Author's note. This is a companion piece to The Hourglass, though it can be read as a standalone. It is decidedly NSFW and you can blame Zevran for hijacking my muse. If you are reading The Hourglass, then you can consider that this happened between chapters 5 and 6, before the group divided to take the road to Ostagar. It arises out of Muirnara and Loghain's conversation in Chapter 4, where they are discussing the ill-fitting Helm of Honnleath - the conversation is quoted below.
"If the pressure is really only at the nape of your neck, then if you could bring yourself to crop that last inch of hair close, it would probably fit without...more extreme measures. You would not really look any different to how you do now, unless someone was staring at the nape of your neck, and how many people are likely to do that?"
"Zevran"
He gave an unexpected laugh at that. "And do you plan to arrange the rest of your life solely based on what that lecherous elf may be thinking or doing?"
"Damn you, Loghain Mac Tir. How can I ever get a decent argument if you keep talking sense?"
It had been clear all evening that Muirnara knew Zevran all too well. The elf had studied her hair with the pose of nonchalent indifference that meant that his mind was all too busy, had paid her a carefully polite compliment and then carried on his camp chores as normal. Muirnara was not fooled. After supper, she discussed the new guard roster, issued Loghain with Zevran as a partner and gave them the predawn watch. Loghain had slept poorly again, and it came as a relief when the elf's low voice called him out of the tent, and out of another nightmare. On emerging from the tent, all was quiet.
"Start with a perimeter sweep?" Loghain's question just failed to be an order, but Zevran nodded amicably, and the two of them moved into the darkness of the trees.
Zevran was the first to break the silence as they walked. "So, my friend, if I may call you such. You and our lovely Warden. Am I indeed to assume that you did not...?"
"We did not." Loghain's tone was not encouraging.
Zevran shook his head. "You Fereldens, you are all the same. You pay more attention to your Mabari hounds than to your ladies. A perfect situation falls into your lap, and you studiously ignore it. Alistair was just the same. I was advising him for weeks and he was pretending not to listen. And going a remarkable shade of red at the same time."
Loghain snorted at that. "Do not even consider comparing me to that Theirin whelp, elf."
"Oh, no comparison was implied or intended, my friend. I am merely pointing out that after the length of time that the fair Warden spent with that puppy of a Templar, that to have a man in her bed that she was not attempting to educate at the same time that she herself was learning about her own pleasures would surely be more than welcome."
Loghain raised an eyebrow at that. "I suppose I should be grateful for that, at least."
"My friend, in Antiva we have a great appreciation for good horses, as you have for your hounds. But it is understood by all those whose task it is to gentle and train young horses, that to assign a novice rider to a green-broken mount is to court disaster - it is not that it can never work, it is that the odds fall heavily in favour of the eventual outcome being at best completely unsatisfactory to both parties, and at worse, both distressing and painful for all concerned. Surely then the sensible thing is that the novice rider should be assigned a well bred mare of experience, quality and training so that his own performance may improve, and the unbroken filly should be placed in the hands of an experienced rider so that he may teach her without causing her confusion and distress by his rough and inexpert handling."
Loghain was startled into a short laugh. "I presume that you did not include this in your list of pieces of advice given to Alistair?"
Zevran's smirk was invisible in the darkness, but clear in his voice. "What would have been the point? A man who was unable to even discuss the basic mechanics without turning every shade of a sunset sky, and bolting into the nearest trees, was hardly likely to listen to any other suggestions."
Loghain shrugged and they continued to walk. "I do not entirely believe that I am having this conversation with you."
Zevran sighed. "What I am trying to say to you, my friend, is that you do not see what is in front of your nose. The Warden joins you in your tent, she sits or kneels at your feet..." the tone was enquiring.
"She sat." Loghain's voice was not encouraging.
Zevran took no notice of this. "She trusts you to take shears to her hair - my friend Loghain, for a woman that is an act of trust indeed. And do not give me any arguments about the practicalities of short hair, had the Warden not trusted you, she would have hacked her hair off herself with her dagger blade, and perhaps permitted our lovely Leliana to tidy it later. Practicalities had little to do with it. She sat at your feet wearing only her breastband, telling you in every way that she could that she placed her trust in you completely. You apparently took no notice at all of what she was trying to say. And then later, when you took the dagger blade to her neck, yes, yes, I know exactly the excuse you will give for that, about the fitting of her helm. My friend, you are blind, deaf, and stupid. Or merely an uneducated Ferelden. But I preferred to assume that Alistair was not representative of an entire country."
The rumble in Loghain's voice could be smothered amusement or anger, or even a little of both. "So what, in your professional opinion, elf, should I have done better?"
"My friend, you should have looked at what was in front of you, when you had finished with that dagger blade. A woman's nape, bare, soft and inviting. The courtesans of Antiva frequently either wear their hair upswept if long or indeed clip it short, not only to better display the jewels in their lovely ears but because they well understand that the neck is one of the greatest of the weapons they have to display. Newly shorn, the skin is most sensitive, kisses there produce a delightful frisson, running fingertips or indeed lips, tongue and teeth over the area is likely to delight the recipient of such caresses. Most of the positions for lovemaking that involve penetration from behind can be greatly enhanced by such kisses or indeed bites on the neck, carefully placed and with good judgement about timing while observing her responses. Furthermore..."
Loghain held up a hand. "Fascinating, Zevran." The tone was sardonic. "Now what were the terms of the bet?"
"Bet?" There was far too much innocence in the voice.
He snorted. "Come on, elf, you may well consider me blind, deaf, stupid or all three. But I know when baited hooks are dangled in front of me. The bet was with that dwarf, was it not? And whose money was staked on getting me to blush before the end of the conversation?"
"Got it in one." Oghren was seated by the camp fire as the circuit brought them back to the tents. "And Zevran has lost ten silvers, since I reckoned we had never seen you yet blushing, and the elf's advice was not likely to change this."
"I'll pay you tomorrow." Zevran turned back to Loghain. "Very well, my friend, I accept defeat. Perhaps though, you should think on what I have said to you? The fact that a bet was involved does not mean that the advice was poor."
Loghain shrugged. "I will take it into consideration. Should the need arise, which I do not expect it to." His voice was sardonic. "Now, unless you have further advice for me, we have over three hours of this watch to finish, and should perhaps keep walking."
"Of course." As they disappeared within the trees, Oghren could hear Zevran's voice getting fainter. "Now also in Antiva, it is not at all unusual for a woman to completely shave all bodily hair below the neck, this has the following advantages..."
Oghren smirked and muttered to himself. "Elf still reckons he'll get five silver back with a blush before they get back here again. I reckon he just doesn't know when he's beaten."