The man had been dozing, basking in the warmth of the sleeper beside him. The muttering woke him. It did not sound like a nightmare, but Zevran was muttering the same words over and over.
The man reached over and stroked Zevran's back.
"Hey," he said softly, "Wake up, you're talking in your sleep."
"H-whzzt?"
"Zev, you were sleep-talking."
Zevran gathered his aplomb, along with the shreds of his post-coital consiousness. He sat up.
"Jealous? You need not be so. You were ...delicious."
"Not jealous." The man smiled. "I'm just curious."
"Oh?" Zevran arched a practiced eyebrow. "Tell me more."
"Well, how many languages do you speak?"
"Antivan mi amore." Zevran ran a finger down his bed-mates nose. "And Fereldish, and the comman tounge." Zevran shrugged. "Not unusual I assume you are much the same."
"Well yes. But this was a speech unknown to me. And you were also... buzzing"
"What?"
"You tell me what."
"Oh?" Zevran said. "Well then. I dreamed I was a bee. Silly, but there it is." He shrugged.
"Hmmm" said the man.
"Well then, Zev. I am just curious now, but what or who is 'see-sawn-al al-are-jees?'
And how does one perform 'Nay-son-ex?"