"She's a bit of a loner, isn't she?"
The question was invading and irritating, turning my bleary, half-awake eyes to the too-close assassin perched on tree stump adjacent to me. I wanted to glare at him for interrupting my concentration, but found his eyes busy staring at her. I bristled.
"What do you mean?" I challenged. I wanted his eyes off of her immediately. It was bad enough she had decided to let an assassin live, much less join our group. I was less than thrilled about the idea of being stabbed in the back while I slept.
"The Warden," he mouthed in his thick Antivan accent. A smile flickered on the edge of his lips, and his eyes prowled over her in a far-too-invading type of way. I frowned. "She seems like a very lonely woman," he added for thought. Now I could feel my cheeks beginning to burn red. The way he said it, Oh Maker it made my skin crawl just thinking about it.
"She likes her privacy," I ground out between gritted teeth. I wanted him to stop looking at her in that wolfish, predatory way. I was having trouble enough as it without him oggling her the entire trip. Stupid assassin.
He perked a brow at my response, smug and amused by my answer. I bared him no humor, and waited expectantly as he prepared to point out how I was so terribly wrong, because clearly he knew everything and anything there was to know about our Warden after only being in her company for oh, what - a week?
"Is that in her words or just something you have assumed?" he paused, tapping a finger brightly to his chin and baring me a wicked smile. "Or.. is it perhaps because you jealously wish it were since, otherwise, it would mean she rejected you?" I could hear an arrogant laugh coloring his voice, and I suddenly had the urge to punch him in the face - hard. My own face turned the embarrassing color of crimson.
"No," I blurted too quickly. My eyes darted to her in a sudden fear she was listening to our entire conversation. She still seemed completely absorbed in a new book she'd purchased from Redcliffe before we left, away and distant to the living world. She liked to read an awful lot. I turned back to find Zevran expectantly watching me, one eyebrow perched on his forehead as an invitation - Well?
"S-She's just... a very private person. I-I noticed," I started, feeling my anger leave me as I recounted the many times I'd secretly - and sometimes not-so-secretly - watched her go about her day. My shoulders shrugged in blank dismay. "Honestly I've never seen her smile, or laugh, or.. joke about anything to be honest." Even though I knew it to be true, hearing the words come from my mouth didn't make me feel any less of an ass. I hadn't made much of an attempt to be friends with her exactly, but then again she didn't make it very easy to try and have a conversation, either. I frowned.
"Perhaps then she needs a bit of tension released, no?" Zevran's voice interrupted my stormy thoughts. I turned and blinked at him before the meaning of his words absorbed into my mind. I threw my arms in front of my face and made a disgusted sound.
"O-Oh - OH! That's vile!" I yelped. "How could you say that about her?" He smiled wickedly in my direction.
"How could you not?" he chuckled, his eyes flicking back to where she sat some twenty yards away. I saw his expression change to that same invasive look that I didn't like. "She is nothing short of stunning, do you not agree? Not very many women I have seen in my days have such fair, silken complexions."
"She has lived inside of a tower her entire life," I admitted, my eyes turning to observe her as well. She had no campfire by her tent, but instead was lit up by the glow of moonlight that reflected off her skin in nearly-ivory white. I blinked in surprise to find how right the assassin was, and felt a bit shameful at the same time when I found myself oggling her as well.
"A tower?" Zevran mused, resting his chin in his hand. "I don't suppose you mean like the fairy tales of princesses and captors locking away beautiful women for themselves, do you? Because that would be absolutely delicious." The moment was lost when I screwed up my face and turned to Zevran, nose wrinkling.
"What-? No. The Circle Tower of Ferelden, you idiot," I said. He didn't flinch from my insult, eyes still glued to Isthalla. "Where in Maker's name did you learn your history?" He was fully turned now, both hands on his knees as he shared his own private moment with himself over the Warden, tilting his head to one side.
"My Antiva has never been one for books of facts and war and plague. We fancy ourselves with stories, instead. Tales of romance and betrayal, of love and lust," he purred in a low, throaty voice that made me lean back a good foot and crinkle my expression.
"Right, very weird.." I muttered while flipping my legs around on the log to face the fire again and poke it with a stick. I didn't feel like talking much more about her in front of the assassin. I was grumpy enough as it was and I still never got the blue cheese Morrigan had promised me in Redcliffe. Sneaky lying witch-thief. She probably ate it all herself.
He didn't move for Maker-knows-how-long, not until I heard a new pair of footsteps approach the campfire and found Morrigan standing adjacent to me (Oh Maker, she didn't learn how to read thoughts, did she?) with the wild wolf she'd adopted as a pet at her side. We'd accidentally caught it in our beartrap a few nights prior, and rather than kill it (like I'd warned her and Isthalla both to do over and over) they bandaged it up with Wynne's help and decided to keep the mangy thing. Morrigan apparently had a knack with charming wild animals.
She looked positively irate, as did her big, furry new companion with sharp teeth. I think it wanted to eat me, judging by the look on its face. Then again, Morrigan always looked that way too.
"Here," she said flatly. I was busy watching her distant, glaring expression and didn't see the poorly-wrapped package shoved into my face. I crossed my eyes to look down at it, but my nose smelled it faster than I could make it out.
"CHEESE!" I shrieked in delight before snatching it from her hands and undoing the wrapping. "Oh Maker, where have you been all my life?" I cooed to it.
"Quit being so dramatic, it's just cheese," she scoffed while sitting down next to me and stiffly crossing her arms over her chest. Zevran must have turned back around - honestly I didn't notice - because he was now busy oggling a new thing of female-ness that decided to settle on the space right above Morrigan's chest.
"Stare any harder and your eyeballs just might fall out, assassin," she warned in a light, delicate voice that I knew very well to be very, very bad. I looked up from a mouthful of cheese and tried to make a poignant assurance of her threat, but instead it came out as more of a garbled nonsense than anything meaningful. Zevran held up his hands in surrender.
"I only marvel at things that should be admired, such as a lovely bosom," he grinned. I sputtered on my cheese. Morrigan made a distinctly unhappy face and shot a glare in his direction.
"As much as I appreciate your enthusiasm, at least have the intelligence to oggle them elsewhere lest your wandering eyes be found by my wolf," she responded back. Zevran seemed to take the hint, and chuckled before standing to his feet and sidling off towards the forest. His leg had healed unfortunately well; no more sleep for me for the next few weeks. I watched him leave, stiffened in my seat in case he got any ideas to go near Isthalla's tent, then recoiled and relaxed when I saw him head into the opposite direction and off towards the forest. He disappeared into the forest for hours sometimes, and would re-emerge anew before anyone noticed; it worried me.
"I don't think we should trust him," Morrigan ventured in an unsure voice as she craned her neck over her shoulder to watch him. Her expression was peculiar and confused, but lessened as she turned back to face me and found my adamant interest in the cheese more shocking than Zevran's wandering eyes.
"Lest we don't starve," she chided irritably. I stopped mid-bite to look up at her and bared a sheepish shrug in her direction.
"Cheese is cheese," I mumbled through a mouthful. I worked my tongue over the bite and smiled warmly. "And cheese is good." She pulled her lips into a slightly-disgusted sneer before standing to her feet and habitually brushing off the front of her robes, despite there being no dirt on them.
"You're welcome," she said a bit too bitingly before stalking off towards Isthalla's tent to probably discuss sneaky witch things like turning me into a frog - or maybe a turtle. I honestly don't know which I would like less. Probably the frog.
I was preparing to stuff the last bite in my mouth when I realized that Morrigan's furry new bodyguard had not followed her, and was instead sitting a foot from me on his haunches and staring me down with murderous yellow eyes. I froze, tensing my throat, then looked to my cheese.
"Oh no you don't," I glared while slowly cradling my cheese-hand further away from him. He followed it with his moon-eyes, then licked his great chops like a hungry dog. I blinked in surprise.
"I said no," I warned again, but the threat was futile. He stepped forward and dropped his great, massive head onto my lap, nearly making me shriek in fear he was going to try and bite off my arm, but instead just laid there and whined. I paused and stared. Not much of a big bad wolf, was he?
"Oh that's just not fair," I complained while still holding my arms high above my head in case he decided he wanted those for a snack instead. He whined again and licked my knee, and I felt myself caving. I sighed.
"Here, fine," I grumbled before sinking back down into my shoulders and letting him take the cheese from my palm. He ate it in one, great wolfy gulp, then happily trotted away on his big wolf-paws over to where Isthalla and Morrigan sat by a newly-conjured campfire much bigger than mine. I saw him flop down right on Isthalla's lap - as if the beast were a harmless house pet!
The sight was bewildering, if not concerning. Isthalla mindlessly ruffled the creature's ears, book still in one hand, and continued indistinctly chattering away to Morrigan. How in the world they both managed to tame a wild animal into a harmless lapdog in a few days was beyond me.
Sneaky mages.