Wynne had offered advice to young men and women for so long that it came to her as naturally as breathing. She didn't find it so very strange to be offering an Antivan Crow unsolicited advice on matters of love.
"Don't you think that he has enough on his mind right now, Zevran?" Wynne asked, looking over at the fire where Dal was poring over a map of Ferelden with Alistair. "He is a Grey Warden and a mage. He should be focusing on assembling the armies and honing his skills."
"Not gadding about with a ridiculously handsome assassin, you mean?" Zevran asked lightly.
For a moment Wynne considered that Zevran's light banter was the last thing many men and women had ever heard on this side of the Veil, but she pressed on. "Not gadding about with anyone, I mean. Zevran, all I am asking is that you think of the future. Everyone's future."
"Speaking of the future, think of the beautiful dusky-skinned babies he and I will fail to make together," Zevran said with a laugh before the laugh and all traces of humor in his expression disappeared. "You know that I respect you for your beauty and your ability, not to mention that you can set me on fire, but on this we shall simply have to agree to disagree."