the tables between them.

"I didn't know there was such a thing as… qunari poetry."

"There is poetry everywhere."

"Esaam tamassra. In the… something. What does it mean?"

If possible, Sten seemed to hesitate, choosing his words with care. "It makes reference… to a priestess."

She could see Zevran's eyebrows rise.

Flipping another page, she smirked. "And what about… astaarit beresaad?"

"Rise of the vanguard."

"So it's… war poetry?"

Something twitched behind his lips as the elf chortled. "Perhaps."

"And this one? Something about kabethari…"

"'The Kabethari Maid.'"

She blinked. "You know it?"

"Would it put an end to these questions if I did?"

It was her turn to quirk a brow. "Perhaps."

He sighed heavy. "It tells the tale of a farmer's daughter. Beautiful as the sword, strong of hand and strong of teeth."

"'Teeth?'" Alistair was again peering over her shoulder, as if hoping to find some explanation in the strange words inscribed there.

Zevran, though, had braced his palms against the table, back heaving with restrained laughter.

"Sten? Are these… qunari love poems?"

"Not exactly."

Moving round the table, she kept her eyes on the big man's, grin coming wicked. "I'd like to hear you read one."

"What purpose will this serve, kadan?"

"Humor me."

"No."

"And if I made it an order?"

He took the book from her, sighing beneath his bitter glare. "There once was a girl from Seheron…"