[ This might not be what siblings do, but in Alistair's experience what siblings do do is never speak to you once in your life despite being king and thus able to speak to whomever the like, or ask you for money and tell you it's your fault your mother is dead, so he'll take this instead, whatever it is, thank you, even though it's rude. ]
Aahhhhh. [ That's not a startled or alarmed aahhhhh, though his muscles do twitch at the touch; it's flat, calm, a little affronted. Again: rude. ] Since when do you need an excuse? Honestly—
[ He doesn't realize, for the record. Zevran didn't become Zev all in one day for him, and it was a busy year, and he's bad with dates. But he knows Guardian is cold, and he knows Zevran doesn't like cold. Thus the icy nose. Alistair tries ushering him back toward the bed. ]
If you picked a day in summer I could try to find somewhere to take you that has scantily clad somethings.
I was of the opinion days of birth were less about wanting them at a certain time and more about significant events?
[ Busy year, busier months, and he doesn't expect Alistair to remember. Not even a little. He'd been wrapped up in trying to keep up with Jonas, deal with his emotions and Morrigan and miles of grief, with vengeance and disappointment and death.
So much death.
But they'd lived in their own way, made it through. Made their way afterwards. Zevran makes his way to the bed, tugging at Alistair's hands to get him to lie down first- he could curl wherever he liked once he was settled. ]
If we spend it in the North, there will still be scantily clad somethings.
[ He flops down on his side and squirms back toward the far side of the bed to make room, kicking at the remaining blankets to work them down where he isn't on top of them and they can be pulled back up. It's all very graceless. ]
What's significant about the fifth of Guardian? Give me your feet, I wasn't joking.
Fine, if you must. But your hands had best be warm.
[ He lounges next to Alistair, slinging his feet into his lap- laying back on the bed to stare at the stones above them rather than Alistair proper when he makes mention of this.
He doesn't want to see the face. ]
We were in the Deep Roads at the time. A glenlock came in at my right quicker than I could see. You took a blow to your ribs and were laid low long enough to be vulnerable. I killed the darkspawn and when I offered you a hand up, you said "Maker's Breath, are you ok Zev?"
[ He sounds like someone trying to sound like they're making a face, and also someone trying to remember one single day a very long time ago. In the meantime he grasps around for blankets to toss over Zevran so he doesn't freeze while Alistair makes good on the foot thing.
He does remember it, he realizes—marked in his memory not as they day he decided that Zev was his friend, that was earlier, but as the first time he got angry with Jonas. Cousland. For bringing people who could be corrupted into the Deep Roads and charging ahead instead of guarding them.
He shoves Cousland back out of his head and focuses on Zevran's feet. ]
I think I spent a few weeks wondering if I was allowed to or not. I tried it on Wynne, first—have you seen Zev, all casual. I wanted to see if she would look at me funny. Annnd she did.
[ Probably because his attempt to sound casual made him sound like he was up to something. Or maybe like he had a crush. It is odd and completely bewildering how people keep coming to that sort of conclusion about them, Alistair thinks, while lounging shirtlessly on Zevran's bed and rubbing his feet. ]
The Fifth of Guardian is pretty soon. Can I tell other people?
...is that why she cornered me to ask if I'd slipped past her in the night?
[ All stern eyes and thin frowns, glowering at him for having the audacity to seduce the young templar and bastard prince. It'd be something from terrible romance stories, to be certain, and much as he had made a few attempts? He'd stopped by the in favor of courting Wynne's favor.
Apparently he hadn't been paying enough attention. ]
If you must. I cannot think of any reason why you might.
[ He arches his feet in Alistair's hands, sighing quietly. ]
She asked— [ He needs a second to put one and one together, but then he snorts, grinning, and gives Zevran's toes a full-handed squeeze strong enough to pop any joints that are in need of it. ] I miss her. [ Genuine, subdued; he brightens quickly, though, to add, ] No one ever defends my virtue anymore.
[ As for Zevran's birthday—Alistair only grins, willing to let him be a skeptic if he wants to be. For now. One last gentle dig of his thumbs into his arches, then Alistair lets go of his feet and clambers and flops to lie alongside him. ]
I'm sorry I woke you up.
[ He isn't sorry, and he doesn't sound it. He sounds pleased with himself. But the arm he holds out to invite Zevran to re-nestle is a little apologetic, sort of. ]
She did. She lectured me. [ About the proper treatment of young wardens and young men and how dare he attempt to take advantage. The idea was somewhat laughable now; even if it drags up the same ache. A more familiar, less painful one is popped and rolled out by Alistair's hands and Zevran sighs with relief- he hadn't even known he needed that. ] I miss her as well. I still have that scarf.
[ Hung over the back of a chair, carefully tended to, worn under his armor to prevent it from being cut. Still.
happier thoughts, happier times. He rolls easily into Alistair's side, nosing along his shoulder until he found his comfortable nook. ]
No you aren't. You are ridiculous and focus on ridiculous things.
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no subject
Aahhhhh. [ That's not a startled or alarmed aahhhhh, though his muscles do twitch at the touch; it's flat, calm, a little affronted. Again: rude. ] Since when do you need an excuse? Honestly—
[ He doesn't realize, for the record. Zevran didn't become Zev all in one day for him, and it was a busy year, and he's bad with dates. But he knows Guardian is cold, and he knows Zevran doesn't like cold. Thus the icy nose. Alistair tries ushering him back toward the bed. ]
If you picked a day in summer I could try to find somewhere to take you that has scantily clad somethings.
no subject
[ Busy year, busier months, and he doesn't expect Alistair to remember. Not even a little. He'd been wrapped up in trying to keep up with Jonas, deal with his emotions and Morrigan and miles of grief, with vengeance and disappointment and death.
So much death.
But they'd lived in their own way, made it through. Made their way afterwards. Zevran makes his way to the bed, tugging at Alistair's hands to get him to lie down first- he could curl wherever he liked once he was settled. ]
If we spend it in the North, there will still be scantily clad somethings.
no subject
[ He flops down on his side and squirms back toward the far side of the bed to make room, kicking at the remaining blankets to work them down where he isn't on top of them and they can be pulled back up. It's all very graceless. ]
What's significant about the fifth of Guardian? Give me your feet, I wasn't joking.
no subject
[ He lounges next to Alistair, slinging his feet into his lap- laying back on the bed to stare at the stones above them rather than Alistair proper when he makes mention of this.
He doesn't want to see the face. ]
We were in the Deep Roads at the time. A glenlock came in at my right quicker than I could see. You took a blow to your ribs and were laid low long enough to be vulnerable. I killed the darkspawn and when I offered you a hand up, you said "Maker's Breath, are you ok Zev?"
..it was the first time you called me that.
no subject
[ He sounds like someone trying to sound like they're making a face, and also someone trying to remember one single day a very long time ago. In the meantime he grasps around for blankets to toss over Zevran so he doesn't freeze while Alistair makes good on the foot thing.
He does remember it, he realizes—marked in his memory not as they day he decided that Zev was his friend, that was earlier, but as the first time he got angry with Jonas. Cousland. For bringing people who could be corrupted into the Deep Roads and charging ahead instead of guarding them.
He shoves Cousland back out of his head and focuses on Zevran's feet. ]
I think I spent a few weeks wondering if I was allowed to or not. I tried it on Wynne, first—have you seen Zev, all casual. I wanted to see if she would look at me funny. Annnd she did.
[ Probably because his attempt to sound casual made him sound like he was up to something. Or maybe like he had a crush. It is odd and completely bewildering how people keep coming to that sort of conclusion about them, Alistair thinks, while lounging shirtlessly on Zevran's bed and rubbing his feet. ]
The Fifth of Guardian is pretty soon. Can I tell other people?
no subject
[ All stern eyes and thin frowns, glowering at him for having the audacity to seduce the young templar and bastard prince. It'd be something from terrible romance stories, to be certain, and much as he had made a few attempts? He'd stopped by the in favor of courting Wynne's favor.
Apparently he hadn't been paying enough attention. ]
If you must. I cannot think of any reason why you might.
[ He arches his feet in Alistair's hands, sighing quietly. ]
no subject
[ As for Zevran's birthday—Alistair only grins, willing to let him be a skeptic if he wants to be. For now. One last gentle dig of his thumbs into his arches, then Alistair lets go of his feet and clambers and flops to lie alongside him. ]
I'm sorry I woke you up.
[ He isn't sorry, and he doesn't sound it. He sounds pleased with himself. But the arm he holds out to invite Zevran to re-nestle is a little apologetic, sort of. ]
no subject
[ Hung over the back of a chair, carefully tended to, worn under his armor to prevent it from being cut. Still.
happier thoughts, happier times. He rolls easily into Alistair's side, nosing along his shoulder until he found his comfortable nook. ]
No you aren't. You are ridiculous and focus on ridiculous things.