Author: aimorai
Word Count: 1550

"Well, it's not every day you meet a rhyming tree, is it? It's almost worth the trip into the middle of the forest to fight more things that want to kill us and other people. Is it just me, or has everything seemed to go wrong all at once? You'd almost forget there's a Blight, what with werewolves, and walking dead, and...talking trees..."

Nell smirked at Alistair's voice somewhere, a few dozen feet in front of her. It was interspersed with his sword methodically chopping through low brush. They'd been having to pick more and more through the game paths the deeper they'd gone in; it had been a long day, and even though the sun was high in the sky, Nell felt like she could probably sleep right on through until the next morning. Her robes were torn in a dozen places at the hem. Everyone was dirty, sticky, and sweaty, but at least spirits seemed to be high. Even Alistair and Zevran had hardly said a tense word between them all day... though perhaps that was due to Alistair's leading and Zevran's prowling presence in the rear. Nell had at first been wary about asking them both to come along but... well, Zevran, for all his constant casualness, had actually seemed like he wanted to help the Dalish. Alistair had barely left her side since she'd lost it in the glade the previous day... telling him to leave would not really be possible. To his credit, if he was distressed about this further sidetrack from Denerim, Nell had no way of knowing. He was his usual effervescent and attentive self.

She smiled, watching him walk a little on ahead as she stopped to yet again pull her robes from a clawing branch. She had scratches on top of her scratches. Nell frowned, waging war with the heathen plant, and nearly jumped when a much closer voice slid into her ear.

"I do not know how he can go on about the trees when there are much more delightful natural beauties to be seen here."

Nell turned her head to look behind her, where Zevran was leaning against the trunk of a sapling and regarding her as though he were watching his evening's entertainment. She didn't have to look to know what he saw - leg and more leg. She didn't try to prevent a smile from creeping on her lips. It was par for the course from him - he'd flirt with practically anything with a pulse.

"I take it you paid that grandfather tree, or something, because ever since we've passed it seems the branches grab me twice as often."

Zevran flashed a grin, all teeth, and stepped forward with his natural feline grace to grab at the last remaining snag. To his credit, Nell noted that he didn't take the opportunity for a cheap feel as she put her leg back down on the forest floor. As she glanced back up towards him to give thanks, she stilled. His face looked- odd. Normally, Zevran was all smiles, purrs, smirks, grins; his expression was mobile and liquid, adapting and changing with everything around him- never quite stoic or still. However, at the moment he looked... thoughtful. It was almost riveting to see him look at all serious and she found herself staring. His eyes met hers steadily, and though his voice teased and his mouth quirked upwards at one corner, his eyes never wavered.

"If I told you all of my strategy, there would be nothing left to surprise you with, my dear."

Nell's lips formed an 'o' shape, completely at a loss for how to respond for a few moments. Finally, even if just to break his somehow unnerving gaze that was making her throat catch, she offered the first response she thought of.

"I'm not sure that I can take any more surprises today."

"Ah." Something flickered in his face too quickly to analyze before he resumed his normal charismatic way, gallantly moving forward to pull a lower branch out of their path and gesturing for her to continue walking.

"Of course I do not wish to distress you, but... it is not often I feel the need to thank someone, so I should probably do it before I forget. Since I finally have you alone." He leaned close at that last and lifted his brows slowly and Nell chuckled. She liked Zevran. It seemed almost a dream that he'd once tried to kill her. As much as he was undoubtedly an assassin and a hedonist- the lifestyle seeped from him, he lived in night and shadow - she got the sense that there was more to him than everything he so vividly proclaimed.

Zevran hid himself by pretending to hide nothing at all.

"What, exactly, have I done to deserve your gratitude?"

"You mean besides being royally gorgeous, sparing my life, and sharing your spoils?"

Nell smirked as an answer and lifted her brows invitingly. He returned the expression as they continued forward.

"Of course. Well. Did I tell you my mother was Dalish? I do not know if I mentioned it. She had these gloves... I know this does not make me Dalish, but..." He trailed off, and Nell felt concern flash across her skin - like a tightening, an awareness. It was very unusual for Zevran to falter at all in speech; that, along with his seriousness, made her feel at a loss. Furthermore, he had already mentioned his mother, and it was also strange for him to repeat himself. Nell furrowed her brow and tried to glance closely at him, but there was not a hint anything was wrong. Mask firmly in place.

"In any case. I am glad that we decided to take this route and look for them." The statement was straightforward and fairly quiet. "I wanted to thank you for thinking of it, I suppose. Everyone else seemed terribly upset, though how they could be angry about such a romantic walk through the woods, I do not know. The forest is full of opportunities for those willing to take them." He met her eyes again, and she couldn't escape the meaning that was there, much as she wanted to. He's -offering-...

Quick as a flash, the Antivan captured her gaze, and her hand, with an absolutely predatory grin. "The next time you find yourself alone and wishing otherwise, you need only say the word. A man who requires your tears to understand your needs is not a man." His finished by dragging his lips ever so softly across her knuckles, eyes never leaving hers. His entire body was an invitation.

Nell felt her eyes fly open and her jaw drop. Zevran chuckled, the sound like silk being drawn across a cheek, and sauntered forwards through the trees, dropping her hand before she could even think to smack him.

Bastard assassin. How dare he think that...!

Nell felt her cheeks flush. Entirely flustered, she made it a point to quicken her steps and brush past him and on towards Alistair and Wynne, who seemed to be talking a lot more animatedly up ahead. She felt a storm cloud on the edge of her mind that threatened to darken her mood. This is what happens when you lose control. People take advantage. People get hurt.

Nell made a silent vow to whomever might be listening that she would not drop her guard again, lest other members of the party think she might be weak. They could pounce; they could second-guess her convictions. She couldn't be mad at Zevran- not exactly. He was responding to her mood and roiling sexual tension she was sure, and only that. Like he sensed an easy meal. It couldn't possibly be anything else...His eyes had flashed. And his face... serious and tense.

She shrugged off the thoughts as she came to an abrupt halt, nearly crashing into Wynne's back.

"...Perhaps we could use this campsite?" That was Alistair. He sounded about ready to collapse. Dangerously tired.

"...I don't know... there is something odd here..." Wynne. She watched the old woman slump and she felt her own shoulders giving. Maker, they must have walked farther than she realized. She moved to Alistair's side and leaned on him, weary eyes dragging over the tents. How could she suddenly be so sleepy? His arm came around her back, but slowly, as if it weighed a hundred pounds. Even so, the very motion calmed her, made her even more tired... Sleep....

She shook her head and squinted, trying to examine the tents. "These look.. new. Who could have been here? It seems... wrong."

Alistair let out a big yawn and suddenly sat, tugging Nell down next to him. She didn't argue the motion. "I don't know, but we could all use a break. I think we're so tired that we imagined the talking trees." His voice began to slur, and Wynne, too, crumpled down to sit at the last.

"Maybe just for a moment. These old bones." Sleep. Rest.

Her head brushed against Alistair's shoulders and she felt him drop a smiling kiss on her brow before he sank against the grass.

It was the last thing that Nell felt before she died.