The man stared at her.
"You are jealous of me, jealous of me and this elf? Lamb, you are fooling yourself if you think he is faithful."
The Crow rose from his seat at this, smiling. She raised her palm at him.
"Zev, this is my duel. Besides I need bard practice."
"Cara, he..."
"My fight. You, fop, are you saying you know Zevran?" She was smiling as well.
"Kallian, I am the wronged party here, no?" She held her palm up.
"Argue with Leli." Her mouth smiled, her eyes were stone.
The Crow settled back, seemingly furious.
"Personally, no. I've certainly heard of him. Besides, it doesn't count with an elf."
"I think we will fight. To make it interesting, I will compose a ballade extempore and recite it for you. On the refrain. I shall strike home."
"A ballade, really. I have no desire to hear an ancestral chant to your dogs."
"You do not know what a ballade is? A ballade is a metrical poem with three six line stanzas and a four line envoi."
"I know what a ballade is, knife ears."
The tavern floor cleared with alacrity.
Leliana began taking book. The elven rogue considered betting, but resumed her preparations. The crowd was hugging the walls of the room, giving the combatants plenty of space. Zevran made his way to the redheaded bookmaker.
"You may still reconsider. No? Very well."
"An encounter between Kallian Tabris and an Orlesian of Low Taste."
"What was that?"
"My pardon, that was the title. Let us begin."
"You come here foreign free foeman
stranger to this tallest of stone
stranger in a stranger land
soon to be friendless, all alone
flesh to be cut from your cloth'd bone
To be burned atop this bare loam
Sad should you be, weep and groan,
And at the refrain, I thrust home!
Your sword does not fight with elan
Your wind has departed, you are blown
Here is where the elf may beat a man
And find the fight she may call her own
despite battling a man sans tone
Your breath gasps, your mouth oozes foam
You face a fighter not gnarl'd crone
And at the refrain, I thrust home!
Here you are, far from kith and clan
Pricked by pride well overblown
Felled before all by woman
Shame will be your own tombstone
There you will lay quiet and prone
Your clothes ripped, hair uncombed
In the dark where light once shone
And at the refrain, I thrust home!
Prince, shake not, nor you weep or moan
In seconds you to your fate come
For this tavern ballade is done
And at the refrain, I thrust home!"
As the man died on the ground, she stepped over him and was swept up by the elven assassin. He held her in his arms, then they kissed.
When they came up for air, much much later, he called to Leliana, "So, how much did we make?"
Apologies to Edmond Rostand, Brian Hooker and Cyrano de Bergerac.
Time: 2 hours, 34 minutes.
