allisondraste:

Characters: Alistair, Zevran
Words: 1546
Summary:  A discussion of Antivan courtship leads Zevran offended that Alistair has never been taught to dance.  He decides it must be rectified. 
Author Note:  I blame discord and dancing gifs. 

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The camp was quiet, unusually so.  Little could be heard above the crackling of the fire except for Oghren’s heavy belch-laced breathing, occasionally punctuated by a chuckle at nothing.  It was a stark contrast from Zevran’s gentle humming as he carefully polished a set of newly acquired daggers.  Sten stood silently at the far reaches of the camp, grumbling about inadequate defenses or something equally practical.  It was easy to miss the subtle life that the others brought to camp as they milled about, when he couldn’t take his attention from her. Maker, he was pathetic.

“They’ve been gone for a while,” he remarked to no one in particular, an attempt to break the unusual and uncomfortable silence left behind by his companions.

“Worried about our friends?” A mischievous smile crossed Zevran’s face, and looked up from his blades.

“Mildly concerned, yes.” He shifted uncomfortably. “It’s dark. We’re in the forest. There are darkspawn literally everywhere. It doesn’t seem like the best time to take a bath.”

“Oh, I envy them.  Naked and wet, basking in the light from the moon,” Zevran inspected his daggers before returning them to their sheathes. His nonchalance had reached new levels of impressive. “It’s quite thrilling!”

“Yes, yes. The thought of Lucia getting ambushed by genlocks while completely unarmored is very thrilling.” Alistair gestured emphatically as he spoke. “Just like a nightmare.”

“Ah. I see.” Another smile spread across Zevran’s lips, and he raised his eyebrows as if he knew something Alistair didn’t.

“What? Why are you looking at me like that?” He hated when people looked at him like that.

“Have you told her how you feel?” Zevran leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he looked at Alistair from across the fire.

“That obvious, huh? Damn.” He turned his head and looked towards the camp entrance, as if he expected her to walk in at any moment. “I want to, but I don’t want to make her uncomfortable, you know? I’m not even sure if she feels the same way.”

“I believe she does. That look she gives you… I would kill for someone to look at me the way Lucia looks at you, my friend.” Zevran laughed slightly and leaned back. “Actually, I’ve killed for a lot less, but you understand the sentiment, yes?”

Alistair’s discomfort and self consciousness grew as the conversation plummeted deeper into his relationship with Lucia. He wished he had never encouraged it. Zevran meant well, he knew that, but it wasn’t like he had not tried to tell her how he felt. He actually had, on multiple occasions. She had this wall up, almost always. It protected her, but it also kept him from knowing how she felt. Sometimes, he almost believed he could see past it.  It was in brief moments, such as those when he told her that she impressed him or after he gave her that stubborn rose.  There was not much he wouldn’t do for those moments.

“I-,” he began to explain, but thought better of it, knowing it was not a conversation he wanted to have, “Listen, can we just… change the subject, please.”

“Say no more. It was not my intent to upset you.” Zevran offered a reassuring smile. “You’ll have to forgive me. I am still not accustomed to Fereldan courtship. In Antiva, everything was more direct.”

“Oh yeah?” Alistair perked up, his interest piqued. “How so? Let me guess: poetry?”

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