9:32

Alphonse stacked his plate with the other dirty dishes and mentally prepared himself for the toil up to the top floor of The White Spire. If he went now, there wouldn't be a long wait for the showers. The day had been unusually humid, so despite wiping the sweat from his face with a napkin, he knew he didn't smell pleasant. He was about to climb the stairs when two women's voices entered his ears, the worst sounds he had ever heard.

"Et quoi…" he muttered to himself. Bewildered, he stopped in his tracks and looked to where it was coming from - one of the tables opposite the room. The seats were occupied by mostly men with boisterous voices.

Usually he wouldn't bother investigating because noise of this amplitude only meant someone was being foolish, but this instance was peculiar. No one would allow such a racket to sustain itself for this amount of time.

Ignoring his presumptions, Alphonse approached the side of the hall he was accustomed to avoiding. Immediately he discovered what had caused such a lure. In the top three for height in his cohort, he caught a glimpse of the catalyst before most.

It was those new girls from the Free Marches, and… the brunette was telling a riveting story about how during a Templar training drill on a mountain she had tripped over and scraped her face for nearly five meters on gravel before gravity decided to stop pulling.

The newcomer was imitating an Orlesian accent. Maker, he could put on a better Free Marches accent than that atrocity.

"I don't have any idea how the scars healed," she said, "I mean, my eldest brother gave me this one..." She pointed above one of her eyebrows. "play fighting with me and that's never gone away."

Alphonse couldn't see her scar from here.

The blonde next to her smiled, tentatively, perhaps unsure of what to say. "It was so frightening. I worried my sister was dead."

This one didn't fake her accent.

"But madame Zoë, you mean to say you were not punished for making such a mistake?" said a man Alphonse really hated. He doubted the girl's name was pronounced that way in Marcher regions. What an ignorant fool.

"The trainer had a soft spot for me," the woman said, her eyes twinkling. "He said to clean myself up and having my appearance distorted would be punishment enough."

Alphonse smiled appreciatively. The trainer sounded like a reasonable person. If this woman was pretending to use an accent, and she had not yet stopped, was she trying to mock everybody?

Setting a Marcher's story straight was a worthwhile venture, as the factual incorrectness of her ways was irksome.

The Maker must have been hauling him, for Ser Alphonse rarely bothered to interact with his coworkers. Stepping forward, his eyes darted to the seat next to her. It was occupied by a young man. No matter.

Alphonse moved around the table until he reached the corner and waited for a gap in the conversation.

"Excuse me, mademoiselle," Alphonse said with impeccable politeness, "May I enquire why you are speaking like that?"

The woman finished what she was saying before turning to him. "Salut, fanciful man!"

It was like she was insulting him. This made Alphonse more drawn toward her. Ignorant as she may be, she appeared to have a sense of humour, a quality others in the Spire often lacked.

"It is Alphonse, Madame… Langlois is my – euhh, nom de famille…my family name." He was annoyed he had trouble recalling such simple Trade. "I wonder how you pronounce your name in your ordinary voice?"

'Zoë' grinned and said in the fake accent, "I don't give my name away so easily!" She leaned forward. "Take a seat."

Alphonse made a single clicking sound with his tongue. There were no free seats. Did she want him to sit on the table? No, that wasn't going to happen. So Alphonse walked around to the table corner so he was closer to her.

Another Templar stepped out of the seat. "I must return to my quarters."

"How gracious of you," Alphonse said with a small smile, despite having thought the very opposite.

He sat next to the newcomer.

The woman stopped paying attention to Alphonse and talked to the others at the table. Alphonse chimed in with comments occasionally, mostly to let 'Zoë' know he was still there, rather than actually finding the conversation interesting. It was obvious why everybody else was listening... because she was new and sightly, though Alphonse only wanted the fools to leave so he could pull apart her brain without stupidity watching.

An opportunity arose when her friend Phillipa left. The crowd dissipated slowly. Soon only 'Zoë' and Alphonse remained.

"To answer your other question," 'Zoë' said in her normal voice, slumped over in her chair. "I was talking that way… so I could better fit in."

Unexpectedly, she gave him a bright, innocent grin.

Alphonse returned it with an almost invisible smile. Her logic didn't make a lot of sense. It was still obvious she was from the Free Marches.

"Then do you realize what you did incorrectly?"

"No," 'Zoë' said, blankly. "I read what I could about Orlais's culture before I arrived, but it's all so complicated and confusing. I can't focus on everything at once."

Mental capacity had no relevance in the Spire. She was going to learn to focus on everything constantly, whether she wanted to or not.

"For one, dear Zoë, you started to slouch after half an hour."

'Zoë' sat up straighter.

"You also had your elbows on the table."

She moved her elbows off the table.

"And lastly, your accent is not very convincing," Alphonse said. "We do not all sound like that. It depends on how well the person can learn the pronunciation. It is not as easy as you may think it is. The Orlesian language shortens and lengthens certain sounds, so it is very difficult to reverse when conversing in your tongue. Consider how you find learning my language. To demonstrate, please say, 'Raconte moi une histoire.'

'Zoë' did.

Alphonse smiled. "You cannot roll your r's, fine lady. There is room for improvement."

"I also don't know what that means," 'Zoë' said, "and rolling the r's makes you sound like you're choking on something. Really, it sounds awful. I don't know if I want to perfect it."

Orlais didn't present someone a choice about learning something. Alphonse ignored her insult and answered, "It means 'tell me a story'."

"I already told about fifteen," 'Zoë' countered – like how could her tales not be good enough? She raised her eyebrows as if to say she wasn't sure whether he was being passive aggressive or not.

"It was merely an example," Alphonse said. He couldn't help feeling amused when he watched her unconsciously slouch again. She was trying to fit in, but it wasn't working. It was rather silly. "You are a funny girl."

Zoe's expression brightened, like something very exciting had just happened. "You liked my stories after all? I think you meant to say I'm hilarious."

She laughed.

Dear Maker, Alphonse's smile seemed plastered on, but his stomach fell in disappointment. We do not need any more narcissism in this country.

Her apparent egotism, while it would accomplish her wish to fit in with the locals, riled him.

Alphonse tapped 'Zoë's elbows as she started to fall forward again.

"Your name… is it pronounced Zoë?"

"Zoe," she affirmed.

"Thank you," Alphonse replied. He had waited about an hour to hear the truth, and he took a moment to say it right.

"Zoe, I think you will fit into this Circle easily if you only be yourself."

"But…" Zoe peered up at him, befuddled. "What do you mean?"

Dear girl, you do not play the Game by asking someone to reveal their intentions, he thought.

Alphonse was not going to say that, neither would he admit it was because she seemed vain. She was right to be confused. "I am merely encouraging you. I would like you to feel welcome here." He tapped Zoe's spine to urge her to straighten it. It was curious she was so inept with posture. He thought women in the Free Marches were supposed to be more elegant than the men. "How was the boat travel here?"

"I got nauseous a few times, but I didn't vomit," Zoe said, happily. "Often I thought I'd feel better if I did chuck, though, so I kept asking Phillipa to try inducing one."

"Did she?" Alphonse asked, not completely sure of what the slang meant.

"She told me to spin around in a circle to make myself dizzy," Zoe said. "All it did was made me cry from how uncomfortable the combination was."

"How unlucky for you," Alphonse said mildly. He didn't know what to think of this. How he would relish traveling by boat one day. "Where did you live before?"

He would have thought if someone was planning to move to another country they'd spend months preparing for it.

"The Gallows," Zoe said.

Alphonse had no idea what or where this was, though he had been conditioned not to express holes in his knowledge. "That is quite the name."

"From Kirkwall," she clarified.

Alphonse had read all about Kirkwall. "The history is linked closely with Tevinter. That must be fascinating, to have a glimpse into the past of Thedas itself in one city, without the limitations of the culture."

Zoe shrugged. Clearly, the extravagant details were lost on her. "It's always been home to me. I don't think about it in terms of Tevinter very much. There's hardly any Tevinter people living there, at least, from what I saw."

"If it is home," Alphonse began. He didn't hide his interest, "then what persuaded you to live in the White Spire?"

The young lady was appalling at hiding her emotions. She frowned, lowered her head, and her eyes glossed over, visibly sad.

"It…" She lay back against her chair, graceless. "I guess I needed to find a new home."

It now seemed even stranger these girls had chosen Orlais. Alphonse was so interested in the answer he didn't care for correcting her posture anymore.

"Then why did you not choose to transfer to a Circle in Ferelden or in Starkhaven? They have more similarity to Kirkwall, if my readings have not been fraudulent."

Zoe paused for a moment. "Yeah, I see what you mean. Phillipa chose the White Spire. She wanted to experience something new, and I don't think she wanted to be reminded of Kirkwall at all, so this was the perfect fit."

In Orlais even a neutral expression required a little smile, so ambiguity was not interpreted as animosity. Alphonse found himself hypnotised by the next expression on Zoe's face. What lay before him was so rare in the Spire.

Zoe did not smile.

Alphonse understood that someone avoided discussing a topic when it was painful.

He kept his thoughts short. Her reason for leaving must be either genocide, torture, decapitations or literal backstabbing.

"How grievous."

Zoe turned to look at him again. Her green eyes were shining, reflecting the lights like a chandelier.

Alphonse waited for her to say something. It looked like she wanted to, but she stared at him for a long while.

Finally, she said, "What is home to you?"

Alphonse had little idea why the conversation had turned in this direction. He hesitated. "Here, I suppose. I am rather boring. I've lived here my entire life."

She phrased her question another way. "What makes you feel at home?"

Alphonse pondered on this. Then he thought about it some more. He realized he didn't know how to answer.

"I don't feel at home," he said, finally.

"How come?" Zoe enquired, still appearing earnest and curious.

"I enjoy reading and expanding my knowledge," Alphonse explained. "That is what makes me feel comforted in the Spire. I do not consider the Spire home, nonetheless."

"Why's that?" she asked.

"You are so inquisitive." Alphonse was impressed, and slightly amused. Zoe was like a little duckling trying to find its mother. Perhaps she really was trying to find a new home.

Like this would help him think, he made a clicking noise with his tongue. "Perhaps… may I use an analogy?"

"Yes."

"When I read, I feel like I am drifting in the air somewhere, trying to find a dwelling to land, but I am never satisfied with the nest I return to."

"I see. Like a lost bird."

"No." She was the duckling. "A bored bird. Restless."

"Why don't you go on an adventure?"

"I cannot decide if any other place would improve my life either. There is so much effort involved with traveling, and I do not have the energy. I joined the Order to feel like I am part of something bigger, and though the Maker watches me, I feel rather small and insignificant."

"You're…" Zoe looked slightly confused as ifhalf the words had gone over her head. Then she said, "Phillipa, friends and my family make me feel at home. What about you?"

"If I had any close friends, I wonder if it would," Alphonse admitted. His family tree was so complicated he could surely take half a day explaining its feuds.

Zoe appeared mortified. "How can you not have any close friends?"

"They hold no interest to me," Alphonse said. "I feel apathetic towards my 'fellow' man and I want very little to do with any of them. It makes my work as a Templar seamless and peaceful. I am neither in love with my work nor hateful of it."

The woman appeared slightly nervous. "Is there… something wrong with the people here?"

"There is no humanity in them," Alphonse said. "I see them as mechanical devices like treadmill cranes. They are predictable, soulless and in order to function they need someone to pull on them. Meanwhile, the slaves who do the pulling to help achieve the person's selfish desires become exhausted."

Zoe's eyes unfocused. "I am not sure what you just said."

Alphonse didn't know if he was surprised by this or not. "What do you believe I said?"

"Uh, that people… are tiring."

"That's part of it."

"See, I don't get that," Zoe said, leaning forward. "People make me feel alive."

This word lingered in his thoughts. Alphonse didn't think he'd ever felt invigorated. With a limited range of emotions, he was in his own comfortable, plain existence.

"How would you describe it?"

Zoe seemed to wake up thinking about it. "They're like fire. They give me warmth to keep going."

"Ah…" Alphonse put this together in his own way. "So you are a parasite?"

"No!" Zoe laughed. "How about… I'm the fire and they give me kindling and it's exciting, because the more people I have around me, the brighter I become. It makes me want to do reckless and crazy things."

"Hopefully nothing dangerous," Alphonse said.

"Would that bother you?"

"I… don't know."

"If I was to use your analogy of fire," Alphonse ventured, liking her use of metaphor. "I am like the flickering embers of a fireplace that no one bothers to kindle, because they are too busy plotting in a basement. I am nothing but a temporary presence that gets approached only when others have use for me."

Zoe chuckled, apparently still confused. "At least you don't want to join in on the plotting."

This newcomer, Alphonse realized, was rather relaxing to be around, so he smiled. "No. I would like nothing better than to have some oxygen and trees so I could feel this elusive sense of living you speak of. You make it appear pleasant.

Zoe smiled back. "I could use your help not making an idiot out of myself here." She observed him curiously for a second. "And I'm sorry about before. I wasn't being funny. I sometimes forget about others' feelings… Do you know what I'm talking about?"

Why was she apologizing, if he had not disclosed his utter repulsion for her flaw? Alphonse felt his heart lighten ever so slightly. It was nice she had a modicum of self-awareness.

While he hadn't realised it at the time, he found this motivation to be kind just for the sake of it an extremely attractive quality.

"I try to avoid thinking about others," Alphonse said, "because it would morph me into a dysfunctional creature. I would be of no use here."

"Yeah!" Zoe seemed excited about this. "That's what it's like for me when…yeah."

He didn't share her enthusiasm.

"Yet you seem to care a lot about others," Alphonse remarked, to add contrast. "You like to entertain with your stories, and you enjoy making conversation… like I am doing with you now. From this limited exchange alone, you do not appear to be self-praising to the extent of being cruel."

Zoe looked away from him. It was so fast her hair temporarily shielded her eyes. "I hope not."

The words had a touch of dread. She stood. "Thanks for saying so, though."

Alphonse got up too. He felt… like he had been floating, as he did with reading books. His mind was buzzing. It was a new experience to have with a person.

They walked to the staircase together. Zoe spoke before he could place his foot on the bottom stair.

"Alphonse,"

Why is she still speaking to me? Perhaps it is another Marcher custom.

He turned around to look at her.

She moved closer, looking like that little bird again. "I didn't put on…" She was slightly nervous. "…the fake accent to fit in."

Amazing. Maybe she did have an idea how to play the Game, even if she had just given a clue of her intentions. Remorse painted her expression. He discovered later upon reflection, from how much of a novelty it was, that its display warmed him.

"Honesty," he mused. It felt like a lonely word. "I like it, but do not speak honestly so loudly in future inside the Spire." He lowered his voice and moved nearer so she could hear. Their armour almost collided. "I was not trying to encourage you when I said you would fit in here without any effort."

Zoe looked downtrodden. "I don't get you," she whispered, "but goodnight. Hopefully I'll see you tomorrow?"

"Bon nuit, Zoe," Alphonse said.

Watching her ascend the stairs, he couldn't help questioning what secrets she held. What was it about Kirkwall that she was trying to avoid? For all her ignorance, he enjoyed the woman's expressions of emotion. It was refreshing.

The next morning he decided that Zoe was good for his mind, and that was good for him, as he wanted to experience something new.


The decision to learn more about this newcomer and guide her brought them to the streets of Val Royeaux, and eventually a casual outing in the market square. It was only fitting that someone who understood history should show her the sights and customs, most which Ser Alphonse explained with disdain.

The streets were full of colour from the decorations of market stalls and full of sound from passers by and live music. Zoe chewed on the last of the baguette he'd bought her, sitting on the stone surrounds of a fountain.

"You really don't like this place much," Zoe remarked, swallowing her food. "I don't understand why. I think it's amazing."

Alphonse paused. He put the half empty wine bottle in his satchel, deciding he needed water. "How does it differ from Kirkwall?"

"Everything," Zoe said with awe. "I didn't realize Kirkwall had a scent about it until moving, but the air is very clean here in comparison. Kirkwall's air is full of soot, ocean, or sludge, depending on where you are. All the buildings look sinister and kind of ugly compared to here. Val Royeaux is like a rainbow."

Alphonse gestured Zoe to walk with him. He was going to find some water. She followed. "Yes, I agree it is attractive, although I find that abhorrent."

Zoe replied with what seemed to be her favourite question, like a small child. "Why?"

"Beauty is highly valued in Orlais," Alphonse said, choosing his words carefully. It was bizarre to voice an unwritten and unspoken truth. "It is like food that feeds the soullessness of civilization."

"What?"

"There are some who consider it frustrating when a person cannot accept a compliment," Alphonse ventured, slowing as he approached the busier part of the marketplace. "However, the greater crime to me is a person who cannot accept fair and even handed criticism."

Zoe was silent as Alphonse bought two small bottles of water and handed one to her.

"What does that have to do with anything?"

"A person who is beautiful may come to believe they are important. From there, they are likely to foster an overblown sense of self, which sanctions entitlement. That attitude denies the person an ability to reflect, and so they become stagnant, aggressive, refuse responsibility and develop a thirst for power and control. In turn, it creates hatred, violence and murderers."

Zoe drank a few gulps of water. From the look on her face, she did not entirely agree. "You make it sound like everyone is a murderer."

Alphonse tilted his head sideways and stared at her, incredulously. What kind of place was Kirkwall, anyway?

"Everybody is a murderer," he said, with certainty. "And if they are not, everybody has the potential to be one when life weighs them down enough."

Zoe retreated to the shade under a tree. "How does this relate to Val Royeaux?"

"The culture of Orlais glorifies and promotes murderers. It is a breeding ground for misconduct, discrimination and manipulation," Alphonse said simply. "The Game teaches its population to think excessively on the impressions they make on others, what they can gain for themselves and how they can uphold their self-image and social standing."

"Wow," Zoe said blankly. "I think I understand why you don't like interacting with people then."

"You haven't figured it out before?"

"Sometimes, but most like me… I think."

Alphonse didn't want to say it could be out of politeness. Then he thought, Of course. Those admirers probably want her in their beds. He said, "I hope you're right."

"Kirkwall isn't like that as much. If someone doesn't like you, you find out quickly."

"Is that true?" Alphonse said, suspicious, "I have read about it, but I have a very difficult time conceptualizing it. It feels like a fantastical story that doesn't really exist. It doesn't help that Orlais' scholars emphasize the inferiorities of other social systems."

Zoe gave a toothy smile. "I could give you a real life, authentic account of Kirkwall. I'm not a book."

"Truly?" Alphonse smiled. "Then how is it I always feel like I learn something new when I am with you?"

"You could be an idiot," Zoe suggested.

Alphonse laughed. His views may be coloured by his upbringing, true, but calling him an idiot was ridiculous. "Did Kirkwall make you funny as well?"

When he stopped laughing, he was startled to have Zoe meet his eyes with a somewhat proud smile, but she did not voice her pride. It was an expression of appreciation. "I don't know. Are you really so unsociable, or is that just what Val Royeaux compels you to be?" she said.

"I'll have to do some thinking about that."

"Don't think too much," Zoe warned, with a sparkle in her eyes.

"That is good advice," Alphonse admitted. "For me, perhaps not anyone else."

"I know," Zoe said, with an understanding grin.

Unable to stop himself, Alphonse smiled back and said, "You'll have to pardon me for saying so, but for how little we are acquainted, you have impressive insight into my mind."

As though he had seen her naked, Zoe's eyes widened in trepidation. "Call it an educated guess."

"I will."

He really did want to learn about Kirkwall… and how she could make life seem interesting.

"Would you like to be paired on a door guarding shift with me?" he inquired. "It provides plenty of opportunity for speaking."

Rather, talking while on a door guarding shift meant others were less likely to hear you, so they could speak more privately. Zoe blinked a few times and drank some more water. She appeared flustered. A soft gush of air made the leaves rustle and tinkle like chimes.

"I don't know if I'd be comfortable with that," she said, slowly, watching the crowd in the distance. "I'm nervous about getting too involved with you."

In that moment Alphonse forgot about monitoring what impression he was giving her. 'Involved' made his suggestion sound like a scandal, something improper, and it most certainly wasn't. "That is odd coming from a lady who adores company. I wish to call you a friend."

"That's the point," Zoe said, not meeting his eyes. "I'm cautious about losing another friend."

By her logic we are friends, so becoming better friends is bad? Alphonse didn't understand, and he didn't expect an explanation. For the first time since knowing him, Zoe had hidden emotions behind a little smile, with vacant, mirror-like eyes that showed him nothing new.


9:34

Alphonse was willing to overlook the simplicity of Zoe's explanation about keeping a distance. After all, sometimes matters were plain, and they still had opportunity to converse in the Spire. It just wasn't often philosophical, emotional or political. Sometimes they had opportunities to talk by themselves, like when watching charges or were rostered on guarding duty twice by chance. That changed after she applied to be a Seeker. She disappeared for longer periods of time, keeping to herself to study and prepare. It became clear after meeting Zoe in the Grand Cathedral newly returned from Doces D'Aramitz that there was more to her tale of keeping distant.

After a year Zoe looked physically stronger and toned, her arms visible under a ornate shawl. Guarding the Spire didn't maintain muscular build as much as it ought to. He had no doubt that she could break his ribs, and win in an arm wrestle. The two went to a park close to midnight, sat on a stone ledge adjacent a kiosk and drank cider from bowls. Something in her eyes looked colder and distant, yet when she spoke, he wondered if he had imagined it. The conversation was disjointed, but comfortable. Withdrawal sounded terrible, yet she talked about it with an effortlessness like it was a cold.

"I've never been so sick in my life," Zoe said. "Imagine the sickest you've ever been, and extend that for weeks."

"I'd rather not," Alphonse said, "The worst sickness I've experienced was from food poisoning."

"From the Spire?" Zoe asked, amazed.

"Thankfully not. From a street vendor."

"That's not much better."

So he told her about the reputable street vendors, the struggling ones (for good reason) and the ones that had shortly gone out of business after opening (for no good reason).

"Show me the street vendors that sell comfort food, and I'll never eat blue cheese again," Zoe said.

"There's times where comfort food is appropriate," Alphonse said, "and other times when it is not."

Zoe gave one of those Orlesian smiles that could mean anything. "I know I'm not allowed to say this, but I find you easy to talk to."

"It's too late, you've said it," Alphonse said. "Shall I shun you from now on?"

"Please don't," Zoe said, with that same ambiguous look. Out of seemingly nowhere she said, "I am guilty of doing that to someone, though. I once brushed off one of my friends in the Gallows for being unable to talk to me."

"Given your charm, being unable to talk is an easy blunder to make," Alphonse said, wondering if the scenery made her nostalgic somehow. He definitely missed her the year she trained to be a Seeker.

"If that's what being charming does to people, I don't want to be charming," Zoe said.

Bewildered by the sudden petulance, Alphonse said, "but that charm is a talent in disguise. You merely must use it on the ones you want to keep quiet."

Zoe smiled. Even dim from the street lights, there was kindness in her eyes. "Have you ever acted that way toward someone… like you're so besotted with them, you can barely speak?"

"The Knight Commander," Alphonse said immediately, and to Zoe's chuckle, "I hardly joke. I do find him easy on the eyes, although there was once a woman who sat at a nearby table in the dining hall. I listened intently to her conversations – outlandish sagas- yet I decided any remark from my mouth would ruin her theatrics."

"You never talked to her then?"

"Not in the dining room," Alphonse clarified with a small wiggle of his finger, "Later I sadly discovered the man at her table was also her lover."

"But you listened to her conversations?" Zoe sounded affronted.

"That was the Spire," he told her, "No 'public' display can be trusted. There is no telling who is listening, no indication of what information is gold or stone painted in gold. I had to make my interests more…. noticeable."

"Ah, I get it!" Zoe sounded elated. "I can't trust you either."

"Non, mademoiselle, I am not like those others," Alphonse urged her. "Have you ever behaved foolishly around someone?"

"Yes," Zoe said. "The first boy I ever fancied. I… I talked more than usual though, to the point of being annoying. It's different."

"It is still a response to nervousness," Alphonse said, thinking he was above such silliness now. "I believe I interrupted your tale about a socially inept trifle… was he a Templar or a mage?"

"Templar. I think I made as many Templar friends as I could so it was impossible to get distracted by mages." Zoe sipped her cider. "After a while I got tired of ignoring and poking fun at Samson - my friend - so I decided to go along with his flirtations."

"How devious of you," Alphonse said. He lowered his drink, head heavy, "and inappropriate."

"Yes, it was fun, even though it shouldn't have been," she chuckled. "Sometimes I thought he was handsome. Maybe if he wanted to touch me, I'd let him, but only if he said so. As long as he continued to not be direct with me, his mind could stay in the clouds. He eluded talking to me directly yet I heard how easily he spoke to my other friends."

Alphonse found this more amusing than he should and… touching. The notion was intriguing. "It is not much different to me listening to a woman's conversation from another table."

"You'd be surprised," Zoe said.

"Are you sure, mademoiselle?"

"I didn't only listen, and neither did he," she recounted. "The conversations criss crossed across the table."

"Like Maypole dancing, perhaps?"

"Yes, exactly…Samson would add comments to my talks with Phillipa or Cullen. I did the same the other way around. I never addressed him directly. I wouldn't unless he did, so I watched Samson try."
"Wasn't that painful?"

"Sometimes. Mostly, I was hoping he'd get it right, so I felt like I could join in. He aimed questions at Phillipa and I together – though he'd briefly glance in my direction. I answered those. Sometimes he'd ask Phillipa or Cullen a question but look at me instead. Enough practice at that and he'd try to say something to me. Sometimes it wasn't totally weird, but it was like walking a tightrope. He lost balance after a few steps."

Alphonse thought this Samson person sounded very persistent. He didn't know whether to find it disturbing or impressive.

"And you did not think to make any attempt to assist?"

"No," Zoe said, like this was the only decent answer to the question, "though he added to his tactics. I think he figured out how to make me laugh."

"Perhaps he was not so imbecilic?" Alphonse remarked, "Unless it failed."

Zoe gave a fond smile. "The first… Samson's roommate – Cullen - went to refill his glass of water, and Samson waited until Philipa looked away before switching his cutlery with Cullen's. This was after they'd started eating with them."

"C'est degou… filthy," Alphonse quickly translated.

"Yeah," she agreed. "I wondered if Cullen had done something to annoy Samson, but… I'd never seen him look so smug. Didn't bother to tell Cullen or anything… and Cullen didn't notice. I tried not to giggle but… the more time went on I wanted to ask Samson why he'd done it, but I remembered I wasn't going to talk to him, so I said, 'Um, Cullen?" She chuckled, imitating Cullen's voice. "'Yes, Zoe?'" "'Samson knocked your fork on the ground.'"

Alphonse chuckled, though it was more from the Seeker's elation. She had lied to defend her friend, it seemed.

"His face! Andraste, the way he said 'Samson!', like this had happened before or something," Zoe laughed again. "Samson says, 'its fine, brother, I picked it up straight away. Not like I stuck it in my mouth."

"My, my, what a deceitful trifle he is," Alphonse remarked, "though you think he did it for you?"

"Once he recovered from Cullen's counter attack," she recalled, "he was looking slightly less smug, and when my giggle fit ended he caught my eyes with this different kind of grin on his face and," she hesitated, appearing suddenly flustered, "winked at me."

"That was not worthy of talking to him?"

Zoe shook her head again. "No, but I did smile."

"I see." He paused. It seemed bizarre that she defended Samson. If Alphonse had been in her position, he wouldn't talk to a woman who did something that distasteful. "Do these exploits of his get more repulsive? I do not know if I can listen."

"It only happened sometimes, otherwise Cullen would kill him."

"I understand that."

"Though he returned to weirdness now and again – I remember when we had dessert a few times he brought too many spoons back to the table."

"Spoons?"

"He'd toss them in the middle and they'd always be two left," she said, "and as we ate and chat he'd occasionally prod the spoons, one after the other, like he was using them for decoration or something. And Cullen asked what he was doing, and Samson said, 'Hey, even spoons like company, brother.' And Phillipa added, 'The spoons would like to talk to each other too'. I still don't get it."

It seemed apparent what the message was, yet Zoe sometimes missed the obvious.

"Zoe, I suspect it is like a drama performance," Alphonse probed, "props can tell part of the story. How were these spoons arranged on the table?"

Zoe appeared confused. "They were just… together. Are you saying I look like a spoon?"

"No, no," he shrugged, "It is of little consequence – I see how it is quite different from what I experienced listening in on conversations in the Spire. Though this friend of yours sounded rather determined? He didn't attempt to sit next to you or purchase you flowers?"

"What flowers in Kirkwall?" Zoe chuckled, "The table arrangement never changed, and I was happy with that. How else could I spot him looking at me?"

It seemed like Zoe enjoyed the attention. It was unexpected. Since he had known her, she preferred the attention from crowds, an audience, not individuals.

"No more winking from this man?"

"Once or twice when he was particularly confident he made me laugh enough. Sometimes he even brought me orange juice for breakfast, because that was my favourite, only he put it in the middle of the table. Phillipa moved it to me and said, 'What do you say, Zoe?' – And I said, "Thank you Phillipa for the orange juice.'"

Alphonse snorted. Now it was getting nasty. "Had you always been such a malicious creature?"

It was a light hearted prod, although Zoe didn't take humour in the comment. Her posture slumped and she shrugged.

They waited as a number of loud drunks stumbled past. When they left Zoe's eyes were glossy. "Later on, Samson got in trouble for facilitating the hook up between Phillipa and her mage lover and was dismissed from the Gallows…"

The mood of the conversation altered as quickly as it had taken for the cider to rush to their heads.

The fool was gone and he had lyrium withdrawal. It became obvious why she never talked about it. Remorse sliced at her tone. Alphonse felt bad for her.

She'd tried to keep in contact with Samson and he was not coping.

"I don't know… I keep thinking – was leaving Kirkwall the right choice?"

"Why wouldn't it be?" Alphonse said.

"He doesn't have many he can ask for help, and he asked me," Zoe said, desperately. "M-maybe he needs me. Maybe I… Maybe I can help him." She fell silent, looking like she was resisting her display of emotion. Alphonse pondered on her trial. In Orlais, many considered asking for help weakness, and if someone needed help, it had to be clandestine. If he had to guess, Samson believed similarly, but he was also no child.

"Remember the reasons you moved here, Zoe. I see you wish to help, that is kind of you, but he is also capable of making his own choices."

Zoe took a deep breath. "Can he though? Can a person who's practically blattered - I mean, drunk - in his own mind rubbish be trusted to make reasonable choices?"

"I won't say the situation is simple. Samson was smart enough to ask for your help, apparently he is not such a fool – are there others in Kirkwall who might be able to help?"

"Yeah, I know. I'm going to send a letter to Cullen tomorrow, but thank you. I just needed to talk about it to a friend. Noémi is great, but she told me I could only write to her now, and it isn't the same as talking."

"I'm pleased you can talk to me," Alphonse said, then he remembered something, "Is he…"

The reason you had been keeping distant from me?

The answer was no longer relevant. Seekers and Templars were not supposed to be spending time together. So, since she had broken the rules to visit him, perhaps she did not feel so uncomfortable with one-on-one conversation anymore.

"What is it?" Zoe wondered.

"Rien." (Nothing*)

As Alphonse walked the Seeker back to the Grand Cathedral, slightly uncoordinated, he thought maybe he could fall in love with her. At least if he did he wasn't going to lose his speech over it like that Samson fool.

Hopefully not, he thought. Zoe would be very disapproving if he did that!


A/N: Thank you Schattenriss for beta-ing the first scene of this chapter. :D I kept his feedback in mind while proof reading the last of the chapter.

3 chapters to go!