This was meant to be a fairly short work… but it is over 16k words so far and with a whole chapter to go at the least. Phew. But here we go! Happy Zevran week!

(And I think I caught all of the typos and such. If I did not, please let me know!)

Staring blankly at the tents was not going to get him anywhere, but he could not bring himself to move forward. It was with mounting embarrassment that Ellion Mahariel had found himself beaten by a book. Said text was shifted nervously in his hands.

With trepidation he had agreed to Leliana's suggestion that they research the Dwarven people before they travelled to Orzammar. Without a Dwarf among the core party and none who had ever been close with a Dwarven noble, it had sounded fine at the start. Bodhan may have been able to tell them about the Dwarven economy inside and out, but he had lacked the political and historical knowledge they sought.

When Ellion had agreed to research, he had figured it would be of a more verbal nature. Apparently he had figured wrong. But the merchant had been only too eager however to help them track down old texts in Denerim before they had left; not yet ready to tackle the political mess that Arl Howe had started.

A mountain of books had been presented and received in varying regard. Alistair had stared at them with hopelessness and pain. "You know, reading ancient tomes was perhaps one of the things I hated most about learning to be a Templar? Is this really necessary?"

Quietly, Wynne had tutted, book already in her lap. "Come now, reading is good for you. You would be amazed at all the fascinating things you can find in ancient texts. Besides, how will you fulfill your duty as a Grey Warden if you cannot reach out to and understand your allies?"

Her gentle reprimand had worked, but Creators be damned if Alistair did not go about the task grudgingly.

Sten had ignored the texts entirely. When questioned he had remarked that anything he would need to know he would see and hear with his own body. Leliana had pouted, but did not press the issue.

As Ellion had suspected, Morrigan curiously flipped through several pages before dropping her book back onto the pile with a snort of disdain. "Small minded creatures and entirely lacking magic."

"Not even their lyrium?" Alistair prodded. The witch curled her lip. "Lyrium is for the weak who cannot create their own power. I do not need some outside substance to allow me to cast. I use my own strength and that alone."

Not the most graceful reply and it had certainly gained Alistair and Wynne's ire, but Ellion could not help but respect the other woman for it. The only thing one could depend on was themselves and their own means. To be reliant on something else, or someone else, ran greater risks.

To everyone's surprise, Zevran had actually wandered over to scan through two of the tomes, swiftly thumbing through the pages. They were less surprised when he sighed despairingly and tossed the second book aside. "Alas, no interesting pictures or stories."

"Zevran!" Leliana hissed as she scrambled to save the text.

With mocking sadness he shook his head. "The book has told me enough. They're a people of sad lives with no enjoyment."

"You mean they don't write about sex…"

"Or plotting, no. At least nothing that's not political. No fun at all."

Alistair's face crinkled. "But isn't that all the Crows do? Political assassinations?"

"Heavens, no. Make it worth our while and we will kill just about anything you request. But the Dwarves, it's all talk and then a fighter walks up and hacks off a head. No finesse. No artistry."

"… I'm not sure I will get used to you."

But while the others had bantered, Ellion stared down blankly at the pages before him, utterly lost. Uneasy eyes had watched as even Sten had briefly scanned a book presented by Leliana, not hint of confusion or bemusement on the Qunari's face. Disheartened, the Dalish Warden's shoulders slumped.

For a time he had aimlessly flipped pages, stomach sinking at the lack of imagery. He must have stared at the pages for their entire evening meal, many of the party already gone to bed, when Leliana had peeked over his shoulder.

"You alright?"

Taken off guard by the quiet Bard, Ellion jolted. His scowl was rewarded with a giggle. "Sorry," she uttered from behind her hand, failing to smoother her amusement. She had flashed a cheery smile and he lost any urge to be cranky; only nervous.

Did she realize?

"You just seemed quiet. Well, even more than you usually are. Thinking?"

He stuttered, "Ah, y-yes."

Damn. That would not go unnoticed. Sure enough, her smile dissipated into a worried crinkle. "You sure that you are alright? I know you have difficulties with cities."

Difficulty was an understatement. Even now thinking of how he had frozen after they stepped into Denerim's gates, heart racing and breath whistling, he felt his face warm. He dipped his head to hide the flush behind the fall of blonde hair.

"A bit. My clan was… very small. I do not understand how humans can live packed in like that. Denerim was… not entirely pleasant."

The racial slurs and the whispers of the horrors occurring in the alienage did nothing to help. His fingers tightened on the book in his hand. The Bard must have caught some of his hidden meaning as her hand had come to rest on his shoulder, squeezing the leather comfortingly. "We will help them, soon."

Head raised to offer a grateful smile, Ellion silently doubted it. Orzammar was close to a two week walk from Denerim. There was no telling how long it would take to settle the rumored civil war or win the new King or Queen's favor. Then of course there was the trip back and then chipping away at the human nobles. There was no telling that would happen to the alienage in that time frame. He was not even sure what was happening now or why the Elves did not fight it. The whole thing seemed daunting and made his stomach churn.

With a few murmured words of goodnight, he had taken his leave, stepping away from the camp fire to head into his tent.

And that was where he had found himself now, on the other side of the camp in the night shadows staring awkwardly at their collection of haphazard tents. Well, more one tent in particular. And he had a feeling that the tent's occupant was well aware of his presence.

Just get it over with, he mentally hissed at himself.

"Are you going to come in and say hello or are am I going to have to come out there and get you, my dear Warden?"

Ellion sighed, ruffling his hair. Well, there was no avoiding it now.

Slowly, the tent flap was brushed aside and he ducked into the darkened interior. Armorless, but not naked like Ellion had half expected, Zevran watched him enter, openly curious.

"And what brings you to my humble tent this evening?" A sassy wag of his brows chased away much of Ellion's nervousness.

With a quiet laugh he knelt beside Zevran at the edge of the other Elf's bedroll. "Not that. I…" he licked his lips. "I actually have a favor to ask."

The Antivan's smile widened into a grin. "Oh? What sort of favor?"

"Not that!" Ellion hastened to repeat.

The attempt at feigned innocence was neither successfully pulled off nor believed. With a chuckle, Zevran shrugged. "Cannot blame a person for trying. What is it then that I can offer you help with?"

It must have been a strange sight to see him like this; Knelt with the book resting on his thighs, fingers picking at the fraying leather cover, and head bowed as he worried his lip in his teeth. Normally he was always so sure in his choices. Time was taken to think things over, but he would never have called it hesitation; thoughtfulness perhaps. This, however, was nothing but. Too ashamed to make his request aloud.

So, instead, Ellion hedged around the subject. Zevran watched him with shrewd eyes, head cocked curiously. "Zevran… you—you know how to read, right?"

Warily, bright green eyes inched up to meet hazel. Zevran studied him a moment longer before some of the teasing left his expression. "Ah. I see." His eyes flicked down to the book that was fiddled in the Warden's lap.

Ellion cringed and looked away.

"You are ashamed."

A challenge. Frowning, Ellion forcibly snapped his eyes back to Zevran, meeting the other Elf's eyes and holding. And like that, much of his embarrassment faded. There was no judgment or mockery on Zevran's face, simply the same old relaxed and easy smile he often wore. He had baited Ellion's pride and swept away his anxiety in one simple gesture, all without harm.

It was frightening how quickly this Elf had learned to read and manipulate him. Ellion released the breath he had been holding. He was not sure yet if that was a good or a bad thing. Alistiar would probably balk at the idea, and yet, as of this moment Zevran had never used that talent to hurt them; only aid or the periodic tease.

This time, he did not look away though his fingers twitched against the reflexive urge to grip his nape. "I had hoped that you could teach me."

"Teach you?"

The dirty bastard was going to make him say it. Ellion sighed. He should have expected that. Zevran knew full well, but he was forcing the Warden to look at the problem directly. It should not have been a surprise that the assassin would not let him skirt around the topic.

"To read." A pause, then, "I can't read."

"Is that common?"

Ellion's eyes darted around the tent, to the book, then back to the other Elf, looking for a clue. "I'm sorry?"

"Is it common that the Dalish are not taught to read?" Not the answer Ellion had been expecting, but the words lacked offense and none was taken.

"I'm unsure. In my clan it was not uncommon. We learned what was necessary to do our daily tasks. I was a hunter. I did not need to know how to read to make kills, to skin, to gather, and to cook. Everything I know was taught to me by words and example. Our First, Merrill, she could read, but it was necessary for her to learn our history in greater detail; to learn our language and spells."

A thoughtful hum filled the tent and then, "Out of curiosity, why me? Not that I am not flattered of course and besides the obvious. I am quite pleasing to look at after all and have been told I have a charming voice. You may however find someone like Wynne or Leliana of more academic value."

It was not an unusual question. Ellion supposed it may have seemed an odd choice to pick Zevran over everyone in the party. But the open way Zevran watched him only affirmed his choice as the right one.

Subconsciously, he tucked a loose lock of hair behind his ear. "I guess I felt that you over everyone else could understand more humble beginnings. You don't seem the type to belittle someone for something like illita—illiterat—" The word was stumbling and awkward in his mouth. The wrong letters slipping into the wrong places. His head ducked. "For something like being unable to read."

Well that was embarrassingly wonderful. It was a stupid idea to try and throw out a word he only half knew and had never bothered to try using before.

"But no pressure," he hastened to add. "If you do not want to that's complet—"

"Sure, why not. It could be fun," Zevran quipped.

Surprised by the sudden and easy agreement, Ellion glanced up sharply, staring in mute surprise. Then, Zevran's words registered. There was no telling exactly what Zevran meant by "fun" but a few things came to mind.

Skin heated, Ellion grumbled, "Not that."

Far from offended, Zevran gestured in mock affront. "Why does everyone always assume I mean sex?"

"You spent half our trip from Denerim to camp creating poetry about Wynne's 'bosom'…"

"And why not?" Zevran laughed unabashedly. "It is a fine bosom, particularly for a woman of her age. But not this time, my dear Warden. Between you and me, she is quite easily distractible if one does not like her line of questions or commentary. Though, if you would rather partake in other skills of mine, I think that would be far more interesting."

The nearly forgotten book was held up towards Zevran's face and given a shake. "Reading."

"A shame, such a boring learning experience too. Dwarves." The final word was punctuated with a jesting tsk of disappointment. Or perhaps not so jesting. It was hard to tell with the assassin sometimes.

Ellion shook his head. "And where exactly would we get something more interesting anyway? … Wait, don't answer that."

"Come now, I'm sure we could find something far more captivating in camp. Perhaps Morrigan or Leliana's journals? Our pretty witch may try to hide it, but I've seen her jotting notes in a fancy little journal of hers. Oh!" he perked up. "Even better, Alistair's."

The pure glee in Zevran's voice at the idea was too much. Caught in laughter, Ellion hunched over his lap trying to catch his breath. "Don't you dare!" he gasped out. "Besides, I do not want to read about Leliana's shoe obsession and I already know Morrigan desires to turn Alistair into a toad."

"Suit yourself," Zevran pouted teasingly. "But it will be far more interesting than Dwarven politics, I assure you."

Despairingly, Ellion sighed. His nose crinkled, lip curling, as he stared down at the book. "True, but be that as it may, I'd rather keep myself in my companions' good graces."

The other Elf hummed. "For being a little short on vocabulary you are still rather well spoken, you know."

"Keeper Marethari." Her name was said with pride, reverence. "We may have lacked in education in some areas, but she always wanted us to present ourselves well, when possible. She was trying to move us away some from our reclusion. She felt we stood a better chance that way, but I don't know…"

The Humans. Ellion's lips tightened, just shy of pursing. He had let them live, against Tamlen's desire, and in return for being spared they fled to their Lord and raise their swords against them. Some nights he had nightmares that the clan was unable to get away, that the Humans had caught up to them and slain them. Worse, he had no idea if it was true or not. He had not had any contact with them since Duncan had conscripted him.

Whether Zevran noticed the change in his mood or not, Ellion was unaware. He started from his thoughts as he felt fingers swiftly unbuckle the straps of his shoulder armor.

"What are you doing? I thought was said 'not that'?"

"True, we did, and we aren't, but there is no reason that a student and teacher cannot be comfortable, no?"

Valid, even if perhaps there were some ulterior intentions involved. Still, he brushed Zevran's hands away as they started to work on his chest armor. "Alright, alright, but I am going to go change."

Green eyes rolled at Zevran's particularly smug and triumphant look as Ellion left the tent. Curiously, Zevran followed, but headed off towards Bodhan instead of following the Warden back to the tent he shared with Alistair.

Inside, the human snored loudly. It was no shock to find his arms banded around Fenrir, Ellion's Mabari. The Elf shook his head with soft laughter. Knowing now that Alistair had spent most of his childhood curled up with a pack of dogs, it was amusing, and admittedly adorable, to see the man revert to old habits. Contrary to Alistair's fear that Ellion would judge him for such events in his life, the Dalish had actually warmed further to the wisecracking Human.

In return for such a trusting and honest admission, Ellion had offered assurance, that no, Alistair was not strange. Indeed, Ellion had contentedly shared that even now as an adult he had often spent nights sleeping with the clan's halla herd. Alistair had visibly perked up, happy to find a kindred animal lover. Less enthused, Morrigan had to suffer through several hours of the pair trading both humorous and wild tales of their experiences with animals.

Both Alistair and Fenrir slept on as Ellion swiftly undid his leather armor, setting it aside as he tugged on more comfortable clothing. The more traditional Dalish leggings wrapped snuggly around his legs, allowing his bare toes and heels to feel the comforting earth beneath them. Still slipping a loose sleeping tunic over his head, he snuck back out of the tent to leave the sleepers in peace.

By the time he returned to Zevran's tent, the other Elf was already reseated on his sleeping roll, still in only a pair of pants. His hazel eyes curiously trailed over Ellion's clothing. It was not often that the Elf Warden walked around in anything beside his armor.

"Are most things the Dalish wear green?"

Ellion glanced down at his clothing and wondered for the first time if perhaps his attire seemed strange to others. His tunic was a soft tan, but his leggings were a deeper green common among Dalish attire. "No, depends on the season. It's warm and the flowers and trees are blooming. Green, blues, and browns allow us to better blend in with the forest. In the fall there are more reds and yellows instead of green and blue and in the winter we wear more whites and grays. Location and season change what we wear so that we may better move through the land unseen."

"Wise and most curious. Then I propose a trade."

From most, such a request would have left Ellion wary. Considering this Elf had tried to kill him and was often propositioning him, Ellion supposed he should have been suspicious, and yet in this moment he felt… light; almost eager. He wanted to hear, to trade. It was a strange sensation. In the past he had only felt so open towards other Dalish and even then usually only his own clan.

"Alright. What?"

"I will teach you letters and words if you will teach me of the Dalish and their culture."

"I'm sorry?" Bewildered, Ellion openly stared, mouth parted.

A moment of thought. Zevran looked strangely serious; his eyes turned downward and gazing into some middle distance. When he looked up again his gaze was set, determined. "The other whores when I was younger rarely spoke of my mother, but it had been mentioned that she was of Dalish origin. Let us say I am curious for personal reasons, never mind that it is fascinating to learn of other cultures and not just because it makes it easier to kill them. Ah, too much I think. I intend no harm to the Dalish."

And, perhaps strangely, Ellion believed him.

It was then that Ellion noticed the journal in Zevran's lap. That was new. He frowned. "Please tell me you did not actually take someone's journal…"

Laughing, Zevran shook his head. "No. First trade. I shall tell you about this," the journal was held aloft and jiggled, "if you tell me about that."

Tanned fingers motioned to the silver pendant that hung around Ellion's neck. Subconsciously, he touched the familiar warmth. He had almost forgotten about it. Normally it was kept hidden under his armor, but with the low open front of his tunic, it must have slipped free.

"Oh, this? It was my mother's. Supposedly."

"Supposedly?"

"I never knew her." Now loose and free from their usual series of braids, Ellion ran his fingers through blonde strands that hung not much past his shoulders. The gesture was traced by the other's eyes. "My father was the Keeper of my clan before Keeper Marethari. My mother though was a huntress from another clan that often travelled near ours. They had fallen in love, much to the disapproval of her clan, apparently. When she was heavily pregnant with me they had met up together in the woods."

"Ah, forbidden love, a tryst. I approve."

The tease was met with an amused scoff. Good naturedly, Ellion snarked back, "You would." More somber, he went on, "But they were found by a group of Humans. They killed my father and wounded my mother. She got away, but the shock of it sent her into labor. She made it back to my father's clan before she gave birth to me. No one is quite sure what happened to her… My foster mother, Ashalle, says that after my birth she went off into the woods and simply never came back. They don't know if she went to hunt the Humans or if she killed herself in her grief. She left this behind for me."

His fingers slipped down the pendent, raising it for examination. The silver face of a halla stared back at him with emerald eyes. Silent he wondered if this was what had started his fondness for the creatures.

Movement caught his attention and he glanced up as Zevran shifted closer. His hand lifted, hovering close to the pendent, gesture and eyes silently asking for permission. Ellion nodded and released the necklace as Zevran's fingers carefully took it from his grip. The gentle way in which he handled it was telling and Ellion found himself smiling softly.

Quiet, Zevran murmured, "She must have loved you to leave this for you. It is a beautiful piece."

The words drew a sigh. "But not enough to stay for me…" Neither Elf looked at one another, both staring at the silver in Zevran's hand. After a time, Ellion shook his head, dismissing the subject. "But it is the past and unchangeable. Come, I have letters to learn apparently. What is that?"

"This," the journal was opened to a blank page, "is a learning tool, my friend."

Ellion's expression crinkled. "You cheat. It's empty."

"A cheat?" Zevran laughed. "How so?"

"Trading a story for an empty book."

A quill and a tiny bottle of ink were brought around from the other side of Zevran's bedroll. "Empty for now, yes, but not long. To learn, we cannot just start with that stunning piece of literature that you brought for us. We need to begin a little more basic, I am afraid."

Ellion frowned. "Don't I need to learn to read before I can write?"

"Indeed, but it is I that will be writing." The quill was flourished before it was dipped into the ink.

"Where did you even get these? You just carry around ink, quills, and blank journals?"

"Parchment sometimes, you never know when a message would need to be sent back to the Masters and Maestros, however these are thanks to our stocky merchant companion. He has a very strange assortment of goods, by the way. He claims that pigeon he carts around is uncrushable."

"… An uncrushable pigeon…"

Carefully, Zevran began writing several lines of… something on the first page. "Indeed."

"Why would anyone need an uncrushable pigeon? And what are those?"

The feather traced over Zevran's lower lip, a thoughtful gesture more than any attempt to flirt, before he added a few other marks to the page and sat back satisfied. "I would imagine it would make a rather reliable carrier pigeon, but alas, we have no need for messages I think. These," he said as set the quill aside, "are letters. In order to figure out what a word should sound like you will need to learn how the letters sound first."

A cringe was suppressed. This just might be a little more intensive and difficult than Ellion had imagined. Then again, he was not sure what he had really expected. His clan was rather devoid of books besides those that the Keeper kept. All of their stories were passed down to one another orally. All of his lessons and training as a hunter and leather worker had been shown and told not read. His hair was ruffled with a slow exhale. This would be interesting.

The journal was passed over and tentatively accepted. Ellion stared blankly down at the seemingly random little squiggles on the page.

"Your writing is… not what I expected," he stalled. "It's much curlier than the Dwarven letters from that tome." Then again, what did he know about hand writing?

"True enough. My trainer felt that such extravagance was a waste of time to practice, but never can it be said that I am not an Elf fond of beautiful things." A pointed glance was sent his way, but Ellion was more focused on the journal than processing the unsubtle flirt.

"So… All of these are letters then?"

Affirmation hummed low. "Mostly. These first two lines. Now these," Zevran gestured to another row that was further down the page. "Are common combinations of letters that make certain sounds, but we will get to those later. First, focus on the top two lines."

That was a lot of sounds, but then, words were so varied. Ellion inched forward so the archer was nearly knee to knee with Zevran. Then, one by one, Zevran traced his finger from letter to letter, uttering their names, and sounds aloud.

"… So… some letters have more than one sound…?"

"Indeed. You will generally know what sound they make based on the letter that comes after them, thus those combinations below. Again, do not trouble about that for now. Just remember the sounds and we'll focus on the when once you get that."

Complicated. But if he could fluidly switch between Elvhen and Fereldan then he could do this. … He hoped.

After Zevran had run through the letters twice, he gestured to Ellion. "Alright. Start from the beginning and go through."

Spring eyes flicked up, unsure, before darting back to the page. Awkward and halting, Ellion stumbled his way through the letters. Mistakes were never reprimanded only gently corrected.

"Nnn?"

"Not quite. That's the next one. Mmm is the sound for that. M."

"Mmm, nnn, ah? No, O?"

"Correct."

The way the other Elf beamed made such a minute accomplishment feel grander than it was. It was both appreciated and yet made him feel all the more silly for not knowing these things to begin with. Self-consciously, he brushed hanging hair back, using the motion to distract himself from the complicated feelings tightening in his chest.

Finally, at the end, Ellion fairly sagged in relief. Finished. Only, not quite. Not about to let him off easy, Zevran gestured back to the start. "Again."

But where some improvements were made, other mistakes cropped up. Each brought a cringe or wince. Had he not gotten that correct only moments ago? How could he forget so easily? To the end and then back again. The third time through was little better and he felt his muscles tense in frustration.

Perhaps sensing it, Zevran did not make him start again.

"Combinations. This is how you will better know what makes what sound when and some will change completely."

Lovely.

Slowly, Zevran went through each again much like he had with the single letters, repeating it a second time to help it sink in. Periodic quips were snuck in, little teases to distract and relax, but they only helped so much.

Combinations were cautiously fumbled through. After a series of four repeated errors in a row, Ellion hissed. "Fenedhis."

Zevran's eyebrows darted up along with his eyes. "Not sure what that is, but I would judge by the sound that it is not complimentary."

Anxious that the other would take offense, Ellion was quick to defend. "Not you. I mean, that wasn't directed at you. I'm just…" The words trailed away with a heavy exhale, his shoulders dropping as he looked away. "Angry, I guess."

"With?"

"Myself." Fingers rubbed at his hot cheeks and at his eyelids; an attempt to hide his face that he would never admit to. He wished he could press the color out of his skin that traitorously gave away his shame yet again. He envied Zevran his darker skin that made it easier to hide such telling signs. Not that he could see the sometimes (often) crude Elf blushing. "I am angry at myself for being so… stupid."

In the corner of his vision he saw Zevran's head tip; an attempt to see him better. A little further, Ellion turned his head away.

"Why would you say that?"

Why? Ellion frowned. The way Zevran had spoken, the easy way the others had trailed their eyes over the word laden pages of their newly acquired texts made it seem as though reading was common knowledge. So then did not that make him a fool?

He did not look to the other as he spoke. "If the seasons are any sign, I am just past my twenty first year now. Despite being a fully-fledged adult for several years now I do not even know my letters." He laughed, bitterly. "You could show me my own name and I'd have no idea."

"That hardly makes you stupid."

The look cast the assassin's way was dubious, but he was undaunted. "All your life you have not had much of a cause to learn. To do so would perhaps have been a waste of time for the life style you led. You needed to focus your skills and attention elsewhere. But, now, you need to focus your skills and time on reading so that is what we shall do."

As the last words were spoken Zevran rose to his feet, hunched to maneuver around the low tent. Turned away as he was, Ellion lost sight of the other Elf. Without warning, a warm weight settled behind him and he started.

Confused and mildly alarmed, Ellion glanced back, nearly brushing noses with Zevran who had seated himself behind the archer. "What are you doing?" the paler blonde blurted.

"Simply allowing us to get more comfortable." It seemed a little more personal than comfortable as Zevran pressed up against Ellion's back, his tanned legs on either side of Ellion's own. Unsure, Ellion stared a moment longer before turning back as Zevran situated the journal into Ellion's lap.

Plucking up the quill, he propped his chin on Ellion's shoulder and scrawled out a few words.

Warm breath brushed his ear. "Come, read this for me." The shift of Zevran's jaw brushed his neck and Ellion shivered.

And yet, despite the initial confusion and anxiety he felt oddly… comforted. He wondered at that; the heated weight of another leaning against his back, their hair tickling his ear, and hands lightly resting at his hips.

As the physical comfort worked at his mental distress, Ellion tentatively picked at the words laid out for him.

"Ah… Ah-el. … Eye?"

"Keep going."

"Ss-t-ah-eye-er?"

"Close," Zevran said with a hum of approval. "The 'I' is a short one though. Don't lengthen the letter out. Say it like 'ih'."

"Ah-el-ih-ss-t-ah-ih-er?"

"Now combine ah and el," Zevran murmured encouragingly.

Silently, Ellion's mouth worked as he attempted to string together the slowly changing sounds. Then, "… Al-ih-ss-t-ah-ih-er. Wait, is that Alistair?"

"Yep! See? That was not so terrible, was it?" The rogue's grin could be felt, the rise of his cheeks pressing against Ellion's own. Tingles broke out against his skin and he felt his pulse flutter with joy at the encouragement.

"… Alistair doesn't use all of the letters when you say it though."

The crinkle of irritated disgust at the bridge of his nose and that crept into his voice drew a laugh from Zevran. "Yes and no. You will find that words are rude like that. They will have many letters that you will not always use. Words adapted from Orlesian are the worst offenders of that, I am afraid."

"Alright so… Alistair… ih-s?"

"Yep, is."

"Alistair is a… G-ih-t? Alistair is a git… Zevran…"

The other rogue may have been out of direct eyesight, but Ellion could easily imagine the impish look on his face.

"Your first sentence! Congratulations!" Zevran chirped.

"My first sentence was an insult." His voice was flat, but there was no disguising the growing smile on Ellion's face born of both joy and amusement.

"Bah, details. Come, another! Hmm, actually, a thought. Would you like to see it?"

"… Your thought? I'm not sure if that's a safe question to answer."

A chuckle purred in his ear, lips purposefully brushing against the lobe of his ear. "He learns. But no, not that. I meant your name. Would you like to see it?"

His name. Perhaps it was foolish to be near giddy at the thought of being able to see his own name, but Ellion felt his stomach flutter none the less. Enthusiastically he nodded. "Please."

Zevran dabbed the quill back into the ink well. "Eager, are we? Though, I must admit, I do not know if it is with two 'L's or one. …Or two 'E's or an 'E' and an 'I'."

The only thing Ellion could do was shrug helplessly. He knew less than the rogue. Pathetic, perhaps, but his eyes were too busy eagerly tracing the black lines as they formed on the page for him to dwell.

'Elion'

'Ellion'

'Eleon'

'Elleon'

His nose crinkled. "That's quite a few possibilities."

"Quite, though I would wager that the top two are more likely." The quill tip tapped the page thoughtfully, leaving minute splatters on the page.

"Honestly, I do not know, but the two 'L's looks better."

The rumble of the other Elf's amusement vibrated along his back. Subconsciously, Ellion leant back into it. "An Elf for aesthetics, eh?"

Ellion's head half turned to stare in bemusement. "… Es-the-what?"

What had started off silently broke into a flurry as Zevran pressed the bridge of his nose into Ellion's shoulder in a failing attempt to muffle his uncontrollable laughter. It was several deep breaths before he regained control of his merriment. "Aesthetics. It means visual beauty. To like something for aesthetics means to like it for its appearance."

Hesitantly offering a small smile, Ellion observed the other Elf. "That's not bad, is it?"

"No, not at all given that, perhaps surprising to hear from one like myself, it is not all that one cares about in the end."

It could not be denied that Ellion had not expected to hear that from Zevran in particular, and yet, having seen rare serious and insightful moments from the assassin, he could not say he was surprised that it existed, simply that it was voiced. The hesitance in his smile vanished, lips curling higher as Zevran rested his chin on his shoulder once more.

With a touch more levity, Zevran continued, "I am often quite taken by aesthetics, though frequently I find the core is rotten."

"You mean people."

With an affirmative hum, Zevran reached around the archer and circled 'Ellion' on the page. "Two 'L's and an 'I' it is. Ellion."

The word rolled on the rogue's tongue; purred out into Ellion's ear. Unable to stop it, Ellion felt a hard shiver wrack through his body. He felt the smug curve of Zevran's lips as they pressed against his neck. Ellion was not aware of the way he had tipped his head, allowing the other Elf to press another kiss until it had already happened. Warmth tingled along the tendons of his neck as he felt the other nuzzle the skin there before drawing back. Ellion wondered if it was any surprise when he leaned his head to rest against Zevran's for several quiet moments.

"Continue?"

The question was ambiguous and Ellion knew it was left purposefully so. His teeth worried at his lip. The hesitation that arose was taken as a sign. Not ready; not yet.

The journal in his lap was tellingly brought closer to his body. "I would like that."

"Then continue we shall." No disappointment and no pressure. Ellion breathed deeply, grateful for the other's patience and understanding. The others may have been annoyed at Zevran for being a terrible flirt, but Ellion had seen that the other Elf never took things too far. Boundaries that were drawn were never crossed; carefully toed perhaps, but never pushed or broken.

The alphabet was run through again, a refresher before Zevran carefully constructed simple words and small sentences for Ellion to mull over. They were awkward and stumbling in his mouth, often wrong, but never did Zevran scold or show frustration or disappointment. A patient teacher, Zevran utter soft encouragement and gentle corrections. Periodic teasing was carefully worded, never to rile, only to ease and draw out laughter.

"So, Wynne has a veh… veh-er-y?"

"Very."

"Wynne has a very n-eye… c-e?"

"That 'E' is silent."

A finger irritably tapped at the word. "Why in the world would you put that on there then?"

"A good question. We can write a petition to the Queen, or technically Ser Loghain more likely, and ask them to remove all silent letters." The rogue was already turning the page in his journal to start penning a letter. Lightly, Ellion whapped his arm with the back of his hand.

"Ass." The word spit out to hide his laughter.

Encouraged, Zevran grinned. "Would you like me to teach you how to spell that one? It's quite short."

"Wynne has a very nice boss- … Zevran… I refuse to read that." Face flat, Ellion leaned to the side so he could turn to level Zevran with his stare.

Unrepentant, Zevran wagged a finger at him instead. "Ah ah! It is part of the lesson. I cannot pass you if you do not read all of it."

"I am not talking about Wynne's body like that!"

"Ah, I see. I should have seen it before. I apologize."

"Seen what?" Green eyes squinted with suspicion. "What are you talking about?"

A sigh of feigned dramatics. "You are jealous. I should have known. All my talk of Wynne's exquisite features and her stunning figure. I should have realized that you would be upset that I was paying attention elsewhere. I am shamed. Here, we shall read of your chiseled features and toned thighs."

"Zevran!" Ellion squawked.

"You don't like the use of the word chiseled? No matter. We can think of better words."

Face red, Ellion buried his face into his hands. His words escaped, muffled, through his fingers. "By the Creators, I'm going to end up choking you one of these days, aren't I?"

Undeterred, Zevran happily began jotting down incorrigible ideas. Most were only half read before Ellion would sputter or smack his leg leaving the rogue gleeful. In time things took a more serious turn back to actual effort, but it was not long before their words softened and dragged with exhaustion.

It was when Ellion began to nod off that Zevran tugged the journal and book from his lap. The Dalish made no protest, somewhat relieved to at last have a break.

His drowsiness made him sluggish to process when his hair was brushed away from the back of his neck, the arms that banded around his waist or the sensation of nuzzling at the nape of his neck.

Tiredly, Ellion mumbled, "I should get back to my tent."

"Stay?" A question and yet not quite.

"They'll wonder," came out in a yawn.

"Let them."

And when Zevran pulled him down, there was no resistance. A tired mind wondered if hands would wander, but they remained limply curled around his waist. The faint brush of breath tickled through his hair when Zevran settled behind him, face pressed into Ellion's hair. Curled together the pair drifted off.

Chapter 2 – Progression in more ways than one and Ellion begins to have doubts and fears.