Chapter Text
Syanna watched the situation unfold propped against the counter, her eyes narrowed. She was not the one to indulge in the attractions that the inns they visited on their journey had to offer, but she didn't take that joy away from her companions. Oh, she wouldn't say no to a glass of Antivian brandy but that was about it when it came to her enjoyment of some bar at the back end of Ferelden. Not necessarily because Syanna felt as with her noble lineage she was above it, Maker, no - she simply preferred to leave the fun to others. She had... other things on her mind.
In the heart of the inn, at a round table sat most of their party. Alistair was obviously a goner by now, still awake only by the sheer willpower as both Morrigan and Leliana teased him, no doubt exactly about his low alcohol tolerance. Impressive blush rose on his cheeks. Wynne watched their three with disapproval, whereas Sten seemed to be arm-wrestling with Shale. And Zevran...
"Ah, there you are, Warden."
Zevran was making use of his Crow training, sneaking up on her as she watched her companions. Syanna glanced at him but other than that, she didn't make a move to acknowledge his presence in any way.
"I take it you don't enjoy the company of those misfits, no?" He asked, voice low, as he leaned next to her. Syanna fought the urge to smile. It seemed that Zevran had two moods: murder and flirting. Those two were not necessarily separate.
Instead, she shook her head.
"I don't mind it. But I'd rather look out for trouble, seeing as everyone else is... otherwise preoccupied."
He let out a snort.
"My dear, did you ever heard of a word 'fun'? Or do they not teach it the great Grey Wardens, telling you tales of griffons and fainting maidens instead?"
Syanna looked over at him, a somewhat disapproving look on her face. He stood close to her and was peering up in her face, mischief glinting in his golden eyes. Truth to be told, she didn't mind Zevran's company - maybe she's really gone mad, as Alistair told her, once she recruited the assassin into their merry little band. She found that she didn't care.
"I'm afraid not," she chose to reply, finally.
"Tut-tut, no wonder you're so uptight." Syanna rose an eyebrow. "Not that it's a bad thing, of course, dearest Warden, not at all. But it wouldn't kill you to let go every once in a while, you know? Loosen up, if you know what I mean. In fact, I'd gladly help you in that."
She was not surprised at his offer - not after she heard him extend the same to Leliana, who glared at him with clear displeasure on her face. In a way, she almost appreciated it.
Not that she'd take him up on it, of course.
"That's sweet of you to offer, Zevran, but I'm afraid I must decline," Syanna replied softly. He looked somewhat disappointed at her response, but not terribly so. She had no doubt he could find another companion in a moment, with his skills and face.
"That's a shame, but you made your choice nonetheless and I shall respect it."
Syanna allowed herself a tiny smile. For an assassin, Zevran had impeccable manners, especially when she compared him to all those nobles she tried to get rid off before.
"Tell me one thing, though, Warden," he leaned towards her, his voice a theatrical whisper. She managed not to roll her eyes at his antics and complied, bending down an inch or two so he could whisper in her ear.
"Yes?"
"It's not because you harbor some deep, passionate feelings towards our sweet Alistair, is it? I mean, he's charming, in his own way...," he made a show of looking pointedly at the other Warden, who was currently drooling on the table. Syanna repressed a snort. "But truly, him? I always took you for a woman of refined tastes. I must say I'm a little disappointed."
He took a step backwards, watching her with furrowed brows. Syanna knew that his words were spoken in light manner and took no offense, wondering how to respond to him. Should she tell him? Should she lie?
"Worry not, he's not exactly my type," she said, her cold demeanor cracked by a smirk.
"Oh? And who would be your type, Warden?" Zevran's eyes gleamed as he awaited her answer.
Instead of replying, Syanna chose to look over at the table where their companions sat. Her gaze moved over Leliana's slouched form - did she pass out as well? - to stop at Morrigan, a bit longer than necessary, appreciating the way the witch held a tankard of ale with her slender fingers, her full lips curved in a mocking smile, most probably directed at her companions. Syanna had no doubt Zevran would catch her meaning and sure enough, soon she heard him chuckle next to her.
When she glanced at him, he wore the most shit-eating grin on his face. It was hard not to replicate the expression.
"Ah, now I see. A woman of refined tastes indeed."