Okay, my only excuse for this is that I haven't done anything with Alistair or Ogren, yet. And I wanted to do something fun. Enjoy!
Alistair understood the need for practice, he really did. It was one of the few things he'd agreed with in his templar training. Practice, practice, and more practice. It was the only way to ensure you were ready for whatever a mage might throw at you. After all, they could turn into abominations in the blink of an eye. One never knew where a maleficar was hiding. If you weren't ready, well, where did that leave you? A pile of ashes picked up by the wind, or perhaps a pile of frozen meat shards. He tried to suppress a shudder and focus on more pleasant things, like cheese.
He watched; his arms folded as Darrian came in hard after parrying a flurry of overhand blows from Zevran.
Yes, Alistair appreciated the need for practice. So he understood why the two elves retreated to an open area near camp to spar every night before dinner, though this was the first time he'd really watched them. And Maker, they did it with edged steel. Swords were pointy and sharp, even if they did pull their blows. Worse, they sparred stripped down to pants and boots. Not even the thin protection of leather armor between them and every blow they aimed at one another. They moved so bloody fast, too. How did either one even see the other's sword coming, let alone in time to block it and mount a counter-attack?
He winced as a tiny cut blossomed with red beads on his fellow Warden's torso, right below two similar nicks.
"Ah, ha, my Warden, you let your guard slip again."
Darrian grinned and lunged forward, the late afternoon sun setting the flecks of blood on the tip of his sword shimmering. Zevran sported a small cut on his left shoulder, and another at the base of his throat.
Zevran danced back, his blade drawing sparks as his sword slid against Darrian's. Then the assassin lunged forward, twisting his weapons so that Darrian's arms were pushed wide. But instead of backing off or whirling away, Darrian leaned in and Zevran kissed him.
Alistair blinked. Was there tongue involved? He swallowed. Yes, there was definitely tongue. Oh, Maker, he really didn't need to see that. This wasn't sparring. This was some kind of assassin thingy type of foreplay, wasn't it? Maybe he should go?
Oghren belched behind him, and then sidled up, slurping up the contents of a bottle of dwarven ale.
"Damn, that fancy pants elf is fast." He glanced up at Alistair. "So, what's the score this night?"
"Score?" Alistair said with a frown.
Zevran's dagger intercepted Darrian's sword with a ringing chime.
"Yeah, how many times they nick one another?"
"They're keeping count?"
Oghren took another long pull on his ale. "Yup. My bet's usually on fancy pants. Course, your fellow warden's pretty damn good, too. Gave the sodding darkspawn what for the other day, didn't he?"
Alistair tried not to breathe too deeply when Oghren belched again.
"I'm thinking it's gonna be even tonight." Oghren's eyes narrowed as he watched the two elves. "Yeah, definitely even.
"How can you tell?"
Oghren waved the bottle at them. "Golden locks there's been at it longer. But the Warden's a quick study, a natural. They've only been one off each other the past few nights." He smirked and patted the leather purse hanging from his belt. "Care to make a little wager?"
"You want me to bet on how many times they cut one another?" That just sounded…wrong.
"Less you want to bet on something else? Like how many times each night they ride the pony. Think the bard's got that one nailed down. Ain't called it wrong in over two weeks." He took another swig from his bottle. "Figured as long as they were keepin' the rest of us up half the night, might as well get some coin out of it."
Alistair covered his face with his hand. He could feel his ears turning red. "Oh, Maker, you're actually-? How can you tell?" He held up a hand, the other still covering his eyes. "Wait, don't tell me. I don't think I want to know."
"Yeah, there's a lot of sword polishin' between those two. Can't see how you miss it, since your tent's so damn close."
Alistair tried to sound stern. "I'm a gentleman. I don't listen in." Or at least, he tried not to. But sticking his fingers in his ears and humming really didn't help all that much when he knew what was going on.
Oghren shrugged. "Suit yourself. Missing out on some good action, though, Warden."
"Oh, are they still at it?" Leliana asked, gliding up on Alistair's right. She held a small hour glass in her left hand. Alistair blushed again, then realized she meant the sparring. Morrigan joined her a few moments later, her tawny eyes narrowing. Oh, Maker, the witch, too?
"It's time," Leliana sang out, just as Zevran spit out a curse.
The two elves lowered their weapons, both panting from the exercise, both flushed and grinning. The assassin had a tiny cut on his right forearm. Still holding his dagger, he draped his left arm around Darrian's shoulders as they strolled up.
Morrigan eyed both of them. "Even."
"Heh, pay up, bard. That's ten silver you owe me. You, too, witchy eyes."
With a sigh, Leliana dropped the silver into the dwarf's palm, then slipped back to camp. Morrigan dropped a small linen sack of coins on top of Leli's silver.
"'Til next time, dwarf," she said, then sauntered away.
Zevran sheathed his sword, and then held up his right hand.
"I believe you owe us some silver, my fine dwarven friend."
Alistair stared. "Oh, Maker, don't tell me you bet on this to? Isn't that cheating?"
"Not at all, my dear ex-templar. We don't bet, and we fight fair. Besides, if our beer-swilling friend here is going to make a profit off our efforts, why shouldn't we enjoy some of the rewards, too, hmmm?"
Oghren tossed Zevran two silver. "Ten percent, wasn't it, Warden?"
"That sounds about right," Darrian said, his gray eyes gleaming.
"Now, about the profit from that other wager," Zevran began.
At that, Alistair twisted around and hurried back to camp. Cheese. Yes, that was what he needed, a nice, thick slab of sharp cheddar. And beer. Definitely beer. He just hoped Oghren hadn't drunk it all.