AN: Thank you to my special support crew -- you know who you are :)
Only one person could make humming sound like the screech of a banshee suffering from a hangover – Alistair. The curdled curds of Zevran's mood began to solidify into a more cheesy mass of possible amusement. It would be far more fun to wade into the Alistair filled waters of the pond than to jump off the murky and depressing waterfall of introspection. One would elicit smiles and laughter at another's expense; the other would only bring frowns and anguish at his own expense. Why think about things that would only cause him grief when he could instead have a little fun with Alistair?
Sneaking up on Alistair was a pedestrian task, no true test of the assassin's skills. Shadows manipulated, his figure obscured, Zevran walked closer to the shore line. Alistair was bathing, that much was obvious. A silly grin spread wide across Alistair's mouth as another ear wrenching tune burst forth in low murmur.
No wonder they kicked him out of the Chantry…
Alistair's kingly garments were tossed in a rumpled pile adjacent to a fallen log.
Too easy…
Decisions were made for the elf as Alistair began to tromp out of the water. There would be no getting into the water. And now, most certainly, Alistair would notice his clothing moving by invisible hand. A step to the side enabled the Antivan to easily avoid a collision with the dripping wet and naked King. Zevran's presence still had not dawned upon the man-boy. As Alistair bent to retrieve his pants and begin the process of redressing, the prankster took his opportunity. The last time they had been alone, he had planned a little surprise for Alistair and received one of his own instead. The time had come to finally give his gift to the King. Hand flattened, he swept in and smacked the King quite soundly on his exposed bottom. Lips pressed together quite firm in an attempt to stifle the laugh burgeoning upon their upturned curvature.
"Ow," Alistair exclaimed, quickly turning around to see what or who may have swatted his unsuspecting bum.
Exaggerated flourish poured into the bow Zevran bestowed upon Alistair. "Would you not say the full moon is quite wonderful tonight?" The dam broke loose; laughter erupted, taunting and light.
Anger flushed Alistair's features red. Fingers curled into meaty fists ready to pummel the trickster before him. "I could have you arrested for that!" His voice raised an octave, a whining timbre, "You hit the King!"
"A king indeed," Zevran intoned slippery. Amber eyes rove predatory along the nudeness of Alistair. "One has but to see your specter to know you are royalty and to understand why the little Warden grew so fond of your…" The grin sliding across his face arched up even further, the corners of his mouth near colliding with his cheeks, "…affections."
A growl gurgled in the back of Alistair's throat, muscles tense with his irritation. "I am going to kill you, Zevran." His arm moved back, a fist to the face Alistair's intent.
Zevran had seen this play before and was more prepared for the fist-ful assault. He launched himself at the ground toward the discarded pile of clothing, rolling to avoid Alistair's sloppy and ill considered attack. "My dear, Alistair, if I only had but a sovereign for every time someone said such sweet words to me. I would be rich!" He rose to his feet, hands quickly snapping up the clothing upon the ground. "You didn't think I'd make it so easy for you to hit me a second time, did you?" Indeed, these bubbling waters were far more fun to swim in.
Alistair wobbled slightly as the result of his miss, his balance tested. Eyes narrow, honing in on Zevran. Hate, spite, all reserved just for Zevran. "Give me my clothes."
Spindly fingers played light with the fabric in their grasp – a shirt here, a pair of pants there. Zevran considered his options; he could give the King back his wardrobe or… "I think not. " With only the kind of flourish that Zevran could muster, he dipped in bow once again for Alistair, russet eyes met with the King's. "Now, Alistair, I do believe we are as you say…even." Never one to waste a perfect opportunity for an over the top and dramatic exit, Zevran allows the umbrae's embrace to feather about him. With a poof, he was gone from view.
Dirt filled Alistair's mouth as he collided with the ground. He had lunged in leap at Zevran only for the rogue to slink away in typical fashion – a bastard clinging to shadows, lies and slime. Fists smashed into the ground, frustration's push propelled their action.
He lay there on the ground a few moments, breath heaving in and out heavy. He was naked and in the woods with no clothing to put on. And not only that, he was the King of Ferelden naked in the woods with no clothing to put on. How was he going to go back to camp with no one noticing? He had been the foolish one to send his guards away.
No one is going to attack me while I'm bathing.
The memory of those words tasted a bit like the dirt that coated his lips.
He pushed himself off the grounds, hands brushing dirt off his thighs and stomach. Mottled spots of moist dirt clung stubborn, resistant to his finger's sweep. "Of course," he muttered bitterly.
"If you are still here, I hope you are enjoying yourself," he yelled at empty air as he walked back to the pond for another quick dip. But nothing or no one responded. If Zevran was still in the area, he was choosing to keep himself a secret.
No happy tunes flowed melodic from Alistair during his second bath of the night. Skin was washed; dirt scrubbed away. When he was finished, he trudged out of the water and had a look about. He wasn't about to walk back into camp in only what the Maker gave him. Surely Zevran wouldn't prance back into camp flaunting his prize. No. He was far too insidious to alert the troops that the King might need assistance. Instead, Alistair knew Zevran would say nothing and leave it up to Alistair to figure his own way out.
Eyes squinted, trying to pierce the darkness swelling in the trees just beyond the clearing. Maybe he could find some branches covered in leaves he could use as makeshift covering. He moved swiftly in the night's air as if it might make his nudity harder to see. All it succeeded in doing, however, was making him more painfully aware of his state of undress.
He pushed through a set of trees finally pausing at what appeared to be some thick foliage, bushy enough that it could provide him a modesty shield. He tore at the foliage and managed to wrap a weaving of leaves about his waist and thighs. A slice of flesh on his thigh side was still visible, but at least his more private accoutrements were hidden from view.
As he started back to camp, he began to formulate a story in his head.
Bandits!
No, that would not do. Bandits would have done more than stolen his clothes.
Wolves!
Yes, he would go with wolves. They stole his clothing because of the cheese he had stored in a pocket of his trousers. It was almost believable, or so he hoped.
The familiar flicker of flame penetrated the darkness of the forest. A few more steps and Alistair would be back in his tent. He hoped that others would not be sitting around the fire and instead would have gone to bed for the evening.
As he weaved through the final set of trees and entered the camp site, he came to realize it was indeed his unlucky night – first Zevran and now, Teagan, Elishka and Alistair's own guard, Horace, sitting about the fire. Teeth tugged nervous at lips trying to desperately to spring into a small smile. Maybe if he played it off as if it was no big deal, they would not react.
Luck be not his lady. Elishka's eyes widened at the display. Teagan stared for a moment, as if trying to register what he was seeing. The stare soon found replacement in a rather toothy smile. "Your majesty," Teagan greeted, dipping his head in cordial nod. "Is there a reason you are wearing a makeshift skirt of poison ivy?"
Poison..what…?
Alistair looked down at the leaves he used to cover himself. Realization dawned harsh and cruel. It had been too dark and he had moved too urgently to pay attention to what leaves he may have grabbed from the ground. He had spent enough time in the forests of Ferelden to have known better, to have known to check.
I am going to kill you, Zevran.
And almost immediately, the suggestion placed into his head, he began to itch.