She sighed, dragging a brush through the thick mat of knots that had become her hair. Between the blood and guts of the darkspawn, and the muck and dirt of traveling, it had been near impossible to upkeep her hair. "What is with all this 'humming' and 'ha-ing' my dear warden?"
The Dalish loved her hair, tended to it on a nightly basis; Zevran would watch her tend to every tangle patiently, her eyes gazing off into the distance, her mind wandering far from their little camp. She'd sit like that for hours; sometimes had to be reminded to return to her own tent. Tonight, however, there was no calmness to her ritual. Instead, there was much sighing, a few grunts of pain and long moments of staring contemplating-ly at the frayed strands.
"I think it has to go," She said at length, her voice heavy with defeat. "There's just no saving it."
"I think not," Zevran tsked. "If I may?"
She didn't answer, but then, he hardly let her, gone and back on the breath of the wind. She could only stutter lamely as he sat behind her, and she could hear the clinking of small vials. How many of those little things did he carry and how did he not break them on the long road? She turned trying to see what he was doing, but every motion was countered by Zevran turning her head back forward.
He was working the concoction into her hair, running his fingers over her scalp massaging it in. "In Antiva, some women wear their hair pass their knees. They tend to braid it in elaborate styles, chignon, above the neck." He told her, slipping the comb from her hand. "You can imagine, sometimes bring them back down could be troublesome."
With a careful and patient hand, he tended to every mat. He'd used a mixture of light oils that would easily absorb into her hair and loosened the mess.
"…Where did you learn this, Zev?" she asked quietly her eyes closed, there was little else like someone else brushing one's hair, and Zevran was so very gentle about it, she hardly felt a tug.
The assassin behind her chuckled. "Where else my dear? I've yet to meet a woman, whore or otherwise, who did not enjoy having someone else brush their hair."
She was blushing, he knew, but she was also enjoying it and it was enough for him to keep going. "What's it like, Antiva?"
"Mm. Well, the best way to experience it would be to go there yourself," He sighed wistfully, "Its not a place that can be accurately described, but allow me to attempt… Tell me my dear warden, have you ever seen the ocean?"
She paused a moment to think, the Brecilian forest bordered Ferelden ocean, but the forest became so thick and the vail so thin that it was far too dangerous to venture that far east. "No…"
He tsked once again. "Then I can never do it justice, to one who has never seen the ocean."
He tried. He told her of the coastline, the huge ships with their white sails, and the smell of salt in the air. The rain that always seemed to fall, thick droplets that were warm to the touch and fell like a torrent but barely lasted beyond the ringing of the bells. The people were just as flamboyant as he; in fact, Lyna would almost say he was tame in comparison to his description of his countrymen. Dressed in bright colors with thick luxurious hair that they'd do up in elaborate styles, she almost missed the complement he tucked away in his description on her own locks, so skillfully he'd weaved it into his tale.
She closed her eyes, trying to imagine the things he told her, the sights and sounds. She had so little experience with human cities, if Redcliffe and Lothering could even be considered such; it was hard to picture something on such a grand scale. What she could surmise, however, was how much he loved his home, how much he missed it. "I'd like to see it one day… if that's okay with you."
"Oh? And why would I stop you. If you wish to see it, you only need to go to it."
Lyna laughed sweetly, "Ah, but who else would take me to all the best places?
"Then consider me you're humble tour guide."
With him hardly realizing it, his mind thrown fully miles away, his hands had turned her hair into a work of art with the twists and swirls common to his Antiva. She turned, gently running a hand gently over the style, trying not to ruin it so soon. Green eyes blinked in his direction, a quizzical look on her face. "Are you blushing?"
Zevran cleared his throat. "Now why would I do something like that?"
A full smile broke across her face, the tip of her tongue held between her teeth. "It's cute."
"Cute, hum?" Zevran felt a strange sensation in his chest, but hid it behind a charming smile. "I suppose that's a start."