This chapter was inspired by the Sigrun/Oghren conversations in Awakening, some comments from the toolset and the assumption on the part of some readers that the previous chapter's lines could be interpreted only in a romantic context. You have been warned.
The next chapter is intended to be Alistair-focused, so never fear, the love confession is not far in coming!
o.O.o
Clumsily Towards Ever After
o.O.o
"You're incorrigible."
Nimue had quite honestly lost count just how often she had used that particular sentence to refer to the assassin. One moment he was giving her sound and almost heartfelt advice and the next he was actually explaining said advice, making her blush ten shades of scarlet on purpose.
In fact, given the nature of that advice, the mage had almost promised herself not to have anything romantic – eh, sexual – to do with him, because she doubted her head could handle more blood pressure. How could someone be so utterly and completely shameless? On second thought, she didn't want to find out that much.
Probably the same way as someone like her could be completely hostile to anything even remotely suggesting that she might be sympathetic towards the Chantry; enforced experience. Not exactly what she might like to think about at that exact instant.
In any case, there was little to do besides sit around the makeshift fire they had enkindled and talk while Wynne tried to employ her healing skills on the mabari warhound; Rabbit had stepped into a trap during their last fight, injuring one of his hind paws. The last thing any of them wanted was to risk crippling the mabari, so they immediately agreed that an hour or so of rest wasn't going to do them too much harm. After all, it isn't as if the werewolves had anywhere else to run, now that they had found their lair.
Of course, there were downsides to inevitable campfire conversations with the likes of Zevran, especially when you were the only possible target to his innuendo that was available for a response.
"You bring out my strongest passions, my dear, so I can hardly be blamed for that." There was blood and death and ancient stonework all around them – littered with one too many undead skeletons for Nimue's liking, but the assassin was purring in the same voice he might have used in a high-class brothel or very intentionally decorated bedroom. She was actually a bit awed by this skill. "Surely it isn't such a dreadful future to imagine? Nights of endless passion to the sound of breathless gasps…"
It hardly need be said that his eyes never strayed from the mage's, which was ten times as suggestive as if he had outright stared at her breasts. Honestly, it was a talent.
"None of this is helping your case." Keep telling yourself that, lather, rinse, repeat. Your will is strong, your magic great. Your staff is long enough to clobber him from here. "Besides, our survival is still very doubtful."
"Such a pessimist, my, my. I would never have suspected." Why put off happiness till tomorrow when you can have it within a moment? A woman with such magnificent thighs shouldn't look so morose. "Why worry about tomorrow when you can still live today?"
It was the first aspect of her life where she had been given free reign over, but the last one she was willing to exercise it over. Highly contradictive from someone who valued their freedom and contraproductive as well.
"So you live every day like your last… but without desperation? I envy that."
Don't you? Do you? "There is a line between enthusiasm and desperation that one can easily cross." Zevran shrugged, poking the fire with a stick. Alistair had once clumsily suggested that the mages use their staves for this, which hadn't gone over so well. "You can never quite escape what you are, but you can be made to forget… for a time. Such moments are made to be treasured, yes? You have not yet learned to allow yourself that, because everyone looks to you for something."
Nimue was quite certain this wasn't a conversation she wanted to get into at this moment, so she did the diplomatic thing and turned to where Wynne was healing the mabari. The older mage was frowning, but her hands glowed steadily with healing magic.
"How much longer will it take?"
"Not too long, I assume; but you must understand that healing animals is different than healing humans… or elves, for that matter." Wynne added in order to be polite. The hound whinnied a little bit, which made his mistress walk over and give his ears a small rub, the way he liked it. He seemed to calm a little after that, though Wynne couldn't imagine what the girl saw in such an immense beast. "I am reaching rather blindly for what needs to be done."
"We can have a look through the rooms we cleared out while you work. There might be some more bandages around or something."
They had gone through most of the ruins on this level, clearing things out without too much trouble, but there was always the chance that there were more of those dreadful undead around – or worse, the black-armoured revenants. They did seem to run into quite a lot of them recently.
"Nimue, are you certain you want to go? It might not be safe yet."
"My lovely Wynne, you do care!" Ah, yes, she had been wondering when the usual interference would start. She didn't even see when the roguish assassin had managed to get within three steps of her, but she knew exactly what that familiar leer on his face meant. "How cruel of you to tease me so with your indifference."
At times like this, she didn't know if Zevran was only mocking her or having some wild jest at the expense of the rest of the world. He couldn't be serious about this, though, just as he couldn't be serious about anything else, it seemed.
But Wynne was quite certain that if Nimue suggested that she stay with the assassin, one of their voices would be rising an octave through some unpleasant means, conversational or magical.
"On second thought, go. Quickly, before I start hurting people instead of healing them."
The Warden was already out the door and talking determined steps to a ruined library she remembered seeing somewhere nearby when Zevran blew the very much not amused mage a kiss. However, the prospect of exploring a long-forgotten ruin with no chaperone lurking over his shoulder and the young woman as his companion was too much of a tempting prospect to ignore, especially when it seemed that she wasn't going to wait around untiol he decided what to do.
She herself was indecisive but couldn't tolerate the same weakness in others. Marvelous, really.
Of course, it helped that he was exceptionally swift and their invincible Warden could be very inattentive to their surroundings when she was intently focused on a particular something. That meant that she was very liable to ignore the very ground under her feet, which wasn't too advisable in a ruin littered with crumbled stonework, collapsed skeletons and ancient armor.
Zevran caught up with her halfway down the hallway, just in time to see her trip over the remnants of a collapsed pillar and grab a statue of one of the elven gods by a part of its anatomy that would no doubt hurt afterwards, were it alive.
"Are you all right, Nimue?" She even had to be helped to her feet, but tried to shrug it off.
"I-yes, I-ow…" And just a step farther along the way, she had to sit down on the debris that had started all this and untwist her foot from the ancient tree root in which it had managed to get caught. "Maker and Creators sod it, I hate this place!"
Stone, tower, walls, no windows, never get out, escape, escape, never ever…
From someone who almost never swore, those were strong words indeed. Then again, she wasn't overly dexterous and Zevran was feeling gracious enough to help her as long as physical contact was involved, so he crouched down to help her get the laces of her peculiar mage-shoe free (because boots just didn't go with robes, according to Leliana).
"I am not overly fond of crumbling stonework myself, but anger will hardly serve you in a fight against the architecture."
"I know that." She still sounded frustrated. "I'm sorry, I-"
Zevran glanced up at her delightfully flushed face, giving a mild grin. "Why are you apologizing, darling girl?" Truth to be told, she always did this, apologizing without reason. It was sort of uncomfortable.
"I'm… not entirely sure." the mage confessed, wiggling her foot out of the trapped shoe when the assassin managed to do with a little patience where strength hadn't served her. Then, she twirled her foot a little bit, frowning at the soreness. "Ow, I really didn't need this."
"You will live to walk another day, have no fear of that." It was more surprise than anything, the brief shudder when she had her shoe returned where it belonged and fastened firmly, but Nimue appreciated the assistance more than she could say. "Or perhaps you would like me to carry you back to our talented healer?"
Until that grin came back, at least. However, given the fact that she hadn't thanked him, she chose to be gracious, smile and forget about it.
"I'll manage, not that the offer isn't appreciated."
"So self-sufficient you are." She didn't even require assistance standing up, even though she was rather ungraceful about the motion. Zevran nonetheless watched her with glee, if not mild frustration. If she only said that her tastes ran in another direction, but this vagueness would be the death of him. "The more I observe you, the less confident I feel in this marriage of ours. And you know that such things bode ill for both of us."
Did the Dalish even have divorce? It was nearly unheard of among the Chantry-worshipping humans, but perhaps the elves were different in this matter.
"You aren't going to let this go until we leave the Dalish, are you?" Nimue sighed, but it was an exaggerated sound. She had suggested this, after all, and she would be lying if she said that part of her – the perverse and masochistic side of her, no doubt – was actually having the slightest bit of fun. "I should have figured. Well, Grey Wardens are about sacrifices, I guess."
Sacrifices? Now that hurt, it really did.
"Might I remind you that it was you who proposed, my nefarious nymph?" Keeping up with her and staying close was entirely too easy now that she was actually paying attention to the scattered debris. Her ears were vaguely red, but the mage's breathing was too even, too steady not to be forced. There were chinks in her armor still. "Yet you condemn my husbandly duties to you before even sampling them. How very cruel of you."
Maker sod it, why was marriage everywhere all of a sudden?
Here she thought she was not only saving the hearts and minds of many a misfortunate elf, but also saving herself a headache. And, considering the many more depraved things she and the others had heard Zevran talk about as if it were as natural as breathing, Nimue had absolutely no doubt that if she said anything that could even remotely be interpreted as "I should be fair about my condemnations, then, and make certain.", they wouldn't make it out of the ruins for several more hours, at least.
And the very last thing she wanted was to have her first sexual experience in a place such as this.
That meant below-the-belt strikes were asked for.
"Very well, then; I accept." She stopped, faced the assassin and took the figurative plunge. He wasn't the only one who could play dirty; if he could play the promiscuous rake, she could play the prudish sex-only-after-marriage virgin. "Once we're out of these ruins, I'll ask the Dalish Keeper to marry us properly." Were she not a little bit nervous about this approach, Nimue would have noticed quite readily that this was the second time she had apparently succeeding in stunning Zevran, even though for different reasons than the "Oghren's standard-setting bosom" conversation had managed. "I'm actually curious about their traditions." Her intrigued musing was a weak impersonation, but the previous remark had served sufficiently well. "And I'm certain Leliana will be able to negotiate some kind of arrangement at the nearest Chantry."
"Just what would your ruggedly handsome nobleman say to such a scandalous suggestion?" Ah, yes, there was that. Aside from that, it would most decidedly have worked. But then again, Zevran did seem a little paler after this casual mention of marriage.
"This looks wonderful."
The woman was trying to kill him, Zevran concluded uneasily. First, she gave no answer at all, then, out of the blue, suggested marriage (as if her own potential engagement meant nothing at all, though he wasn't certain whether that was a good thing) and, best of all, then spotted some kind of phylactery or something and reached to examine it, as if she had said nothing at all.
Not necessarily the kind of response he imagined. Especially the subsequent silence and tinkering with the thing (she whispered something to it, which might have been magic, but he couldn't quite hear, because her previous words were ringing loudly in his ears, loud enough to drown out even Rinna's laughter when she suggested that they become lovers).
The truly disturbing thing was that he couldn't entirely decide whether the deadpan serious voice she had suggested that in had had any kind of truth in it. It was just such a foreign, outrageous idea… and she was smiling now, almost ready to wave a hand in front of his face to snap him out of this sudden trance.
Maker above, but she was an insufferable minx when she put her mind to it! If she was half as inventive in bed as she was with her tongue… hmm…
"Earth to Zevran, I'm done with this, we can go." she said, her voice colored with laughter.
Admitting weakness wasn't the best of strategies, so the assassin decided to play along as he followed her. "Now, now, I thought you would be the one cautioning me about touching ancient mechanisms I know nothing about. Remember that most agreeable wraith you stirred up?"
"Where's your sense of adventure?" Now, at last, her mood had apparently brightened. A job well done for him, then, if he could make her forget her burdens in any way. "Ancient ruins, possible treasures…"
"Werewolves, black vials, vengeful wraiths…" They were walking past all these things, now dead and destroyed. But the ruins didn't seem to have an end, just endless burial rooms. Where were the bedrooms when you needed them? "My dear, you and I have very different ideas of adventure and work."
"I thought you said even falling down a flight of stai-" Ferelden had a strange language, but there was not a word in existence that required such a sudden increase of tone and volume, especially the odd accompaniment of a decidedly unsubtle splash of water.
And then Nimue was gone, but the mass of colorful robes and long hair floating through the water of the decidedly unmarked square-shaped opening in the ground were distinctly reminiscent of her attire, even with all the bubbles and sloshing.
A few moments later, the elf clumsily surfaced, all her limbs slamming against the water as if she intended to punish it for its very presence. It was adorable, really, in a very twisted and murderous way.
"Well, fancy that; an underground pool." The water had darkened Nimue's hair and flattened it around her face, but the most appealing feature of this rather amusing sight was just how the extra weight of the liquid served to emphasize her body through the fabric. Whoever had decided that this was to be the prime fashion for mages had certainly known what they were doing. "These Tevinter humans were much more inventive than I thought."
Still partially submerged – and sinking or floating depending on how quickly she managed to repeat her frantic motions that in no way resembled a swimming technique – the mage wasn't amused. "Could you stop thinking whatever you're thinking about and help me out of this thing?!"
"They didn't put some stairs there to help you exit?" Zevran would have joked somewhat, if not for the note of panic in their normally fearless leader's words. "Now that is a true design lapse."
Since Nimue rarely raised her voice without cause, this was more than a little strange and sexy to boot, what with the gasping for breath. Of course, having her drown would be highly detrimental to the appeal of that vision, so the assassin pulled her out of the water without too much trouble. Her balance was completely upset, so she couldn't even get to her feet, her hair was slick and dripping while still framing her face somewhat, but, most of all, she looked frightened.
Zevran had seen the woman face down a pride abomination five times her size with grim determination and only post-battle fear. Yet now, she was shivering with far more than just simple coldness, as if the water had bitten her, at the very least.
Her grip on the hand that had pulled her out was rigid to the point of painful, but also a convenient excuse to kneel down to her level. And, for the first time, his brave Warden looked like she finally realized the enormity of the task ahead of her and just how easily things could be tipped in the wrong way. Strange that an accidental dive had managed to do what dragons and walking trees hadn't.
Maker, she actually looked feverish for a moment, like a withered wraith. Well, not entirely so – she had too much charm to ever descend to that level – but this was the closest to that resemblance she was likely to get.
"Are you all right?" The assassin didn't know how to sound gentle or soothing, but neither was necessary. The closer he drew, the stiller she grew, tremor by tremor, even if her eyes continued staring at an undefined point of the floor. But she didn't move away or lessen her grip of iron. "It was just water, my dear."
The mage looked as if the archdemon had swallowed her, chewed her very thoroughly and then spat her out into a vat full of salt. And then she snapped at the hint of patronizing sympathy and awarded Zevran with a frustrated glare for the effort at comforting her (was that what he had been doing? He wasn't entirely certain, because it didn't seem to involve nudity or proper physical contact).
"I know that!" Then, as if a whip had cracked overhead, Nimue blinked this sudden upsurge of anger away and lowered her gaze in what wasn't quite an apology. "I… I can't swim." she said slowly, with the childlike simplicity someone like her couldn't afford.
Zevran realized that he was privy to something intimate; like a revelation that was being entrusted to remain carefully hidden. Funny, what he had been doing piece by piece over the past months of their acquaintance a misfortunately located pool managed within an instant. He didn't have to like its methods, but couldn't argue with the obvious results.
Those foolish human nobles – pure and bastard alike – could keep their dream-come-true Hero of Ferelden; there was a woman of flesh and blood warm in his hands, not a sodding statue of stone perfection.
And he could feel that with more than just his skin, which was at least as frightening as her experience of a minute or so ago.
"I imagine the lovely natural moat around your tower is intended to keep mages in rather than keep others out." The assassin willed himself to talk; pretty, empty words that were a barricade against the world. That was his routine; that was how he continued to stand tall and face everything with an almost blithe readiness to die. This almost earnest apology was anything but meaningless, but perhaps it was just the shallowness of her rapid breaths distracting him. "I didn't realize that."
That was a lie, of course; the more her breathing steadied, the more aware he was made of the water trailing down her skin and the warmth she had lost.
Fear was arguably the most real of emotions she had displayed in a long time; unchecked, unregulated, just… there. It wasn't attractive in the least, nor did it set the correct mood for any more pleasurable forms of consolation, but it was a piece of her without a doubt.
"That's all right." Nimue's voice was smaller, but steadying now, and it was only a matter of time before she realized how close they were, how improper this was and that she perhaps owed him something – which, in this situation, would be deliberately shutting him out with all her might. It didn't happen yet. "I was just… scared… for a moment." And then she looked at him, actually looked and saw… and didn't turn away when she could have, even if she couldn't smile. "Thanks."
He had to let her go and do so quickly – this was the first time he was thinking such utter nonsense about a person he desired sexually, so it seemed downright insane – but the best Zevran could do was pull her up to her feet with what was almost politeness-
I love you! From the bottom of my heart, my dearest, my love, don't let me go, no, no, no, don't let me die, please, there is only you, no, please!
-but couldn't force himself to let go of her hand, because she wasn't in fact a statue that could just survive the wind and rain and whatever the Maker saw fit to throw at her without any support.
Killing her would have been difficult at the peak of her strength, but not now, especially since a weak point of hers had been revealed. But assassination should be devoid of emotion and thus efficient and clean. Right now, he wasn't certain what exactly would have colored his judgment from this confused swirl, but it wouldn't have been an impartial decision.
Nothing made sense anymore, which meant that removing her from the equation – ushering her away and into the waiting grubby arms of a human who could give her all that she deserved at a petty cost – was the easiest step.
Perhaps twice as much now that those damned robes were finally doing her some semblance of justice.
"You would have gotten out quite well on your own… thought not as stylishly, perhaps." Especially when she allowed herself to be pulled to her feet without resistance. The mage looked paler and younger with this brown hair the water had given her, which was quite something to see. "It looks like this was once a passage through to another part of the ruins, but got flooded throughout the years. There are probably holes in the stonework… it is hardly inconceivable that water should get through."
"This might be a problem, if there aren't any other entrances… no, there must be a way." The Warden was returning, her stride purposeful and studious. If she was at all surprised that Zevran hadn't chosen to pretend to be taking advantage of the situation in any way, it was overridden by the mildest embarrassment. "Surely they wouldn't have kept it to just one tunnel…"
The assassin suddenly understood why she had struck such an easy and open friendship with Morrigan; the swamp witch was perhaps the only one for whom she didn't have to pretend anything. The dark woman had no expectations of her, no need of a hero to save her or an icon to worship. And, in turn, nothing the elf would have cared for from her could be secured by pretense.
Why, if either of the women knew how to appreciate one another's beauty properly, it was likely that the future heir apparent would have died of shock months ago. It was a thought entertaining enough to allow Zevran to offer the just-arrived Wynne a sufficiently believable heated look.
The Senior Enchanter had apparently trained herself to look anywhere but at him as long as she could, so the one that actually noticed was the apparently-healed warhound. Life was cruel like that sometimes.
"It falls to me to be the bearer of bad news, then." As usual, it took her a while longer to notice the obvious; though how anyone could ignore the drops of water trailing down her throat and under the neckline of Nimue's robes, Zevran would never understand. "Nimue, what has happened to you?"
"Just a small swim, nothing to be worried about." The mage was almost waiting for any kind of comfort she might be offered, but wasn't surprised when none came. Her expectations had been pushed quite low on that account, so she simply motioned to the nearby body of water. "One that all of us will apparently need to take."
The warhound had immediately taken to sniffing around, especially near the sarcophagi that littered this part of the ruins. Zevran kept an eye on him, if only to keep the animal from making his opinion of this plan known via relieving himself in the water they had yet to swim in.
Wynne, for her part, took one glance at the dark and deep water, another at the decidedly heavy and non-rot-and-rust resistant weapons and armor her two companions were carrying around (here Zevran saw it fit to throw her a small saucy wink, since this was the closest she was likely to come to blatantly checking someone out – he wouldn't let that slide later on) and made her opinion known.
"You cannot be serious about this." It would seem she was accusing them both of this foolhardy plan, for once. Perhaps she thought her perfect little mage apprentice couldn't think of something so stubbornly stupid.
Her expression when Nimue's resolution didn't waver was an amusing shade of puce.
"Come now, Wynne, surely this apprehension is unnecessary." Fortunately, Zevran knew how to divert an argument before it could start, even one between mages. All it required was some physical proximity, a well-placed smile just dancing on the edge of a leer and an ageless topic suitable for all situations involving whatever the world could throw at you. "I have every confidence in the ability of your bosom to remain firm and marvelous despite some soggy robes. In fact, it might even help some more." he added after a meaningful glance, his leer brightening.
Wynne must have been intimate with a templar once, at least, because her mastery of their clench-jawed poker-faces was remarkable. She even managed to usher the remnants of color from her cheeks away. But Nimue compensated for that quite easily, finally looking down at the state of her attire, and, her face now matching Leliana's hair, tried to be discreet about readjusting her neckline to be somewhat more modest.
It wasn't working.
"I was considering offering a spell to help you breathe throughout the swimming, but I see that you have more than enough hot air to go around."
"Mm, perhaps you are right." Such fire was wasted on anger and Zevran was a little bored by it at this point. Especially when there was another target against which he had to test himself again, considering the circumstances. "After all, my dear, if swimming isn't one of your many talents, you will need someone to provide you with mouth-to-mouth once we resurface…"
"Or we could always turn into toads to get through." Nimue countered as she gave up on the robes, the wall that was the Warden once more firm in her eyes. She was realizing that she had perhaps shown too much – but not yet seeing that he, too, was attempting to restore some semblance of their usual routine.
The toad question never failed to bring non-mages to a halt. Especially when it had been explained before only with coy evasiveness.
"That is just a myth… yes? You cannot actually do that, else you would have done so already."
"I think I should go first." Yes, marvelous idea; let the one person in the group who most certainly cannot swim to save their life back into the water to do the exploration. But it seemed that the elf was serious, not merely evasive; she sat down at the edge of the pool, allowing her legs to submerge. She really intended to go through with this, joking or not. "If I'm not back in five minutes, you'd better get the reviving spells ready."
"Drowning in a forgotten ruin will hardly help stop the Blight, my dear." That was a polite way of reminding her what had happened minutes previously, how frightened she had been and how…
Zevran decidedly didn't need to be remembering that, because it wasn't constructive for rational thinking.
"True, but using the right kind of magic might." She had finally remembered what panic had blinded her to; that she was a mage and the elements were thus at her command. Theoretically, she could have gotten the water out of there somehow – by making it evaporate or simply removing it. But they were running short on time and there were easier ways. "I'll try to transform into something that can swim. If I can't move well, push me in once I'm done." she added, still a bit uncertain.
Well, if it came to the worst, she had already humiliated herself once for the day, so what was an encore of the same performance now?
"Morrigan's magic?" Wynne's words stopped her before she could begin her transformation. That she didn't approve of the maleficar traveling with them was common knowledge, as was her disdain for blood magic, but she hadn't yet so openly spoken against the shapeshifting Nimue had painstakingly learned from Morrigan at the cost of much time and effort. The elf was actually surprised to see this reaction. "You know I'm not comfortable with you learning those macabre talents of hers."
Outside the ruin, in the company of others, Nimue would likely have sat down and argued this out, explaining things in a matter that would have the swamp witch rolling her eyes for hours. And while Morrigan herself at times disapproved of the "soft" decisions the elven mage made, she went along with them as long as they got the job done.
But briefly, quicker than most eyes could see, the younger mage lowered her gaze and raised it once more, remembering the instant when all pretense had failed and she hadn't been abandoned despite that.
She didn't need constant approval for every decision she made. They had chosen her to lead (forced her into it, the one thing she hated most of all about this whole arrangement) and so they would do sodding well to respect her decisions, as long as she did her job.
Grey Wardens weren't heroes. Grey Wardens weren't protectors. Grey Wardens weren't perfect.
She was a Grey Warden. And so she was allowed to be as the Maker or whatever deity was applicable had made her.
"I'm sorry you feel that way." she said, giving her words the emptiness people appeared to expect from her heart, and dove into the water.
It was just the three of them, then.
"Such harsh criticism from you, Wynne?" Tsk, tsk, tsk. Normally, this was unheard of, as their wonderful Warden was a champion at wasting time with diplomacy when a single sword swipe would be sufficient. "I am most surprised, after how you have been championing the dear girl until now."
"Don't even start." Now that was unkind, but Zevran played along. It was not often nowadays that Wynne chose to resist so adamantly. "I understand it was too much to hope that you had come to your senses, but I am far too weary to argue with you."
"I assure you, I am in full possession of all my senses. Perhaps the same cannot be said for you – might I offer my expertise on helping you make certain of that? I promise to be most thorough."
Wynne didn't even try to look disgusted this time; it was no fun when she didn't make an effort to be scandalized. Not that a woman of her age and beauty should be, anyway. "I'll never understand what she sees in you. But if you feel the slightest scrap of affection for her-"
"Blackmail from such an innocent creature as yourself? What is the world coming to?" A lecture, it seemed. How positively marvelous.
The mage had obviously taken some lessons from Nimue in the art of making one's eyes steely at will. "Could you be serious for a single moment?"
Very well, then, if she wanted seriousness, he had a question of his own – similar to the one he had posed to Leliana, actually.
"I have been wondering if you are still so supportive of this marriage you so easily consider the best alternative for our beautiful Warden." After all, who else could the bard have come to for support of her case? The elf still took Wynne's advice, even if she ignored it at times. "That delightful apprentice of yours reminded you of something else, didn't he?"
"I'm aware of Nimue's opinions regarding the tower, even if I disagree with them. But she is a Grey Warden, of the utmost importance."
"Your point being?"
"If she is to stop the Blight, she cannot afford distractions." Wynne raised her eyebrows, as if to emphasize her point. She was apparently surprised to even have to explain this. "You are nothing if not a distraction."
"You must have stopped many Blights yourself to speak with such wisdom." Idle wonderings, but Zevran wasn't nearly as uninterested in this opinion when he leaned against the nearest wall, idly watching the mabari hound dig around through the dirt for a moment. It confirmed one of his theories about the elderly mage. "How utterly despicable of me to think of her as a woman and not a Warden. Scandalous."
If sarcasm meant anything to Wynne, she glossed over that for now. "It is dangerous, for both of you."
Because she knew so much about him, and about Nimue too, for that matter.
"That is simply part of the fun." In front of her, he could shrug easily. When her blue eyes looked, they didn't see, and so there was absolutely no need to be concerned or moved or swayed. "Have no fear, my dear Wynne. As lithe and firm as my sweet desire is, none can take your soft bosom's place in my heart."
His sweet desire surfaced from the water more gracefully this time, but still practically swatted her arms around uselessly before the mabari spotted her and fished her out of the water before Zevran could make a move; and this time, he made a point of not trying.
"Ow, thank you, Rabbit. The way is clear, so it seems we can get through."
"What if it just leads to another dead end and we have to backtrack?" Wynne was now intent on ignoring the brief chat they had had and the assassin had absolutely no intention of disturbing this little plan. After all, what use was this useless arguing in the face of soaked robes their owner no longer thought to readjust.
Especially if Wynne herself was to be subjected to the same fate moments later.
"I don't really think we have much of an alternative. Besides, I hardly know the layout of this place, so we might as well take our chances."
Now there was a sound argument, a voice of reason amidst this useless talk about love and duty and attachment that was really making his teeth itch. With his most practiced and widest smile, Zevran helped the Warden to her feet, the one thing her warhound couldn't accomplish.
"Ah, my marvelous mermaid, you know you need not beg me to plunge into your deep, moist cavern of wonders."
And it was a wonder that steam didn't start rising from Nimue's hair, because payback was just as satisfying as seeing their proud Warden momentarily crumble.
