After an uncomfortable night for all and Alim's extremely crabby and not very useful day of hunting down every criminal in the slums, it was decided that they'd camp outside Orzammar, like the merchants did. Much more comfortable. They were all sore and nursing a few injuries (and several of them had lingering headaches), and it wasn't the private, enchanted world that their campsites often seemed, but it was better.

Zevran lounged contentedly in his bedroll after supper, enjoying the crisp smell of Alim's herbal simples and the soothing numbness of his painkilling tea. He had fairly faint, muddled memories of the evening, but a strong impression of Alim's drunken smiles earned once or twice. It seemed worth the headache. He'd taken a slice to the arm in their raid on the carta, but it wasn't bothering him too much. A nice, peaceful evening without mayhem might do him some good.

"Zev?" Alim's voice from outside his tent made him jump. He didn't think he'd ever been sought out for anything other than medical attention before, but maybe that was because he was always in such hot pursuit. Perhaps he should have let the Warden come to him before. "Could I come in?"

He knew better than to get his hopes up, but his breath caught a little, and then he snickered good-naturedly. "Yes, of course, join me in the furs."

"Thanks." He ducked inside, peeked behind him, and sighed. Zevran was afraid he might want to talk more about the casteless and dusttown. He wasn't sure what they'd said about it the night before, but he knew it had depressed them both and there was no reason to go over the same ground again when they could only come to the same conclusion. And he definitely didn't want to bemoan being an elf (and not a good one) sober.

But Alim looked less despondent and more... panicked. Clearly he'd have to ask. "And what are you hiding from?"

"Leliana... has been under the impression I was attempting to—to court her." He looked so frantic and it was so absurd that Zevran burst out laughing. "Not you, too."

"Me? I'm trying to court you, as you well know, which is not quite the same thing."

"Morrigan made fun of me, Wynne told me I wasn't allowed to break her heart, and Sten just... just made a face. If you're impossible, too, I'm going to run away and be a hermit."

"I apologize. It must be terrible, having a lovely woman request that you ravish her."

He didn't even look at Zevran, peeking through the tentflap again. "I didn't do it on purpose. She's my friend, and we talk about shoes and I helped her with Marjolane. I never meant to suggest... I gave her that cute little nug, since she'd been admiring them, and somehow..."

Zevran laughed again and turned it into a cough. "I believe you are as innocent as the day, my lovely little flower. You have certainly never in your life set out to court anybody." Alim flushed, the color very becoming on his dark cheeks, and he stammered for a moment. This just got better. "Ah, am I mistaken?" Silence. "You have. Come, tell all."

"No!"

Oh, Maker, the way he blushed. It was almost too cruel, but Zevran couldn't not hear this."I will allow you to hide from Leliana, but only if you tell me who it was that earned your so elusive attentions. This is my price."

"You never met— And it didn't work, anyway."

"An unsuccessful attempt isn't erased from history." But he did soften a little. Rejection always stung. And he had to disapprove of whatever misguided soul would turn down Alim's bright eyes. He would have to, of course, for anything but a dalliance, but his were special circumstances. And he was certainly a most misguided soul.

Alim sighed, checked outside again, and groaned. "Fine, but only because I don't want Alistair to even know." Did he really think Zevran would toss him out of the tent if he didn't relent? He almost gave in, but no, the mage wasn't that dense. Dense, but not that dense. "His name was Jowan. He was another apprentice."

"So far it makes sense." Jowan. He'd heard that name but he couldn't think where. There went his theory that Alim rejected him because he didn't care for the attentions of another man. He waited for the mage to go on, but nothing was forthcoming. "And?"

"And?" Alim raised an eyebrow, apparently honestly confused.

"That was not a story. That was at best an informative aside. How did he win your approval? What did you do in pursuit of him? How came he to turn down such delights as you offer?"

"Oh. He never noticed. I gave up years ago. He found somebody he did like." His expression darkened. Lingering jealousy?

A bit bleak, what there was of it. Poor Alim, winning Leliana's regard by accident and being completely passed over by the object of his own heart. "More fool he. Fie on this little siren who stole your prize, hm?"

"Oh, no, she was nice enough. I just wish they were somewhere safe, raising fat babies."

He nodded. "The tower would not have released a few mages to live in unremitting dullness on a farm, I suppose, any more than they would authorize your cat?"

"The tower would not release a runaway priest and an apprentice they'd slated for tranquility to do so much as exchange letters. We stole his phylactery—that's what Templars use to track us down if we run. It didn't work very well. He did escape, but she didn't."

"Was this the... disaster?"

"It also involved blood magic. Which is unappealing and dangerous, but they're the ones who pushed him to it. And if you call a mage a maleficar, no one will stop you doing whatever you like about it." Alim sighed and covered his face in his hands. "Stupid man."

"What became of him?"

"I'm not even sure. Nothing good. He tried to be an assassin and was almost as bad at it as you." Zevran didn't have time to defend himself before Alim plowed ahead. "In the end he was sent back to the tower. They raised him and taught him, just like me, and they probably gave him to the templars to kill, because of what they drove him to become. I don't know if I'll even have it in me to ask. I don't know if I can take hearing about what an asset I am now that I'm useful again, when they made Jowan... When they'd have done the same to me just for helping him, if the Wardens hadn't been handy to deposit me with."

Suddenly the way he seemed to understand Zevran's ramblings about the Crows seemed more depressing than impressive. "It sounds like you may have terrible taste in men." Fortunately, Alim laughed. A tiny, bitter sound, but he did get a small smile. "Which has done me absolutely no good, somehow." More of a laugh, now. "I'm sorry I made you speak of it. A wounded heart is a heavy burden."

"Thank you." He smiled, soft and unguarded, and Zevran's heart skipped a beat for some mysterious reason or other that he would not investigate. "But really, I'm more upset that my friend is dead or tranquil than because he thought my letters were from Dalora in the other dormitory."

Zevran was caught between a wince and a snort. "Letters?"

"Oh yes. Letters."

"Unfortunate letters?"

"I was sixteen."

He shuddered in sympathy. "Very unfortunate letters."

"There were... metaphors. It was a travesty and we shall not speak of it." He shook his head and ran his fingers through his hair. "She's going to hate me."

"Oh, a little, I imagine. For a while. It will be unpleasant, knowing she... misconstrued." And he couldn't claim he quite understood Leliana enough to predict what her response would be. Her attempts the other night to be the one who escorted Alim on his drunken stumblings made more sense now, and Zevran was glad for everyone's sake that he'd intervened, even if his motives had been entirely selfish. Indeed, he was very lucky, simply being in unrequited lust with the pretty mage. Poor Leliana was caught in a much thornier thicket. "Perhaps we should let her buy you shoes."

"That's how I wound up in this mess. I never did get my oxhide boots."

"Oxblood, and I maintain, dark and cool would suit you better." Mmm, Alim in riding boots. Leliana did have decent instincts, even if she had to be Orlesian about it. "They must be full length, and perhaps with a touch of silver inlaid..."

At least Alim was laughing again. "No one would be able to see them."

"Yes, while we're at it we must do something about this." He plucked at the sleeve of that awful robe. "It is too cold here for most Antivan fashions that I know best, but I have seen with my own eyes that Fereldan has, in fact, discovered pants."

"I told Leliana and I'll tell you. It's not just tradition for tradition's sake. Part of the magic is worked into the design." But he looked, perhaps, a little interested.

"So we take these dreary sleeves and make them into a lining. A long coat, I think, leather and well tailored, fitted to here and then flaring out, like so." He gestured, hands an inch from Alim's waist, crafting the mental image with meticulous delight.

"You know, I tried on a few pieces of Leliana's armor and it was damnably heavy. How much leather are you going to make me wear?"

"Either as much as possible or as little, depending on my mood and how lucky I am. Besides, armor is reinforced, and that is a great deal heavier. Now stop arguing or your imaginary pants will be leather, too. ...No, too late, they are."

"Imaginary me isn't going to be able to move."

"I don't think I need you to very much, in this scenario." He was but mortal. If he was going to imagine Alim in Antivan leather, dark and form fitting (and somehow not looking ridiculous in the process), he was also going to imagine him lounging in the bedroll, hair fanned out around him, touched by that delicious blush and eyes brilliant. "My imagination is very good, don't worry."

"It's not as strange as when Leli does it, anyway."

"Leliana ogled you shamelessly, and planned the clothes she was going to rip off you, and you were still surprised?"

"That's not the same. You're not a human, and you're making fun of me." He sounded so matter-of-fact that Zevran was left speechless for a moment. "I just thought it was more of her seeming to think elves are dolls she can play with. It's a little uncomfortable, and... What did I do to deserve that look?"

Zevran rallied himself. "All this time, you thought I was teasing you?"

"It won't be funny any more if you explain the joke," Alim said, but he looked suddenly unsure.

"Are you sure your first love didn't return your affections after all? Because I suspect if he'd climbed into your bed you'd think he'd remembered some magical formula he'd meant to ask you about before midnight."

He probably deserved the glare he got for that. "The coast is probably clear. I should get back to my own tent."

"As you like, but a moment first." Zevran caught his hand. "I would never insist that you must accept me, but let me at least be clear. I swear by the Maker and my mother's bones, I absolutely wish to ravish you. You are surpassingly lovely and utterly bewitching. Give me an evening and I promise to bring you to heights of pleasure your scholarly little heart never imagined. And I would be particularly honored to be the first so graced."

"Goodnight, Zevran." Blushing furiously (it was still cute), he ducked out in a mad hurry, and Zevran heard him trip in his hurry.

Curses. He didn't know what had made him think it was a good time for that, with Leliana so fresh in his mind. But that had thrown him. Alim was sheltered and awkward, and Zevran could believe he hadn't been pursued before the Crow and the bard had independently launched their campaigns. He was worth chasing, but if you didn't get to watch him decimate darkspawn with witchfire, he might be too quiet to notice.

So this was new to him. Fine. The trouble was, Alim wasn't actually stupid. And if he had made an attempt on this friend of his, he probably wasn't just disinterested, which certainly happened, albeit rarely. There was something going on in that lovely little head, and Zevran wished to see it taken care of.

Next time they stopped it was in the deep roads, and no one was sure that it was night, precisely, just that they were bone tired and damaged and couldn't do any more for a while. They found a defensible old ruin with a stream running through and all huddled inside, eating woebegone rations and taking it in turns to steal a few hours of sleep. Zevran volunteered for second shift with all the innocence he could manage.

His gamble paid off, because he was very clever. Watching the grim caverns for incoming horrors only went on a short, lonely while before he heard soft padding behind him and then splashing. "That water must be freezing," he said, speaking at the bottom of his voice.

"Not anymore. Magic, remember?" The reply came as a whisper, more prone to hissing and carrying than just speaking quietly. It didn't seem like the time to explain this aspect of sneaking, however. Later. "I have something in my hair that might be, um, genlock. Bits. It's making me crazy, but I think it'll soak out."

"Stop exploding them, perhaps?"

"But it's so, so satisfying."

"At least don't do that thing where the dead one walks around and helps us? I found it disturbing. Me!"

"I have named him Ser Marrow Knockyknees, and you should show some respect." There was a slight squelching noise it was best not to think too hard about, and Alim came to stand beside him. They'd left only a single, faint torch, hoping not to catch attention, and the light from the mage's staff was just as bright, creating strange, overlapping shadows. He braced his elbows where a window ledge had once been and only half crumbled away. "I, um, I'm sorry. For last night."

"Which part?" Zevran didn't think he'd done anything wrong. A few things foolish or ill advised, maybe, but not wrong.

"Running away. You... you surprised me."

"Ah. That." He shook his head. "I clearly misjudged. No harm done."

"So you really do...?"

"Admire you? Desire you? I can't think of another word that rhymes. Give me a moment. But yes."

"Ah."

"Knowing that I am not mocking you, does this bother you?"

"N-no. It surprises me."

"You tried that euphemism already."

"No, I meant it the way it sounded. It's not a possibility I accounted for."

Zevran half turned toward him, hoping no Darkspawn would choose just this moment to approach them. In the half light he could only make out that Alim's gaze fell somewhere between his feet. "Whyever for? I can see the shy student languishing for unrequited love, I suppose, but, well, is there anything I could possibly have done to be more clear? Written you lurid poetry?" That didn't sound like a bad exercise, actually. "Had my request for a tryst illuminated by chantry sisters?"

"I'd have thought you were working very hard on that joke."

Zevran sighed, rubbing his temples for a moment. "Why, though? You do... desire companionship, yes?" A slight nod. "It is a hard world, it's true, but a vast majority of the souls who pass through it will find someone to share it with, be it for an hour or a lifetime. What could possibly be so wrong with you that you think it impossible?"

"Elf, mage, foreigner," he whispered.

"Alright, a challenge, but not insurmountable." He didn't feel the need to point out that he was two off that list himself and clearly unperturbed by the third.

"Any of those alone, maybe. But it's enough that something will always be against me. When I was little, I remember my mother... Oh, who will we ever marry you to, my little Alim?" There was a hint of an accent and his face and voice softened when he called her to mind. Sweet. "She had an idea she could keep me from the tower, for a little while, but even leaving that aside, you can tell by looking that I'm northern. I was born in Fereldan, but my family came from Tevinter."

"That must be a story."

"I'm sure, but I don't know much of it. Whatever happened was ugly enough that I was to hear it when I was older, and then they took me off to the Circle. They let me write, but she couldn't read very well, and important things never were said." He shook his head. "She really didn't think she could arrange a marriage for me, though."

"Before or after you explained you wanted to be married to a boy?"

"Alright, there are four problems." It had just been a guess, but apparently he was right. Well, not many with a taste for women would have been able to easily turn down Leliana. "Maybe that's why I hoped another apprentice... But when he was reading the letters he thought were from someone else, he'd tell me about them."

"Ouch."

"I brought it on myself. And he'd take a moment or two out of gloating to tell me he was sure I'd find a girl someday who didn't mind an elf. He would say I might as well be a brother to him, but that never felt like it meant much. It would always be one thing or another. I suppose I just... gave up."

"That is extremely sad." He kept his tone light, but it really was. Poor boy. "Well, I really must ask. When you are done being surprised, how do you think you'll feel?" Maybe he actually would give up if he was rebuffed again. But probably not.

"I think... I will consent to a tryst."

While the thrill that passed through him was powerful and immediate and deeper than he wanted it to be, he mostly wanted to get Alim to say tryst again in the confused, clinical little voice. "I'm sorry, what?"

"Trysting. You. Yes."

"You really are a master wordsmith." Tryst.

"Do you have to giggle?"

"Yes, but I think I can stop now. Not this moment, I take it, as we might be set on by monsters and spiders any moment?"

"No, not here. I hate this place. I wouldn't want to mix it with, er, something I want to do." He shook his head. "And, yes, there are logistical issues. Including..." He nodded back at their companions, still asleep, or hopefully so. "If we don't die in the next little while or so, though."

"I'll make a particular effort. You do understand... I do enjoy your company, and find you quite attractive, but that is all I'm offering. Pleasure, a little time to forget what lies behind us and ahead?"

He nodded mechanically. "That seems right, all things considered. We're all very likely to die at... Oh, any given moment."

"For future reference, should you ever again set out to do the seducing, perhaps don't tell your lovers that they are probably a better option than a bloody death, since you happen to have the time?" But he was teasing. And more pleased than he had any right to be. "Favor me with just a taste, now, sweetling?"

He thought that was very gallant, but even in this dim light he could see Alim's confused cat expression. "Hm?"

"I'm going to kiss you now, unless you'd rather I didn't."

"Oh!" He almost squeaked the word, and Oghren shifted a few paces away. "Wouldn't that be nicer out where there's air?"

"My, we are fastidious." He couldn't remember exactly what was slurred a few nights ago, but he had the impression Alim had good reason not to like the Deep Roads. "Your hand, then?" Alim let him take it, hesitant, and he bent and kissed the palm, chivalrous as a knight on a tapestry. Alim shivered gratifyingly. Since he didn't pull away, Zevran kissed a little higher, on the wrist, and the mage gently slid his hand free. "You needn't worry. Even I wouldn't choose a cold shelf of stone surrounded by monsters for a dalliance. Well, not unless I had very few other options."

Alim looked at the floor, hands held to his chest. "Good. I, er, that is..."

It was hopefully too dark to see Zevran roll his eyes. "You should really lie down and sleep, you know. There will be little enough of rest ahead of us."

"I don't think it's going to happen. Don't worry. I never sleep a lot." He shrugged.

"Well, then you may help me keep awake. And I will help you with that hair." He moved behind Alim and ran his fingers experimentally through soft, pretty hair, wishing there wasn't a lingering hint of Darkspawn sludge about it. Next time. "Tell me... Another of your mother's stories?"

"Alright." He shivered a little when Zevran's fingers brushed the back of his neck. "I tried to put my braid back in, but it might be a little crooked."

"Do you usually consider that thing to be straight?"

"Yes, it's supposed to look like that." He made a small, indignant sound. "No one believes me. Alright, well, once there was a man who fell under a sleeping spell, and after years and years, a crow flew down from the sky..."

"I like this story already."