Chapter four of the Fracture series, again posted separately, because it can qualify as a one-shot without having to be read in context with the others (though it certainly helps).
I'm in the process of devising a plotline for a longer DA fic regarding Bann Teagan proposing to Surana and the party (especially Alistair and Zevran) panicking about that in their various ways. Hilarity will ensue, no doubt! That should take several chapters, but I don't know when that might get posted.
Stay tuned and please review!
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Cage
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Deciding to tell one of your most trusted companions and now most certainly dearest friends (who was apparently in love with you) that you were choosing another man (and not just any other man, but an assassin who had tried to kill you and whose loyalties were still up in the air as far as anyone was concerned) was easy.
The actual telling wasn't.
Nimue just didn't know how to start the conversation. How did one say such a thing? Give a nice pretext about how much she valued his company, how she was glad that they were such good friends, because friends was all that they were likely to remain, because, hey, she was already in a (somewhat) romantic relationship? The mage tried to be practical in many things, but not to the point of harshness.
The trouble was, after being told quite plainly that everyone could see the templar pining after her, it became quite ostentatiously obvious to her as well.
It had been so gradual, the change, that she hadn't really noticed it at all; the progress from wary acknowledgment of her new partner to the friendship forged in fires of loss… and now this, something she couldn't easily define. It showed now, though; the gentler tone Alistair used when they spoke, the continued efforts to make her smile (which usually succeeded, making him visibly brighten up) and, most of all, the shy and then even longing glances in her general direction.
Even she, without any experience with romantic love or even deeper affection, managed to notice this time. And something close to her heart always proceeded to announce its presence whenever she did, reminding her that she could yet go back on her choice – because, disappointed though Zevran might be, he wouldn't object and he would shrug things off and take it in stride – and plunge head-first into what she recognized now as love.
She didn't feel the same… not yet, or so she believed, because years upon years of being made to believe that anyone outside the safety of the Tower must hate you and templars will try to kill you for the tiniest misstep were difficult to forget. But the words and gestures she would have rejected before as pointless or not recognized them at all had become endearing to her.
And then, just as she had mustered the will to finally tell him – because, in the end, this wasn't fair, not to him or to her current lover, who might not make any verbal claims but whose every touch held an unspoken casual possessiveness that he would never admit to – he gave her the rose.
No one had ever given her a gift before. Not even one that came as a price, as Morrigan had suggested when she had received her precious mirror.
Mages, discouraged from romantic relationships as they were, were hardly the sort to be taught about the significance of flowers.
"It's pretty, but I don't think it's really compatible with the other ingredients I have." That had been her first reply.
Alistair looked as if he wasn't certain whether to laugh heartily at this suggestion or feel pity, because she obviously knew even less about romance than he did. Which was Most Definitely Not Good, given the present situation. Leliana's advice about gifts and catching the mystery 'special woman' at camp hadn't fallen on deaf ears, but the bard hadn't counted on the woman in question to have been raised to always remember that she was a mage first, anything else second.
Or perhaps she had known, Alistair realized with some horror, and she had suggested this in a way to confirm her status as the Ultimate Evil. Not that he could tell her as such, because that would, of course, be playing right into her hands... or it would lead to more teasing than Wynne was regularly subjecting him to and definitely not of the grandmotherly kind.
In the end, he settled for the compromise of blushing embarrassment; not the best of choices, likely, but a natural reaction.
"I thought you might just want to keep it… as a gift." he clarified, trying not to look into her quizzical eyes. Peculiar and horrible, how mages were being kept from things most people considered natural, simply because of their powers. "I-I know you're very practical and efficient, but I thought… I thought that someone should let you know that… that the world isn't so dark yet that beauty is completely gone from it." Perhaps now she understood - hopefully, because she still looked rather starstruck, her eyes large and her lips only slightly parted and close... okay, this most certainly wasn't a productive line of thought at the moment. "It's just been made much more precious… to those of us that are fortunate enough to find it…"
Words Nimue would say had escaped her completely. She knew nothing of poetry and had very limited knowledge of flowery metaphors, but even she could see that these words - which would have seen impossibly fake if not spoken with genuine emotion - would not fall flat, even with her as the recipient.
Mages weren't meant to be appreciated. Elves weren't to be looked at with tenderness by humans. And yet, there he stood, the embodiment of the exception, the likely future king of the land, seeking her favor.
The future king…
"I… I don't know what to say." she stammered out, stunned into speechlessness for what was possibly the first time in her life.
Wynne had been right. A king needed a queen. And even if she wished for such things (she didn't), even if she was the noblest of people in all of Ferelden (Nimue wasn't a hypocrite, not that much, anyway, and lied to other people, not herself), nothing could make her a suitable candidate for that.
This could only end in tragedy.
"That you promise not to chop it up and boil it for some kind of salve?" Alistair had suggested, the single trait that Morrigan utterly despised about him surfacing. "Of course, it could add some flavor to the poultices, I guess, or at least cover up some of the medical smell, but I think I'd rather you kept it. I-if you like it, that is, and aren't going to start pointing and laughing at me with Leliana."
"You know I wouldn't do that." First of all, Nimue made a point of not trying to be harsh on her companions without reason. Second of all, Leliana would likely subject her to a long talk about courting and how she should behave in this situation as a proper lady. Or give advice on how to better secure this hold over another person, most likely.
Alistair hardly appeared convinced. "For a cloistered sister, she's certainly been giggling quite a lot and trying to draw you into her schemes. I'm onto her evil schemes, you know." he added conspiratively. "Next thing you know she'll be teaching you tavern songs."
Nimue had known nothing of music before meeting Leliana; or about any kind of art, really. She had never read a book that wasn't about magic or history or science or ever seen an image that was to be displayed merely for its beauty and value rather than any learning purpose. She stared at the rose, twisting it between her fingers, as if it might bite her (thorns aside).
The templar noticed.
"Seriously, though, Nimue…" Maker's breath, even her name was smooth and flowing, almost like a river. "Nimue, if you think it's a stupid thing to give, you don't have to pretend to like it…"
"No." the mage said without thinking. Instantly, she corrected herself, knowing that either path was damnation right now. "No, it isn't stupid. Certainly not." The sharp edge to her voice retreated. "I just… I don't have anything to give you in return for it. I don't really know much about gifts and customs and what is appropriate in such situations…"
Alistair almost grinned in a way that Morrigan would have aptly described as a dog happy at having pleased its master.
"Gifts don't require compensation." You are my gift just by being near me, he had hoped to say, but the words simply refused to come out and maybe it was too soon and she was really just struggling with politeness and… "Besides, it's not likely to last very long before it wilts…"
There was a bitter edge to the light smile playing on Nimue's lips, hardened by experience and realism. "I guess you were right. It is sort of like me, isn't it?"
Either of them could die at any point. It was likely that they were going towards their death - either glorious or spectacularly unimpressive - though they intended to make certain it was at the hands of the darkspawn and not of the traitor who hunted them now.
It was chilling to see how someone who tried her best to put on a brave face whenever in the company of others and gave hope to so many had such a view of her own existence. Heroes burn bright and die young, this was true in the tales of honor and glory. But they were hardly hoping for either; all they were fighting for was the end of the Blight, no matter how it might come to pass.
"That's not really the comparison I wanted to draw." Alistair noted, stifling a shaky laugh.
However, it served to reinforce the pledge to protect her he had made to himself. This had been made first because she had seemed so frightened of everything, from the constant sunlight (rather reminiscent of Oghren's first moment outside Orzammar) to the actual fighting (she had very obviously never fought for her life before, outside the controlled environment of a duel), only then because she was their hope (because he couldn't lead them, even though he joked on the matter often) and, most recently, because there was so much life in her eyes when she was happy that made her something worth preserving (and she was kind though others might despise her for what she was, brave even though she remained full of fear... and as beautiful as a winter sunrise after a stormy night).
"It isn't true anyway."
The look on her face wasn't resigned or indulging, but it was clear from something about the slight raising of her eyebrows that she didn't really believe that. "How can you be so sure?"
But they talked about death and demons every day and right now, this really wasn't what Alistair wanted to return to. There would be time to fight and despair and hope against hope later.
"You know, you're doing this all wrong." the templar said flatly, but there was laughter in his eyes. Whether or not it was genuine, Nimue couldn't tell. "This is not how this conversation is supposed to go at all. You're supposed to be succumbing to my wit and sensitive yet manly charm right now, not doubting yourself. Besides, you wouldn't stay down for long. You're too much of a plucky girl for that, I know that much. Bringing down a world of hurt on the darkspawn and all that."
"Thank you, Alistair." It was more profound than anything else she could have said, genuine and heartfelt, a complete truth. "You just… surprised me and it… really means a lot to me."
The sunrise had returned.
"I'm glad, then. I had hoped you'd like it."
He was stammering, of course, but it couldn't be helped. Even if she still didn't fully realize what it meant, it made him jubilant. Funny word, that. Joooo-bee-lant. He didn't get to use it too often. But she was still there, with the rose, and the situation was really becoming very uncomfortable, because someone had to say something and it didn't seem that she was about to confess her undying devotion.
"So… now that we've had positively the most awkward conversation ever, if we could just skip straight to the steamy bits, I'd appreciate it."
Judging by the puzzled look she gave him and then the sudden understanding... he couldn't really divine anything from that, damn it, because she wasn't blushing (which was odd, because he had received embarrassed silence and a sound whack from a heavy tome after suggesting that he was expecting her as a mage to be promiscuous) and she wasn't laughing and calling out the bluff as she would usually do.
"Steamy- oh. I didn't realize…" For some reason, she actually blanched. "Does… does accepting this mean… marriage?" The last word came out tighter than the rest. "Or something similar?" In his childhood, Alistair had often pretended to be the brave knight rescuing the swooning princess. Now he was the one who felt like fainting, for the first time in his life. "Because I think I read something involving jewelry…"
As always, he chose to laugh instead of delving too deeply into the fact that she seemed frightened of the notion. "You won't land me that easily, woman. I know I'm quite the prize; no need to start crying on me or anything."
"But... does it have any kind of significance? Similar to that, I mean." Nimue asked carefully. She really needed the answer to this, because this could very well mean danger in the future. "I'm unfamiliar with the customs regarding... because..." The elf frowned, because she was receiving no answer, not even laughter, and the templar seemed redder by the minute. Moreover, she spotted Leliana discreetly pretending not to be watching things. "Alistair?"
"I, ah, suppose this is the moment I make my strategic retreat while leaving you pining after me."
That was answer enough. Nimue knew that the time had come to set the record straight, before someone got hurt.
"Alistair, you should know-"
But he wasn't listening, apparently about one step away from running off with his hands clapped over his ears and humming nonsensical tunes. "No, no, no, the awkwardness limit for today has been reached! You'll just have to go through the silent longing phase like everyone else, young lady!" He gave a pretty good impression of a chiding grandfather before running off to see if Wynne was done with his socks (the elderly mage had relented on that account, possibly due to the increased annoyance factor of leaving it up to Alistair).
The rose still in her hand, Nimue was left standing there, feeling highly foolish and reminded again of the moment when Jowan had run off, leaving her and Lily to take the full weight of the blame for their ill-planned escape attempt. Only this time, no Duncan would swoop in to save her from punishment for her own foolishness.
She kept the flower, because she did indeed value the sentiment. But even after Sten and Zevran returned with the meat quota for the night's dinner an hour or so later, she didn't know how to resolve this. It was Oghren's turn to cook tonight, which meant that most of the camp would be on standby and keeping their wary eyes on the dwarf, the fire and whatever was boiling or burning, because the berserker had a penchant for using wine as an ingredient in any stew he made and his aim wasn't entirely steady...
Suffice to say, it was a good thing that Morrigan had become quite skilled at controlling fire, be it magical or normal, even though it annoyed the living daylights out of her that she had to waste time babysitting a dwarf and not reading her books in her own distant tent. The witch also usually refused to eat whenever someone she didn't like was cooking, instead choosing to transform into one of the many animal forms she had mastered and go seek out her own food.
Nimue herself was exempt from the general state of alertness for the first time, sitting on a blanket in front of her tent thoughtfully, another cloth wrapped around her shoulders, her legs crossed and the rose still twirling in her fingers. No one paid her any attention up till the point that Zevran got bored (which, considering the spectacle Oghren was making of himself when trying to cook, with their warhound sniffing around and being chased away at regular intervals, was a feat to admire) and decided to openly grace her with his presence (since the general focus of their companions was indeed elsewhere).
"Frowning most definitely doesn't become you, my Warden."
It was a more impersonal form of address, for various reasons, her apparent somber mood being one of them. The endearments would have to wait until the degree of her annoyance tonight was established - and Zevran was a master at pushing that level once he discovered it, even though it was good-natured and usually turned out to be quite an effective way of cheering her up once the annoyance cracked.
"There have been no darkspawn attacks today, so I fail to see – ah."
The movement of her hands had always drawn his attention. Nimue didn't have particularly long fingers, her hands remaining slightly childlike, but there was a fluid grace to their movement, whenever she cast spells or wrote or fiddled with something, like she was doing now. Zevran would almost go as far as suppose that she could have made a pickpocket par excellence in another life... or learned to wield a light weapon with deadly grace.
But now was not the time for such thoughts.
"That pretty little weed is a gift from Alistair, I gather." the assassin summarized readily, something within him steeling itself for the possibility that she had changed her mind. After all, that was an ever-present threat when she was being offered something no other man had likely been willing to give her and she had yet to reject it fully.
Nimue nodded, biting back what could have been a sigh.
"I was about to tell him… about us." she clarified unnecessarily. Obviously, the gift had been given to her prior to that and she had chosen to be courteous and not do what would be the equivalent of taking a hammer and smashing a fragile glass window to Alistair's feelings. "I couldn't just do it like that…"
How interesting that she could make the difficult decisions on the battlefield with ready ease, yet when it came to things like this, she was entirely indecisive.
A shame, in any case.
"You do understand, however, that the longer you take, the deeper he will be hurt." Assuming she still intended to give the answer she had decided on before.
Again, the mage nodded grimly. "I am aware of it."
Well, that was remarkably laconic of her. It was better to inflict pain sooner to allow time to heal, rather than deal a deeper wound without the opportunity to treat it. Alistair was the kind of man who would go out and die for the sake of his lady, but certainly he wasn't foolish enough to simply get himself killed for a rejection. At least, Zevran hoped he wasn't giving their little prince too much credit.
Of course, Nimue might not see that and, for the sake of not estranging her fellow Warden and earliest companion, compromise... or stall. The latter seemed unlikely, given her flaw of knowing that she made worse decisions the more she procrastinated. If the former be the case, better to resolve things quickly, if only to... clear the air, as it were.
"Nimue, remember that you can still-" She could still end things between them and be the hopeless romantic. It would likely have consequences, which she had put in front of herself as arguments for her prior choice, but that was just a hypothetical future. And Nimue, while relatively good at planning from a long-term perspective, was still hardly omniscient.
It was obvious that it was serious just by the fact that he used her given name without any pretext. Zevran was no master of serious conversation, of course, and just beginning this sentence reminded him of why he preferred his own idly intrusive nothings.
There was an odd feeling of relief when she blinked blankly, as if something like this had never occurred to her. Nimue rarely promised things, after all, and thus she seemed to view her word as sacrosanct.
"So eager to be rid of me, are you, Zevran?" she asked, a strange (possibly rueful) smile playing around her lips. Still, it was better than the grim expression a frown always carved into her features, if only barely.
"Not by any means." the assassin said at once, basking in the sight of her and the very pleasant memories of her sans the offending blanket and clothing. In the end, that was likely all he'd be able to keep, after all. "But you are free to pursue your fancies as you wish, as I do; I would have it no other way."
Reminding her that this dalliance was without any strings attached might have been unnecessary, given the reasons she had stated for giving in, but it was something to be given consideration, especially since the elf highly doubted that their virtuous templar (like Oghren, he recognized virginity when he saw it, Nimue herself being the only possible exception and even that doubt had sprung only after he had slept with her) had designs only on the fair Warden's body.
That this seemed to frighten her for some reason instead of excite her, like it should a young woman that had been rushed into experiencing so much loss and darkness at once, was a major trump card against Alistair, though.
"I am also thinking in my own interest, you must understand." Zevran added, shrugging slightly. "Regret isn't a good motivator for sex, especially not with a woman with your responsible nature."
He liked Alistair well enough (after all, it was so amusing to watch him blush over the most ridiculous things and watch him splutter), but it was hardly his intention to bring the two Wardens together. For one thing, if events unfurled according to Nimue's apparent plans, things wouldn't go well for them. And while a broken-hearted woman was usually easy to console, she could also turn her hatred upon unsuspecting targets. But if she was to have second thoughts, well, what was the point?
"Regret is a natural display of selfishness." Nimue noted, being perhaps wiser than she thought herself to be. She couldn't and didn't want to have both of them.
Talking to Alistair made her feel strange at times, perhaps akin to the uncertainty of growing love… but being with Zevran made her happy right now, without any of the uncertainty of what might happen or whether there was any future for them. And not just the actual sex. Even before that, their conversations had brought her to laughter when she had supposed the only direct outlet of emotion she was capable of was anger. There was a certainty in their relationship that she could cling to when she had nothing else.
Not that it seemed like a good idea to tell him that, mind you, but she was more grateful for the beautiful simplicity of it than she cared to admit.
And if the choice came down to happiness now and grief later or happiness now and we'll see what comes next… it wasn't much of a choice.
"I'm not changing my mind. I'll return this after dinner." The rose between her fingers froze over with a surge of magic, its beauty and color eternally preserved in magical ice. With that, she set it aside, leaving it forgotten in her pack, and tried to smile, because she finally knew what she wanted and what she must do. "So you better not try to make me anymore, because I-"
She never got to finish the sentence, for several reasons. The first being that Oghren had fainted again, almost knocking over the pot of the now-ready stew. Wynne had quickly grabbed the fragile bowls and taken them away from the dwarf's reach, while Morrigan simply rolled her eyes and stalked away muttering to herself not very quietly at all.
But mostly because Zevran had carefully timed cutting her off with a most expressive kiss for the moment when most of the others would at least glance in her direction to see if she intended to do anything about the general mayhem (being the only person who could get everyone to listen).
Needless to say, it seemed to get the message across more plainly than words could have done, especially that she didn't resist. Not that she could, really; Nimue hadn't been expecting this at all and froze almost as if she were under a spell of petrification for the first few moments. Were this not also embarrassing, she could have actually enjoyed it. But with several other people watching, it wasn't nearly as engrossing as it could otherwise have been.
Especially since her hearing began working once more when she no longer saw stars.
"I do not understand this action it makes of attempting to bite the other's face off." And, of course, Shale had to be the one with the rational questions without any hint of Ignore It and It Will Go Away or at least a polite Pretend It's Not Happening and Talk About the Weather.
"It's about showing affection, Shale." Leliana, for her part, had an undertone to her voice that seemed to suggest that she was extremely giddy about the situation (for some reason), but (what Nimue couldn't see) her eyes darted to Alistair once or twice and softened slightly "Or, eh, appreciation, I suppose."
The golem remained unconvinced. "It is quite ineffective as a form of attack and a strange way of instigating reproduction."
Whatever the bard said in response to that went unnoticed by Nimue, because the fingers that had delved into her hair to prevent her from escaping had retreated a little to trace the outline of her ears and she was finally almost able to transfer her weight back to her legs - the sudden motion of being pushed backwards had forced her to push her arms behind herself to prevent the fall. It had also meant that any possibility of casting a spell had been blocked.
Right now, she felt as if someone had pushed her off the edge of a cliff and into the ocean... and the waves had finally allowed her to surface, taking the first breath of air.
"I did warn you, my dear." That the look of anger and surprise she was obviously trying to project came out seductive without her even trying was most certainly something to remember and Zevran made it his business to take note of such details. "Choices always have consequences. However, I think this sends out the message you intended to convey quite clearly, yes?"
"You are utterly evil." Ah, but she was most enticing when she was angry (or tried to seem so). The breathy voice might have helped as well, of course, along with the short, shallow breaths.
The assassin flashed her a shameless grin. "Guilty as charged, precious." Her eyelids no longer twitched in annoyance, but Zevran knew pushing her too far right now would serve no purpose, perhaps even return to bite him not soon after. "I hope for a reward for helping you out of your predicament later on." Finally, there it was, the fire in her eyes that one normally associated either with great pleasure or extreme pain. Either of which would likely be inflicted on the other person. Just in case she was in the mood for latter, he posed one last question. "Shall we finally make use of that spare rope lying about?"
"I hate you." Nimue intoned, gritting her teeth in an attempt to restore the cage around her emotions, giving a particularly strong mental kick to whatever libido she possessed. Apparently, it thought that after being released for the first time ever, it could just run around and mess up her rationality. Which was unacceptable, said rationality punctuated each word. Some order had to be maintained.
Discipline. Punishment.
With lither grace than any cat might display (not that Nimue could make good comparisons on the matter, having seen only a limited number of cats during her short time out of the tower), Zevran sprang to his feet just in time to get out of range of whatever spell she was considering casting (or maybe just the old-fashioned punches), still grinning at her like a shopkeeper who had bought the Urn of Andraste for the price of an ordinary vase filled with dirt.
"Ah, ah, ah, you might want to hate me now, but you will only want me once you're finished here, trust me."
Casually dodging a rather well-aimed fireball, the assassin blew her another kiss while never ceasing to smile and walked off to get food as if nothing had happened, the air of smugness not vanishing even though Nimue couldn't see his expression.
Before she proceeded to bury her face in her hands and bite back a groan, she did manage to see that, while Wynne had enlisted a highly clench-jawed Sten's help at removing the still unconscious Oghren from the general vicinity of the fire, Leliana was smiling at her in a most unhelpfully I'm So Glad To See You Happy way while apparently completely missing the point and Alistair was... very pointedly not looking at her, because, apparently, watching cuisine a la Oghren change colors in your bowl was most intriguing, to the point that it made you look as if someone had splashed you with cold water early in the morning.
Not good. At all.
Actually, the only good thing about the whole situation was that Oghren was still blacked out and therefore couldn't easily dispense his own special kind of condolences to the templar and possibly congratulations or the I Knew It speech and other at the moment rather unwelcome things to Nimue.
The mage had lost all appetite for food.
"Rabbit!" she called, rising to her feet. The blanket, she shrugged off, feeling as if it could start snowing right then and she would barely feel it, short sleeves or no.
The one who responded to his call was the giant mabari warhound, who, having already eaten some and remembering his own experiences with the food the dwarf usually made, eagerly sprang to his elf's side. She was restless, obviously, and that usually made her wish to seek solitude or only his company.
"Do you want me to save you a share, Nimue?"
It was Wynne who asked, watching the younger mage with carefully layered concern. She could recognize the moments when their leader wished to be left alone and, despite the danger anyone who was going off alone was in, she could understand why Nimue would wish to. Obviously, she had been telling the truth when she had said that there was no plan. Or if there had been, it had clearly gone awry.
Her answer was a distracted nod.
"Just a little, if there's any left. Rabbit and I are going to take a walk and see if I can find any more elfroot in the vicinity."
A pretext, if the world ever saw one, but she didn't even make the effort of making up something more imaginative. Gathering up one pack for the ingredient gathering, Nimue prodded the warhound to lead the way and disappeared into the nearby woods, the blue of her robes blending into the trees peculiarly.
Some time after she disappeared, Wynne chose to be the one to step in again - because Alistair obviously wasn't in the state to do so, nor did he entirely have the right to do so, despite being very close to Nimue - and actually gritted her teeth so that she could get through this necessary talk.
Maker knew she wouldn't have chosen to willingly endure Zevran's overactive and quite intrusive flirtations if she didn't care for Nimue's well-being.
"I understand that the two of you have a... an agreement." No pretext, no carefully starting the issue; merely facts and frank honesty. "But I refuse to see you treat Nimue as a toy just for your own amusement."
Once he understood that the elderly mage intended to take on the role of the disapproving mother, Zevran chuckled heartily. "My, my, Wynne, such fire in your words. You prepared a speech just for me? I had no idea you cared so much."
"I don't want to listen to your nonsense now." Wynne countered, sighing and shaking her head resolutely when the elf tapped the ground next to him with the smile that always made everyone worry that he was picturing them naked and doing something that was probably illegal beyond the Antivan border. "My concern is Nimue. Most of what the girl knows of the world she learned from books."
"So you believe that she succumbed to my wicked ways because she is young, impressionable and doesn't know any better?" For someone who deflected everything so easily with innuendo, the elf certainly had either more wit than he cared to display or a sizeable amount of experience with warnings such as this. "Come now, you know that only the first of those is the case."
"All I want is for you to see that she deserves to carry out her choices in her own way. Right now, you are her choice. I accept that because she seems happy. Tread with care, or you will lose her."
Again, she received an amused glance in response. Such peculiar people, these Fereldans. Humans, especially. None of them seemed to understand that caging another person with chains of vows and promises hardly ever led to productive happiness.
However, if it would assuage her...
"My dear Wynne, the fair Warden isn't mine in the sense you seem to mean. Not by any stretch of the imagination." Zevran said easily, feeling a bit as if he were explaining things to a child.
The way the mage raised her eyebrows stated her opinion on the matter quite clearly. She didn't even bother correcting that she was neither his nor dear.
"Words are one thing, Zevran. Actions are another." she said instead, leaving the nonsense at that. Whose words and actions, she didn't care to clarify.
By the time Nimue returned, the assassin had quite forgotten this final note of the lecture. However, had others who had watched before with dismay heard it, it is likely they wouldn't have dismissed wisdom tempered by age and experience so lightly.