Zevran wasn't what she expected. He was charming, very charming- of course, he nearly would have killed her if not for a well-placed arrow shot by Leliana. And now, she was watching Wynne patch up his wounds by the fire. They needed all the allies they could find, even ones who had been paid to get rid of them.
Alistair wasn't a fan. Of course, which of her decisions did he approve of, these days? It's easy to criticize when you're not the one in charge, she thought bitterly.
"Elena, pass me that poultice, will you?" Wynne asked as she bound up Zevran's leg. Elena did so wordlessly, still worrying over what she should say to Alistair to apologize. Apologizing did not come naturally to her. Her mother had called her headstrong; of course, her brother had used less friendly terms for it, but it all added up to the same thing. She was stubborn and she knew it.
Wynne, as if sensing her thoughts, gave her a piercing look. That mage had a habit of reading her thoughts. Maybe that, not healing, was her real specialty.
"Elena, you should simply talk to him," Wynne said. "I'm sure he'll welcome it."
"Oh, is there romantic trouble?" Zevran asked with an arch look. "Now, who are we talking about? The handsome Grey Warden who keeps looking at you?"
Elena felt her face flush. "Mind your own business," she muttered, trying to busy herself with organizing the poultices so she didn't have to look at the two of them. She looked up at Alistair, who was sitting next to Leliana and laughing at some tale the bard was telling. She felt queasy. I have no right to get jealous after I yelled at him last night, she thought.
"You know, I consider myself an expert in matters of the heart," Zevran said. "This could be one more skill I bring to the table, so to speak."
Wynne shook her head. "Now is maybe not the time," she told the elf. "Anyway, you're ready to go. Just stay light on that leg and you'll be fine."
"You know, I could get used to this," Zevran said. Wynne packed up her poultices and went back to her tent. After she left, Zevran sidled over and sat down next to Elena.
"I may have tried to kill you this morning, but perhaps I can help with your quandary," he said. Elena shook her head. "No? Very well."
They sat together in silence, staring at the fire. For a trained assassin, Zevran was surprisingly easy to be around. I guess that's the idea, Elena thought. She still wasn't convinced Zevran wouldn't try to slit her throat in her sleep, but what can you do. She looked up and noticed that Leliana had gone into her tent and Alistair was alone. Elena got up, braced herself, and walked over to him. He looked up at her with his brow furrowed, clearly unsure what to expect. Elena sighed and looked down at her hands.
"I just wanted to say… that I'm sorry for the other night. I shouldn't have snapped at you," she said, still looking at her hands. What did people do with their hands? Suddenly she felt like she was all hands and all feet, she who was normally so agile. Her stomach fluttered when she looked down at him and saw he was smiling.
"No need to apologize," he said. "It was a long day. You made a difficult choice and I shouldn't have questioned you."
"I want you to question me," Elena said, her face heating up. "I want you to be able to tell me if I'm wrong. I… I respect your opinion, Alistair."
His eyebrows shot up when she said this, and she realized he probably wasn't used to hearing that. Especially not with Morrigan in the party.
"Oh," he said. "Well… that's good to know. I respect your opinion, too."
"I really care for you," Elena blurted out, her face feeling hotter than the sun. Alistair went open-mouthed again, as if he wasn't sure what to say. She thought that was rather endearing.
"I feel the same way," he said. She sat down next to him, feeling clumsy. They sat in silence, ignoring Zevran, who was making some rather crude hand gestures on the other side of the camp. Elena was unsure what to say. She had flirted with boys, of course, in her life before, but this felt different. This felt more real. And painfully, painfully awkward. Elena worried at her fingernails, chipping away at what was left of them, until she had an idea.
"Well I'm, uh, going to turn in for the night," she said, trying to drop the hint you're welcome to join me. Did she look okay? She was painfully aware that her hair was limp and ragged from the fight earlier and her armor was still covered in blood. Not a particularly sexy look.
"Oh, goodnight!" Alistair said, smiling at her. Dammit. Her plan foiled, she went into her tent alone, wanting the Maker to strike her where she stood for her utter lack of charm.