Unguarded Moments

Well-Woven Net, Knot 7: Unguarded Moments


Alessar kept tugging at the hem of his tunic.  It was strange not to be wearing at least part of his armor, and stranger still to be wearing such fine clothes.  Not that these were overly ornate or formal, but they were better than pretty much anything he'd ever owned, aside from his ill-fated wedding clothes.

The grey and blue tunic and trousers had been provided by Arl Eamon ("Not even gifts, Grey Warden, just a simple courtesy," the arl had said with a tired smile as he had the Wardens' party presented with clean clothes suited to their status), and were slightly too large -- unsurprising, considering his elven stature, after all.  But it was a kind gesture, and it certainly wouldn't hurt to have presentable clothing in the future, especially if they were going to be muddling in politics in Denerim...

There was a quiet knock at the door.  That was another odd thing -- having a door, let alone an entire room.  But when they had returned from Haven, and the Ashes had restored Arl Eamon to health, the arl had insisted that they stay the night in the castle for a proper (and safe) night's rest before leaving in the morning.  No one in the party had voiced any objection, not even Sten, so here they were, ensconced on the second floor like visiting dignitaries.  Well... I suppose it's arguable that we are just that, Alessar thought as he went to open the door.

A young elven woman in the drab dress of a chambermaid stood there, holding what appeared to be a down-filled duvet.  She smiled warmly -- and perhaps a bit more than warmly -- at the Grey Warden.  "I've brought this for you, ser," she explained as she hefted the blanket, "since it does get rather... chilly... on this wing, at night."

Oh, no.  Not again!  He'd been pursued by a human maid the last time they were in Redcliffe Castle, and had barely managed to talk his way out of her clutches.  Alistair had teased him for days about his "elven mystique".

This girl was an elf herself, though, whatever difference that might make.  Alessar wasn't aware that elves had come back to the castle, after the terrible things young Connor had done while under the demon's control, but it wasn't too surprising; working in a noble's castle was a prime billet for a city elf.  The labor usually wasn't terrible, the servants got a fair share of food, and most importantly in this case, the Guerrins were a well-liked and respected family and known to be good people, recent events aside.  It was as good a job as many elves could hope for.

"Er, thank you," the Warden said as he stepped aside to let the girl in.  He quite purposely left the door open in case she got any ideas, although the hallway was unhelpfully empty at the moment...

The maid hummed a light tune as she spread the duvet out on the large bed and smoothed it out neatly.  The cover, Alessar could now see, was embroidered with a border pattern of running hounds.  It was very skillful work, and he felt decidedly odd about using the thing.  In the Alienage, no one would dare use such a fine piece of embroidery for sleeping on...

"There we go," the girl said with a satisfied smile as she surveyed her work.  She turned to Alessar with an unmistakably bold look.  "Is there... anything else you need, ser?" she asked sweetly, moving closer to him.

She really was quite pretty, the Warden thought distractedly.  Long red hair pulled back in a loose plait, emerald-green eyes, and a ready smile.  But he wasn't looking for what she was offering.  "Thank you, miss, but I'm fine," he said politely, hoping she'd take the hint.

He had no such luck on that front, however.  "Are you quite sure?" she murmured, close enough now to boldly reach out and trail her fingers down his arm.

Alessar shivered slightly and shook his head.  "Truly, miss, I--"  Motion on the edge of his vision caught his eye, and he broke off, startled, to glance around.  The maid interpreted his pause differently, however, and looked up at him flirtatiously through the veil of her lashes.

"I'd heard you were shy... I--"  She froze, terror on her face, and Alessar saw the glint of metal at her throat.

"Zevran!" he said disapprovingly as the assassin revealed himself behind the maid, a wicked grin on his face.

"I believe the Warden made himself clear," he said lightly to the girl, the amusement in his voice easy to hear -- for Alessar, at least.  "Kindly step away from him, hmm?"

Mutely, the maid took a faltering half-step backwards, then another.  She clearly wanted to turn to face her accuser, but didn't dare with the knife blade still at her neck.  Alessar could see now, however, that it was a table knife, and Zevran was only using the dull side of the blade. He was obviously enjoying himself.

"You never know where you might find an assassin," the Antivan said conversationally, glancing up at Alessar.  "Speaking from experience, of course."

"I-I'm not--!" the maid objected, looking startled at the accusation. She held her hands up in innocence.

"Zevran, I'm sure she's fine." The Warden was trying hard not to grin.  Obviously Zevran didn't consider her a real threat, either.  "Please, you're scaring her."

"Ah, very well."  The assassin withdrew the knife, and it disappeared through some sleight of hand before the maid could see she had been accosted with an eating utensil.

Before either man could say a word, the girl hastily backed towards the door.  "Your pardon, sers!" she said, dropping a quick curtsey before fleeing, pulling the door shut behind her.

The two elves looked at each other for a long moment before they both burst out laughing.

"You're terrible," Alessar exclaimed as he caught his breath.  "That poor girl!"

"I think that's the first time I've ever defended someone's virtue," Zevran chuckled. "I fear the damage to my reputation."

"I won't tell anyone, don't worry," the Warden replied with a grin.  "But why are you carrying a table knife?"

"Ah.  It was wise of you to leave your door open," Zevran smirked.  "I stepped out of my own room and heard her in here, and then, well... What can I say? Creativity took over."  He gestured to a small table which held a tray of cheese and some fruit, and Alessar saw a knife there, identical to the one Zevran had wielded to such effect.

"Creativity, or a flair for the dramatic?" Alessar teased.  He walked over to the table and sat down to examine the fruit: apples, pears and a peculiar round thing about the size of an apple that looked like a gigantic rose hip.

"Antivans thrive on drama," Zevran said airily, joining him at the table.  "I just wanted to make sure she understood very clearly.  Or... perhaps you would have preferred me to leave the two of you alone?" he asked with a raised eyebrow.

"Oh, Maker, no," Alessar protested, earning another laugh from the assassin.  "Thank you for your timely assistance," he said with mock-formality.

"You are most welcome, my dear Warden," the other elf chuckled as he picked up the unfamiliar-looking fruit. "La granada," he said in explanation to Alessar's puzzled look. "What is it they call it here... a pomegranate."  Expertly, he scored the skin of the fruit and split it in half, revealing the dozens of ruby-red seeds inside.

"Oh, how strange."  The Warden carefully plucked one of the seeds out and looked at it curiously.  "I take it you eat these, then."

"Correct," Zevran said with a chuckle, taking a seed and popping it into his mouth.  "Ah, not bad.  I wonder if these are grown nearby..."

Not to be shown up, Alessar tried a seed and was rewarded by a burst of sweet, berry-like flavor.  "Oh!  That's... hmm."  It was good, but not the taste he had expected.

The assassin grinned at his expression.  "Too sour for you?"

"Not really..."  There was an element of tartness, an astringent note, but it wasn't overwhelming.  "It's just different."

"In Antiva, they make wine with these," Zevran said musingly.  "Too sweet for me, but I suppose it might be good spiced and mulled in the winter..."

They spoke of Antiva as they finished off the seeds; or rather, Zevran spoke, and Alessar broke in with an occasional question.  The Warden could tell that Zevran missed his home, and he could certainly sympathize; who knew when either of them would be able to return to the only worlds they had known?  But there was a further, unspoken sentiment shared between the two of them: as much as they might have missed their familiar sights and sounds, neither of them much missed the lives they had come from. Servitude, oppression, death, despair... had they truly escaped those things, or did those fates await them, still?

As they were greedily fishing the last of the seeds from the pomegranate's husk, there was another knock on the door.  Zevran looked up at Alessar with a speculative grin.  "Ten silvers it's another chambermaid," he murmured as the Warden rose.

"After what you did to the last one?" Alessar shook his head.  "It's probably Alistair..."

"Should I ask why you're expecting him in your room at this hour?" the assassin asked in amusement.  Alessar shot him a look before he opened the door.

It was another chambermaid, a human girl, but this one kept her eyes down as she offered the Warden a bottle of wine.  "A gift from the arl, ser," she said, curtseying.

"Please give him my thanks," Alessar said in surprise, accepting the bottle.  He was no expert by any means, but judging by the state of the label tied to the neck of the bottle, the thing was quite old.

The girl curtseyed again, and dared to look up at him for a moment.  She blushed as she met his curious look, and quickly looked down again.  "Good night, ser," she squeaked before retreating into the hallway.

Alessar shook his head as he closed the door and walked back to the table.  There were two plain cups there, probably meant for water, but they'd do just as well for wine.

"Hmm, I think you owe me some coin, my friend," Zevran chuckled, taking the bottle and examining it.  "98 Blessed!"  He whistled, impressed.  "A princely gift."

"Wow..."  The Warden gawked at the bottle.  The wine was well older than he was!  "But I don't think you won that bet.  She wasn't here for... that..."

Zevran smirked at Alessar as he sat back down.  "So you think.  I saw how she looked at you... perhaps she just lost her nerve."  He looked at the seal on the bottle speculatively, then glanced questioningly at the other elf.  "Would you like to save this for another time, or...?"

Alessar shook his head.  "When might we ever get another chance to just... relax like this?" he asked rhetorically.  A night where no one had to stand watch, there was no cold wind knifing through all too flimsy tents, and there was no one to accidentally overhear what should have been private... The thought suddenly crossed his mind, and he struggled to think of something else before Zevran would notice that his ears had suddenly gone pink.  

Fortunately, the Antivan was intent on unsealing the bottle at the moment.  "My thoughts precisely, my dear Warden.  Besides, I must admit I'm quite curious to try such an aged vintage!"  His expression grew serious, and he looked up at Alessar.  "...Assuming you wish to share, of course."

The Warden considered leaving the other elf hanging for a few moments, but he couldn't do it.  "There's no way I'm finishing a bottle by myself," he said with a grin.

"Hmm, yes, I suppose I could consider it my duty to save you from a ghastly hangover," Zevran laughed.  "All right.  Let's see..."  He carefully worked the stopper out with a knife, then sniffed delicately at the bottom of it.  "This is a white!" he said in surprise.  "A sweet white."  He examined the neck of the bottle carefully, then poured a small amount into a cup and swirled it, looking at it intently.  "Given the value of such a gift," he said gravely, looking up at Alessar, "I must wonder if it's safe to drink."

Alessar stared at him.  "You think it could be poisoned?  But... it was sealed!"

"It's not difficult to re-seal a bottle of wine," Zevran said with a slight smile.  "And no, I am not suggesting that Arl Eamon might be trying to kill you, but... you've already discovered two of Loghain's agents here before, yes?"

"...True."  The Warden frowned.  "But... what if it's just a gift?"

"Well..."  Before Alessar could stop him, Zevran drank the small amount of wine he had already poured out.  He seemed to contemplate the taste as the other elf stared at him.  "I don't taste any poison I'm familiar with," he said finally.  "But of course, some of them have no flavor.  Let's wait a while, hmm?"

"Zevran!" Alessar cried in dismay. "What if it isn't safe?!"

"It was only a little," the Antivan said with a shrug and a grin.  "But your concern is touching, my friend."  He crossed his hands behind his head and leaned back in his chair, closing his eyes.  "Honestly, I expect it to be fine."

Alessar took advantage of the moment to admire the other elf, without being noticed.  He cut very striking figure in a deep red tunic, ornamented at the cuffs and collar with black embroidery.  He had left the collar open, giving a hint of the cleanly defined musculature of his chest, but there was no sign of the tattoos that Alessar knew the former Crow wore.  They had all seen rather more of each other than most of them were comfortable with, during the Gauntlet to find the Urn of Sacred Ashes; apparently most of Zevran's tattoos were in places where they would not be visible under normal clothing or armor, which Alessar supposed was deliberate.  The abstract patterns had been made up of sinuous, curving lines, much like the Dalish-style tattoos that some elves preferred.  There had been a large piece suggestive of wings -- perhaps a reference to the Crows themselves? -- across the assassin's shoulders, and narrow ribbons of patternwork running down his spine and the sides of his hips.  Alessar hadn't gotten a very clear look at the designs, at that time; he was still curious as to what exactly they signified.  He didn't dare ask, though, since it would almost certainly prompt the assassin to offer him a "private viewing", or some other such euphemism...

Zevran finally opened his eyes and caught the Warden looking at him; he grinned as Alessar looked away, embarrassed.  "I certainly don't mind," he said with a quiet chuckle.  "It is a fine thing to be admired by someone so attractive.  I think an Orlesian poet said something of the sort, once.  ...Or was that a whore in Treviso?  Hmm."

Feeling self-conscious and nervy, Alessar picked up the knife and slowly sawed a slice of cheese from the pale yellow wedge on the table.  "How are you feeling?" he asked, glancing sidelong at the assassin.

"In the past five minutes? Quite well," Zevran laughed.  "Come, let us pass the time a little more meaningfully.  Do you play ajedrez?"  He tapped the bare surface of the table, where it wasn't covered by the tray of food; only then did Alessar realize that a chessboard was inlaid into the tabletop.  The Antivan, apparently used to this sort of contrivance, had already found the drawer containing the game pieces.

"Chess, do you mean?  Or is this a different game?" the Warden asked as he moved the tray and the questionable bottle of wine.

"Hmm, yes, 'chess', as they call it here."

"I know the rules, I suppose... Little more than that."  Chess was considered a game for nobles, not the likes of elves in an alienage; he had learned to play with rough little wooden figures, not carved stone pieces like these.

Zevran held up the two queens.  "I will cede white to you, then, my Grey Warden."  He placed the queens in their positions and began laying out the board.  "Do you wish to make any wagers?" he asked with a roguish grin.

"When you're sure to win?" Alessar laughed. "That doesn't seem like a good idea..."

"Oh, I never said I was good at this game," the other elf said slyly.  "For all you know, I could be quite terrible.  And for all I know, you could be hiding behind modesty.  But, as you wish..."

Even with the advantage of the first move, Alessar still was clearly at Zevran's mercy as they played.  He realized after a while, though, that the assassin was subtly giving him openings to capture several of the black pieces.  It wasn't enough to give him a true edge in the game, but he figured that Zevran was actually trying to teach him, and he began to pay more attention.

Finally, though, the Antivan pinned down Alessar's king with two queens -- the elder and a promoted pawn.  The Warden sighed theatrically as he laid the king down in defeat.

"A game well-played," Zevran said with a grin, "even if the result was inevitable."  He chuckled suddenly, as if thinking of something else.  "And, wonder of wonders, I am still alive!  Let's see about this wine, hmm?"


-To be continued-