Chapter Text
The sounds of the camp beside Lake Calenhad had settled into a low melody of soft breaths; some of weariness, others of relief, and one of deep slumber originating from Wynne’s tent.
The one that slipped from the slight elven mage sitting beside Zevran, however, piqued his curiosity.
“What is troubling you, my dear Grey Warden?”
“Hm?” Felin’s large black eyes flicked towards him, the light of the fire wreathing his face in gold and shadows. “That is a question with many answers.”
Zevran smirked a little. “Ah, so you wish for me to guess? I accept your challenge.”
“It is a challenge of your own making,” Felin replied, “but I suppose I’ll allow it.”
Zevran shifted into a cross legged position facing the mage and made a show of studying him. He had noticed early on in their travels together that Felin possessed an uncanny ability to keep his face completely impassive. Zevran had seen that ability wielded many times against kings and councils, friends and foes, and if he were asked, he would have said it was one of the mage’s most effective weapons.
“Hmmmm…” Zevran tapped his chin. “Perhaps you are worrying after the health of our lovely songstress?”
Leliana had taken the brunt of a blow meant for Wynne earlier that day, and though she insisted she would be fine, it had left quite a bruise.
“While I do not like to see her hurt,” Felin said, “it was not such a terrible injury that we should be concerned. I saw to that myself.”
“True enough.”
Zevran had known of course that this was not what was weighing on Felin’s mind. But such was the game between them, and there were rules to be followed. Zevran would be permitted to ask small, seemingly innocent questions, and Felin would step carefully around the answers Zevran was actually looking for until he placed a foot wrong and found himself caught in a trap of truth.
Zevran supposed some people might not enjoy performing such a dance when they wanted to know what was on their lover’s mind, but he found it delightful. He spent much of his time evading forthrightness himself, and something about this slow, calculated ritual to reveal their vulnerabilities to one another captivated him in a way he still did not fully understand.
“Then perhaps it is the fate of the book your large, slobbering friend ate up like a delicious treat?”
Felin actually winced a little. “That was an unfortunate loss. But I had read it many times, so there was nothing truly lost besides some paper and leather.”
“Ah, I have it now.” Zevran leaned even closer, until he was a whisper away from Felin’s lips. “It has something to do with our good friend Alistair, does it not?”
There it was. The slightest hint of a catch in the mage’s breath against his face. Had he been further away, he might have missed it. He withdrew, victorious, and Felin sighed, knowing he had lost the game.
“It is nothing of consequence,” the mage demurred.
“Come now, my lovely Warden.” Zevran tapped the center of Felin's chest. “You cannot hide it from me after all my efforts.”
Felin leaned back against the rough bark of the log behind him and drew his full lips into an impudent curve. “Can’t I?”
“You cannot,” Zevran insisted. “You harbor some feelings for him, yes?”
Felin reached out to run his fingertips down the tattoos on Zevran’s cheek. “As I said. It is nothing of consequence.”
Zevran caught his hand and brought it dramatically to his lips. “How can you say such a thing about the stirrings of the heart?”
“Because,” Felin said, withdrawing his hand, “the heart is given to foolishness. I prefer to follow my head.”
“Ah, so he has already rejected you, then?”
Zevran grinned at the rare sight of Felin’s eyes widening just a touch.
“Nothing was offered, so there was no rejection,” the mage said, sounding as prim as a princess.
“So he does not know of your affections?”
“No, and it’s going to remain that way.” Felin folded his hands in his lap. “What purpose would his knowing serve other than to complicate things between us? And…” He hesitated, and Zevran noted the dip in his tone. “…and between us.”
“Us?” Zevran tsk’d at him. “Such nonsense you speak. I am not a jealous man, my friend. I would not begrudge you your desire to ride such a fine stallion. Or,” he added as the spirit of mischief possessed him, “perhaps to be ridden by it?”
Felin sighed, and this time it sounded properly exasperated and slightly indulgent. “Your generosity knows no bounds,” the mage said dryly, but he took Zevran’s face in his slender hands and kissed him.
Such casual displays of affection were a recent development that Zevran was still not accustomed to. While Felin had quickly proven to be a bold and experienced lover, he had always maintained a carefully distant decorum outside of their tents. Zevran had been perfectly content with that arrangement, even congratulating himself on having found someone who understood the business of keeping pleasure firmly separated from more troublesome emotions.
But in the last few weeks, things had begun to shift.
It had started one night with Felin idly leaning against Zevran’s shoulder as he was reading beside the fire. Zevran had been surprised, but not displeased. It was honestly quite nice.
But then had come the gentle brushes of a hand against his as they walked, and eventually, when they fell behind the others, Felin would clasp his fingers for just a moment.
And now, whenever they found themselves alone, Felin would kiss him. Unhurriedly, without the hunger or desire that preceded sex. A kiss only meant to convey something Zevran was still trying very hard not to acknowledge.
He couldn’t pretend he didn’t enjoy it, though, and he knew he likely had very little time before things began to cross into a realm he was not ready to explore.
Zevran thanked the Maker for small mercies as he bid Felin goodnight. Unbeknownst to the mage, he had just handed Zevran the solution to both their problems, and he meant to make good use of it.
****
“Do you have a moment, my friend?”
Zevran laughed to himself as Alistair nearly tumbled into the lake where he was washing his clothes.
“Maker, don’t sneak up on a man like that!” Alistair groused. “What do you want?”
“My apologies, I forget you are so easily startled.” He had forgotten no such thing. Startling Alistair was simply an incredible source of entertainment. He crouched beside the broad shouldered warrior with a grin. “I have a question for you.”
Alistair sighed. “I’m sure I’ll regret this, but… fine, what’s your question?”
“Do you ever think of lying with other men?”
“Aaaaand immediately with the regret,” Alistair groaned. “Why would you ask me that? Aren’t you all busy getting… busy, with Felin?”
“I assure you, I am not asking for myself."
Not that he hadn’t thought about it. Alistair was a strapping man, and Zevran had always appreciated a handsome face and a pair of strong hands. But Alistair was as skittish as an alley cat when it came to the topic of love making, and Zevran had decided it would be more fun to tease him than to tempt him. Especially because Alistair seemed to hold deeply romantic notions about sex, and that was not something Zevran was willing or able to offer him.
“But… you are asking for someone else?” Alistair looked both disturbed and intrigued. Unlike his fellow Grey Warden, Alistair wore every one of his emotions on his face at all times. It was fascinating how easy he was to read. An open book, as the saying went.
“And if I am, would that change your answer?”
Alistair flushed. “No! Well… maybe?” He turned away from Zevran and began vigorously scrubbing the shirt in his hands again. “I suppose it… would depend on who it was.”
“Who would you like it to be?”
Alistair froze and looked around slowly at the trees and bushes surrounding the lake. “Is this a trap?” he asked suspiciously. “Are the others lurking around here waiting for me to say something horribly embarrassing so you can all have a laugh at my expense?”
Zevran put a hand to his heart in mock horror. “On my honor, I would never subject you to something so cruel!”
“Ha!” Alistair snorted. “What honor?”
Zevran realized that he was losing his objective and held up his hands apologetically. “I swear to you that I am asking this in good faith.”
“You’re really asking me if I’ve thought about doing… that with any of the other men in our company?”
“Yes. It is a simple question, no?”
“No!”
“No, you have not thought of it, or no, it is not a simple question?”
“I– never mind that. Can’t you just tell me who it is?”
“Ah-ah!” Zevran wagged a finger in the Warden’s face. “If you wish to know, you must first answer my question. It is only fair, as I was first to inquire.”
Alistair narrowed his eyes, no doubt weighing his curiosity against his desire to flee the awkward conversation. Curiosity won out, as it usually did.
“I… may have,” Alistair mumbled. “Once.”
“Really? Only once?”
“That’s another question!” Alistair protested, growing redder by the second. “You said you would tell me who it was if I answered, and I have!”
“I think you will find that what I actually said was that you should answer if you wished to know,” Zevran said. “Never did I say that I would tell you.”
Alistair gaped at him for a moment, then, before Zevran knew what was happening, he was being grabbed by the front of his shirt and hurled bodily towards the water. Instinctively, his hands shot out to grasp the nearest sturdy object, which in this case happened to be Alistair. Thus, the pair of them resurfaced above the lake seconds later, Alistair spitting and sputtering and Zevran wiping water from his eyes.
“I must admit,” Zevran said once they had dragged themselves back up onto the shore, “I did not see that coming.” He reached out to clap Alistair on the shoulder. “Well done. Those strong arms of yours are not just for show, hm?”
“Shut up,” Alistair grumbled, but the tips of his ears went a little pink.
Zevran wrung the water out of his hair. It was getting long. Longer than he’d ever worn it before. Felin would play with it when they were lying naked and breathless in his tent, long fingers combing through it over and over until Zevran had to pull away to avoid falling asleep on the mage’s chest.
Perhaps he should ask Leliana to cut it for him soon.
“If I tell you,” he said slowly. “What will you do?”
Alistair paused halfway to rising from the ground. He sat back down in the dirt and looked at Zevran apprehensively. “I don’t know. Nothing?”
“Even if it were someone you fancied?”
Alistair huffed. “No chance of that.”
“And if it were your fellow Grey Warden?”
Alistair’s expressive face broke into a whirlwind of emotions. Hopefulness morphed into terror, and terror into… hurt? Yes, that was a wounded look if Zevran had ever seen one. And he had seen many.
“So you are just teasing me,” Alistair said, and the dejection in his voice sent a little twinge of guilt through Zevran’s chest.
“I am not, I assure you.” This was not going at all the way he had planned. “It is only that when we last spoke of him, I was certain that I heard a bit of jealousy.”
“We are not talking about this,” Alistair stated, and began to walk away.
Zevran darted in front of him, arms held out to block his way despite knowing he would not be able to stop the larger man from leaving if he truly wished.
“He has feelings for you!”
The words had the desired effect, and Alistair stopped dead in his tracks.
“W–what?”
“He has–”
“No, I heard you,” Alistair cut him off. He frowned down at him. “Even if he did, why would you want me to know? Isn’t he with you?”
Zevran shrugged. “He and I make love when the mood strikes. Why should I worry if another catches his eye?”
Alistair looked him up and down, as if searching for something. “So… you don’t have feelings for him?”
“Other than lust and a healthy dose of fear?” Zevran chuckled. It felt hollow in his chest. “None at all.”
“Huh.” Alistair did not look convinced, but there was a little gleam in his eye. “So, what, is this your way of telling me I should… I don’t know… court him?”
“If you like.”
“What if that means he doesn’t want to sleep with you anymore?”
Zevran ignored the way his stomach turned at the thought. “Do you think a man as handsome as myself cannot find another lover?” He tilted his head with a flirtatious smile, hooking his finger over the collar of Alistair’s tunic and giving it a tug.
Alistair slapped his hand away, blushing again. “You’re terrible, you know that?”
“Yes, yes, I am but a rogue and a scoundrel.” Zevran crossed his arms and grinned. “So, if I am right, and you wish to pursue our fearless leader, I would like to offer my assistance.”
Wary bewilderment crossed Alistair’s face again. “Why?”
“Do you know how to go about such a delicate matter?”
“I’m sure I could manage it.”
“Ah, your pardon. I had thought you had no experience with the matter.”
Alistair glowered at him. “...fine. Maybe I don’t. Is that so bad? It can’t be that hard, can it?”
Zevran stepped aside and gestured for Alistair to pass him with a flourishing bow. “Of course, I am sure you will fumble your way to success my friend! Best of luck to you in your romantic endeavours!"
He waited a few moments before glancing up. Sure enough, Alistair was hesitating.
“Do you actually mean it? You’d help me with… wooing?”
“But of course! Just because I do not have feelings for him does not mean I am not invested in our dear friend’s happiness!”
“And… you think I could do that? Make him happy, I mean?”
The earnestness in Alistair’s suddenly softened voice was actually quite charming, and Zevran thought that, yes, if anyone among their band of miscreants could make someone truly happy, it was probably the good hearted man standing before him.
“I do indeed.”
“Then… I guess we could give it a try. But,” he pointed a finger at Zevran, “I’m not doing any of your bad poetry speeches or whatever you call it.”
“As entertaining as it would be to watch you trip over your own tongue, I think that is for the best.” Zevran turned back towards the camp and waved for Alistair to follow him. “Come along. We shouldn’t waste this opportunity.”
“What opportunity?” Alistair asked, trotting after him like an overgrown puppy.
“This one,” Zevran poked him in the chest. Alistair’s wet white tunic was almost completely transparent, and clinging to every curve of his well muscled upper body.
Alistair looked down at himself and stopped short. “How is looking like a drowned rat going to help?”
“Do rats in Ferelden normally possess such a fine physique as you?”
Alistair blushed. Again. Really, it was too easy.
“Yes, well, no,” the tall Warden mumbled. “But he’s seen me without a shirt before. It’s not like it’s anything new.”
“Ah, that is where you are mistaken!” Zevran held up his forefinger. “Lesson one: Sometimes, the way you wear your clothing can be more alluring than no clothing at all.”
He gestured broadly at himself. “See, for instance, the way a sodden garment embraces the body. It draws the eye to one’s most shapely assets, a tantalizing hint of what lies beneath without giving everything away. Then, once you have caught their attention, you give them a small taste.”
He raised his arms up into an exaggerated stretch, arching his back until the hem of his tunic rode up just enough to show a strip of golden brown skin and the edge of his hip. “Like so.”
“I… I see.” Alistair seemed to realize he was staring and quickly turned away. “That is… good to know.”
“I am a veritable font of seductive knowledge, my friend,” Zevran said. “You are lucky indeed to have such an accomplished teacher.”
“Ugh,” Alistair wrinkled his nose. “I can’t believe this actually works on people.”
He said this as if Zevran had not seen his eyes go wide and his throat bob as he was staring at that exposed bit of skin a moment before.
“You will understand someday,” Zevran said, patting him on the shoulder in the condescending manner of a wise elder. “Now, let us hurry back before those clothes dry and lose their beguiling effect!”