It started innocently enough, or as innocent as anything is with Zevran. As usual, Alistair and Leliana had insisted on picking up some books when they encountered a peddler on the roadside. Milena had taken one look at his wares and walked away. He had nothing of use to her, only fripperies that made Leliana squeal with delight. She headed to the edge of the forest to search for herbs for more healing potions. She kept an eye on the Antivan, though. She mostly trusted the assassin, although he was still not allowed anywhere near the evening meals while they were being prepared. Still, he'd had opportunity to kill both her and Alistair over the last few weeks and had instead proven to be a skilled and deadly protector for each of them.
He was perusing the dwarf's wares and suddenly chuckled and seized a book from the pile. He looked so pleased with himself that she was immediately suspicious. After all, who knew what was written in those books?
She found out that evening after dinner.
Everything had been put away when Zevran announced he would provide the entertainment after dinner this night. Alistair stared at the elf suspiciously, his hand dropping to his sword belt. Leliana simply looked amused while Morrigan looked annoyed.
Zevran pulled out the book he had bought earlier and started to read. "Love Lies in Lowtown," he read. "I'm sure this will be another excellent tale by one of my favorite authors. Truly, finding one of these novels is a delicious surprise in this stuffy land of rain and dogs." He caught sight of Alistair's glare, winked at him and started reading.
Milena was caught up in the sound of the elf's voice. It was smooth and silken. It dropped low and pitched high as he read the story, giving each character a distinctive voice. It wasn't until he reached the second chapter and things took a decidedly more lascivious turn of events, that she started to pay more attention to the actual story instead of his voice.
She couldn't help it. She found herself caught up in the heroine's plight, even as she snorted to herself at the helplessness of the city-bound shem. The poor woman seemed to need constant saving by the hero, a knight near as big as Alistair, but with much more confidence. Then Zevran started describing a much more intimate scene, complete with a description about how big the knight was in other places. Her cheeks burned in the firelight, but she could no more stop listening than she could stop breathing. Unfortunately, not everyone felt the same.
"Stop reading that filth," Alistair growled as he reached out to smack the book out of Zevran's hand and into the fire.
The elf was faster though, and the book was tucked safely behind his back. "Ah, I forgot. You were raised in the chantry, no?" he teased. "These books, the sisters have told you they are bad? That perhaps you will go blind if you read such things?" He glanced around the small group, taking in the reactions of the others. Milena couldn't look away when his amber gaze fell to her.
Alistair stuttered and fussed. "No, no, that's not...I mean, those aren't the sort of things one says when...when..." He looked at Milena and Leliana and gave up. "I'm going to bed. Sten can wake me for second watch."
Leliana winked at Zevran as she stood. "If you like that novel, I'm sure I can find some from Orlais that you would find...gripping."
Morrigan refused to be drawn into the conversation and retreated back to her tent, her attitude proclaiming her disdain for the entire evening.
It was just Milena and Zevran around the fire. "And you, my wild Dalish elf? What did you think of the story so far?"
Milena snaked her arm around Vartio and rubbed his fur vigorously, not even realizing she was using him as a defense against the Antivan's overwhelming personality. If Zevran exuded sexuality during the day, he was doubly dangerous in the evening with the firelight brushing his golden hair and highlighting the delicate planes of his face. The circle of light against the backdrop of darkness created a sense of intimacy and tempted her to be more open with the assassin than she felt would be wise. Unwilling to tell him what she actually thought, she fell back on her ingrained feelings for shems. "City people are helpless. She should have killed the bad guy when he killed her brother instead of running for the knight."
Zevran's chuckle was low and throaty and suggested there was so much more than she knew. She was attracted and annoyed by it at the same time. "Ah, but then how would the main characters have gotten together? They need shared adversity in order for their romance to bloom. And trust me, bloom it will, given what I know of this author."
Even though the Crow hadn't moved, he seemed too close for comfort. It was time to follow Alistair's example and leave before she said or did something she might regret. She stood abruptly and headed to her tent without another word. The weight of Zevran's gaze followed her the entire way.
The next morning, she found his book just inside her tent. Frowning, she picked it up and started to turn through the pages. The paper was heavy and smooth against her fingers, and the marks on the page had a soothing regularity. Every once in a while, a page had a mark that was large and elaborately decorated, but she couldn't figure out the significance. She closed the book and considered it. She was curious about the story inside, but the marks completely defeated her. She could read the tracks of prey and the coming weather better than most in her clan, but only the Keeper and her First knew the secrets of the shems' marks. With a slightly regretful pat to the cover, she set it aside and began to pack up her tent for another day on the road.
Zevran fell in step beside her on the road. "So, my wild Dalish elf, did you stay up late discovering the salacious secrets between the covers of my gift?"
She frowned. She hated it when he used words she didn't know, although from the leering smile on his face, she could guess. "No."
"No?" he asked in surprise. "I thought you were fascinated by the plight of our heroine last night."
She hid a smile even as she shook her head. "I was, but don't tell Alistair," she said in a conspiratorial whisper.
"Hrm. Perhaps you are waiting for me to read it aloud tonight? To hear me describe our heroine's joy in discovering the delights awaiting her?"
In spite of herself, she blushed. "Do they really write such things down?" she asked before she could stop herself.
Now he laughed out loud. "Oh yes. In great, loving detail."
"I don't believe you," she said. "Why would they do that?"
"Why do you think?" he countered. "Have you never experienced the joy of one-handed reading?" He laughed at her look of confusion, then paused to consider her. "Ahhh. Milena, can you read?"
His question made her feel unexpectedly embarrassed, as if reading were something important. "I can read the forest," she shot back. "What more would I need?"
His smile became tinged with sadness. "Your enemies do not reside in the forest, Milena."
"The darkspawn..."
"I am speaking of Teryn Loghain and his men, Warden. They communicate through letters. It is how they hired me. Just think, if you intercepted their letters, you could learn what they are doing."
"Alistair and Leliana can read. So can you and Morrigan. What need have I to learn?"
"Well, for one, you could read for yourself that delightful little tale about Lowtown," he said with a suggestive grin.
She was not going to discuss that, not when Alistair and Leliana were walking just a few feet ahead. In fact, she decided that this would be an excellent time to join them and quickened her step, doing her best to ignore Zevran's chortle behind her.
That night while Leliana was cooking dinner, he gestured her to the side. "What do you see?" he asked as he pointed to a bare patch of ground.
She furrowed her brow and stared at the dirt, then him, then back to the dirt. "Scratches?"
"It's your name, Milena," he said gently. "Here, let me show you." With a stick, he pointed to each individual scratch and named a sound. He slowly put them together for her. "Milena."
Intrigued, she squatted down next to the patch of dirt. "These marks are for me?" He nodded. "What are the marks for your name?" He made more scratches in the dirt underneath the first set and sat quietly while she looked at them. "These are the same," she said as she pointed at a matching set of marks.
"Because they are the same letters. The same sound," he explained.
She reached out and traced over the marks for her name with her finger. Zevran rubbed out the marks for his name and told her to try copying the marks in the bare space. She tried, but they looked nothing like the smooth, sure strokes he had used. She tried again, but the second set was no better. Just then, Leliana announced that dinner was ready. "Bah," Milena said as she stood up. "What is the point for a Dalish to write her name anyway?" She deliberately drew her foot across all the marks, obliterating them completely.
Zevran was determined, however. The night after they passed through a small town, he sat by her side after dinner. "I have a gift for you," he purred.
She looked at him warily. For the past two days, he had tried to cajole her into his tent and was never disheartened when she rebuffed his attempts. "What is it?"
He produced a small book and handed it over. "Zevran, I can't read this," she said without taking it.
Finally she had to when he shoved it into her hands. "Open it, Warden."
Reluctantly she did so, and her breath caught when she saw the brightly colored illustrations on the first page. There were pictures of children playing with toys while more pictures of sweets lined the edges of the page. Curiously, she turned the page. There were marks on the page, but these were very different from the first book he had given her. For one thing, they were larger and there were only a few on the page. Most of the page was given over to illustrations of children. She flipped through and saw the story unfold through the pictures with more marks underneath.
"It is a children's book," he told her. "It is how most children learn to read."
"Wait, what's this?" she asked, pointing to what looked to be an aravel made of candy with two little children pointing at it.
Zevran plucked the book from her hand and flipped through a few pages. "Ah well, I hadn't intended to start with that story."
She grabbed it back and turned back to the page she saw. The next page showed the children being snatched by an old Dalish crone with wild tattoos and pointed teeth and thrown into cages. In the next few pages, Milena saw the crone boil a pot of water and then the girl pushed her into the pot. On the last page, the children grabbed a bag of gold and ran back to their parents. She stabbed her finger at the last picture. "Is this what shems teach their children about the Dalish?" she asked incensed.
"It's a fairy tale, a made up story," he said soothingly. "No one believes it."
"Children do!"
"We'll come back to that one," he muttered and flipped ahead a few pages. "Ah, here we go. The story of the magic bean."
"Why would anyone enchant a bean?" Milena asked in a tone that implied the author had taken leave of their senses.
"No one enchanted it. It's just magic. And look, when the boy plants it, it grows so high that it reaches the sky." He flipped to the next page, pointedly ignoring her snickers. "See, the boy finds a giant and tricks him out of his gold."
"A bean that reaches the sky?" She laughed harder. "Wait, what else is in here?" She took the book back and found pictures of pigs building houses. "Are they were-pigs?" she asked incredulously.
"No, they're not were-pigs," he said in disgust. "They're normal pigs. Building houses."
She was laughing uncontrollably now and kicked her feet against the ground. "Pigs...Building houses...! No wonder those shem were so scared when they came into the forest! A bean might grow under them and launch them into the next kingdom! The animals will build traps to catch them! What else?" She turned a page and found a wolf dressed in a nightshirt and nightcap. "A werewolf!"
"No, it's a normal wolf pretending to be the girl's granny...Brasca!" He swore when she laughed in his face.
She took one look at his disapproving face and howled even harder. Alistair and Leliana looked at her curiously, but that only pushed her to another laughing fit. Zevran abruptly stood up and stalked out of the campsite and toward a copse of trees. Milena couldn't do anything but sit on the log and giggle helplessly while wiping tears from her eyes for several more minutes. She leafed through the rest of the book, occasionally bursting out into loud laughter once more.
Leliana came over to sit next to her. "These were some of my favorite stories growing up," she said. "I particularly liked this one of the princess in the tower with the long hair."
Milena still snickered as she asked her question. "But Leli, if the boy climbed up the tower using her hair, why didn't she just climb down herself?"
The bard just smiled enigmatically. "There are layers upon layers of meaning in such stories, Milena. But perhaps, you should consider the meaning of the gift instead of the stories, non?" She nodded toward the trees where Zevran had disappeared.
The Warden's smile grew pensive as she gazed at the trees. She stood and quietly followed the assassin's path.
Zevran was making no attempt to hide. He was throwing his knives across a clear space to thunk solidly into an old oak tree. She watched him for a while. He was pure grace in movement. Golden hair flowed like silk over his shoulders and highlighted his swirling tattoos.
She glanced around and bent to pluck a sprig of ivy growing from the base of a nearby tree. She walked slowly toward him, but he ignored her and continued to pull knives from his belt and sleeves until at least a dozen were sticking out of the oak tree. When he walked over to retrieve them, she leaned up against the oak tree and held out the ivy, shaking it slightly when he refused to look at it or her.
"Creeping ivy," she said. "It can be mashed in a poultice to speed healing of bruises. Powdered, it can be sniffed to ease a headache. On occasion, our brewer used it in his beer. In the language of flowers, it has a special meaning."
Zevran concentrated on placing his blades back into their sheaths. "Why do you tell me this, Warden?"
She stooped and picked a yellow jonquil. "Do you know of this flower, Zevran?"
He glanced at it and shrugged. "It is pretty enough for a lady's fancy, perhaps. What of it?"
"A decoction of boiled roots may be used to purge the stomach of poisons, but make sure it is not too strong. And do not confuse the bulbs with onions, because they are poisonous in even a small quantity. What do you see when you look around, Zevran?"
He frowned, guessing at where she was heading, but not liking it. "I see trees. And more trees. And weeds and a never ending road. I do not see the comfort of an inn, a warm sun, or a decent meal anywhere nearby, however."
"I see food, shelter, medicine. I see poisons. I see branches that would make good arrows. I see birds with feathers for fletching. I see where the water comes to the ground just over there," she said pointing to a dark green hollow ahead. "I have lived with these signs all my life, Zevran. I have never tried to understand the marks of shems until you showed me."
"And?" He was still stung from her earlier mockery of his gift. She sighed and handed him the ivy.
"I propose a trade, Zevran. An exchange of gifts. I will teach you the secrets of the forest in exchange for the secrets of the shems' marks."
He thawed slightly toward her. "It is no secret, Warden."
"Not to you, perhaps. But no one else has ever offered to teach this Dalish how to read. You are the only one who thought it worth his time, and that means much to me. I am sorry I laughed, Zevran. It is only that the stories are so absurd."
His irrepressible good humor started showing through the cracks. "Perhaps they are at that. To one who has grown up hearing those stories, they seem perfectly normal." He shook his head. "Were-pigs. Where would you get such an idea, my lovely elf?"
She giggled. She couldn't help it, but this time, his eyes laughed with her. "Why else would they build houses?"
"To protect themselves from the wolf, of course!"
She covered her mouth, but the giggles came out anyway. "Then they are sensible were-pigs. I think the werewolves in the Brecilian forest would much rather hunt easier prey than pigs in houses." She took his hand and urged him back toward their campsite. The light was nearly gone, and the campfire provided a welcoming glow.
Zevran glanced down at the sprig of ivy he still held in his other hand. "You said this had a special meaning. What is it?"
She smiled as she folded his fingers over it. "Friendship and affection."
His eyebrows waggled suggestively as he followed her. "I think I shall have to learn more about this language of flowers, my wild Dalish elf. There are many words I wish to know."