Chapter Text
“Rhod.”
Rhodri pauses from the firewood she’s chopping to find Astala approaching, wearing a scowl that would take the gumption out of a thundercloud.
Astala draws up in front of her and puts her hand out. “Give me a go on that axe, would you?”
It doesn’t seem like a good time to dive into questions; Rhodri simply nods and holds the handle out.
Her fellow Warden takes it with an appreciative nod and proceeds to hack into the stump with long, hard swings.
“Would you like some company?” Rhodri asks between chops.
She doesn’t look up. “Suit yourself either way, I don’t mind.”
Six months’ travelling together is long enough to know that Astala means what she says. Rhodri smiles, the knot in her belly easing immediately.
“I’ll stay, then. I always look forward to our time together.”
Astala gives a smile that’s quickly absorbed by the task at hand. It’s enough. Rhodri sits down cross-legged, within talking distance but safely away from the business-end of the chopping.
Do other work, though. She might not want to talk.
Easy enough; she pulls out a disappointing pocket fiction she’s been forcing herself to finish, and buckles down.
An uncharacteristic grumble gives Rhodri pause.
“Bloody Zev…”
She glances at Astala from out of her periphery, waiting for some indication of whether or not it was intended for her ears. Astala keeps swinging; Rhodri (reluctantly) returns to the tepid goings-on of Ser Whatstheirface.
“Do you know what that bugger did?” Astala says.
Rhodri looks around properly now. No-one’s about except the two of them, so it must have been for her.
“Ah… no, I don’t,” she shakes her head. “What happened?”
Astala straightens up and tosses the axe aside, walking around and parking herself on the remains of the stump. She throws up her hands. “He took my last two plums out of my bag and replaced them with apricots!”
Rhodri gasps and touches a hand to her chest. “My stars,” she breathes, huffing a small laugh. “Talk about trouble in paradise!”
The unimpressed warrior Warden raises an eyebrow. “You laugh, but this prank war’s gone too far! That man is out of control!”
“Practically grounds for divorce!" Rhodri cries. "You think you know someone, and then this happens. What a snake-in-the-grass!"
“Ugh. Can we be serious for a moment, please?” Astala fixes her with a withering glare. “These are my plums we’re talking about.”
Rhodri shows her palms apologetically. “Forgive me. To be honest with you, auritte, I’m very surprised he did it. Seems like a sure-fire way to end the day with your arse glued to your head.”
Astala sighs and leans back on her hands, surveying the crisp scarlet sky overhead. “It’s raised the stakes a lot, that’s for sure.”
“So what will you do?”
She shrugs. “No idea. I can’t think of anything that isn’t illegal.”
Rhodri brightens. “You could give him a fish kiss. That's legal, and very annoying!”
A pause ensues as Astala slowly looks over at Rhodri. She watches her with a small, suspicious frown. “A… what, sorry?”
“A… fish kiss?” She hums quizzically. “You don’t have those at home?”
“Nope. What is that, some sort of Tevinter perversion?” Astala smiles wickedly at her own teasing remark.
Rhodri groans and rolls her eyes. “I never should have told you about that bloody brothel. How was I supposed to know The Pearl wasn’t an aquarium?”
Astala quietly snorts into her own hand.
“Well, really.”
“Sorry, Rhod.” She goes over and plonks herself down beside the softly glaring mage Warden. “Go on, then. Tell me about the fish kiss.”
Rhodri grins like a fool. “More fun if I show you.”
“Huh? Haven’t you got a lady in Tevinter pining away for you?” Astala folds her arms. “Bad enough that I’ve got an archdemon after me, I don’t want a jilted Magister joining the hunt.”
“Oh, don’t be ridiculous.” Rhodri whiffles a hand. “If anything, Maevaris would rather I fish kissed you than her.”
“Funny, you know, I’m not really reassured by that…” She raises an eyebrow.
“I can take it down a notch, make it a kiss and blow, if you’d rather?”
Astala squints. “‘Kiss and blow?’ That sounds filthy, I hope you realise.”
Rhodri groans. “My stars, Astala! Blowing with air! Air, woman!” She turns her head away and puffs a cloud into the chilly air indicatively.
“Hmm…” Astala raises an eyebrow. “You know what? I think I’d rather just hear the description, thanks. I’m just about pranked out for the day.”
She smiles and nods. “As you like. Well, the term came from Tevinter fishers who would hold up one of the fish they caught and kiss it, yes?”
“Right.”
“And some fools squeezed the belly too hard, and water would come gushing out of the fish!”
“... I’m beginning to see where this is going,” Astala nods. “So you hide water in your mouth and when you get close for a kiss, you spit it onto their face?”
Rhodri beams. “I usually go for the cheek!”
Astala hums at this. “I’m thinking it was a good thing I declined the demonstration…”
“Mm,” she wobbles her head from side to side. “You’re probably right. Anyway, it’s a rather unhygienic practice and I wouldn’t normally recommend it, but you are the victim of quite a serious crime.”
With a long, heavy sigh, Astala links her fingers and rests them on her belly. “Ain’t that the truth. Might not have any other option, at this point.”
Rhodri shrugs. “There are worse ideas, I’m sure. Especially at this time of the day, after Zevran has finished all those face washing and beauty things.”
“Hmm!” Astala sits up. “That’s a point. He’d have to start his routine from scratch!” She grins like she’s pocketed the archdemon’s wedding ring. “The punishment fits the crime, I think.”
Timing this good should be illegal: Leliana’s voice rings through the clearing, declaring the evening meal ready. The two Wardens, partners in the crime of grand inconvenience, share a meaningful nod, climb to their feet, and start picking up the firewood.
Around the soft, rumbling fire, the party devours the bard’s mutton casserole with a few bottles of the freshly-crushed apple juice made from the year’s first frost harvest. Astala is perfection and planned grace as she sits gingerly beside Zevran with her food and drink in hand. There’s a gap between them large enough to imply her irritation, but small enough to guarantee togetherness, and Zevran and his freshly-oiled, dressed hair and manicured face monitor the distance– and Astala– carefully all through dinner.
Astala eats at Zevran’s speed and drinks suspiciously little. Rhodri watches the entire, simmering pre-spectacle from the corner of her eye, andĺ forces herself to keep still lest she give in to rocking feet that let the cat out of the bag altogether.
Dinner concludes and the bowls are set down. Leliana plucks away at the lute, anaesthetising the party and making the birds die of envy as she offhandedly sings Orlesian airs. Astala takes her juice, drinks a few deep draughts, and after setting the cup back down, she nestles into Zevran’s side.
A furrow Rhodri had mistaken for a permanent fixture eases in Zevran’s brow, and he melts like butter under the attention.
“Mmm,” he slips an arm around Astala’s side and shuffles closer to her. “Does this mean I am forgiven, then?”
Astala’s shoulders draw up in a small shrug; she makes a noncommittal hum and nods. Zevran chuckles at that.
“Close enough, then.” He grins like a fool as Astala takes his jaw between her thumb and forefinger and guides his face close to hers. Rhodri steels her belly until it aches to keep the laugh from belting out. She clutches her spoon until it leaves a dent in the meat of her thumb.
Astala smiles sweetly, pecks one, two, three, four kisses onto Zevran’s cheek, and when he looks as though a fifth kiss will make him float away, Astala Tabris blows an entire mouthful of apple juice into the side of that man’s face.
The camp falls silent. Alistair claps a hand over his mouth. Leliana nearly drops her lute on her toes. Even the fire’s crackling a little quieter.
Astala grins at the drenched man. “That’ll teach you to steal my bloody plums,” she declares victoriously
For the first time in Rhodri’s recollection, Zevran lets out a woebegone groan that wouldn't be out of place in a Minrathous opera. He wails Astala’s name. He wails the Maker’s name. He curses apples, apple trees, liquids in general, and the positively agonised truth that his half-hour long beauty routine– an hour if his bath is also counted, for his clothes are now drenched as well– has been summarily spoiled. Thanks to her immature theatrics, the entire thing will have to be repeated– and Maker , he will have to wash his hair, too!
With an Antivan harrumph, Zevran hauls himself and his dripping head onto his feet and eyes Astala like she watered the weeds with his good brandy. Astala looks up at him with her largest eyes, and for a moment even Rhodri doesn’t believe butter could melt in her mouth.
Zevran softens– barely. He forces out a ‘Well played, amore,’ and stalks away in the direction of the lake. The man isn’t more than ten paces gone before Astala bursts out in a rich, wild laugh that spreads until the entire camp sounds like a tree full of birds. Silence threatens once or twice, only to be promptly waylaid as someone’s composure snaps, and it starts up again.
It feels like hours before the party is properly calm again. Rhodri smiles up at Astala when she approaches, and Astala Tabris, Thedas’ most dangerous woman, is shining like gold.
She sits down beside Rhodri and slings an arm around her.
“I think that was reasonably successful, don’t you?”
Rhodri acknowledges the comment with a flicker of the eyebrows. “That’s for you to decide, surely.”
“I’d say it was good.” Astala grins and leans closer. “C’mere, then. Don’t want you thinking I let a good deed go unrewarded.” She puckers her lips, tapping her own cheek indicatively.
Rhodri chuckles. “My good lady,” she advises, “If you try any of that fish kiss nonsense on me, you’ll go back into the water where you belong.”
A wide-eyed Astala touches a hand to her heart. “Me? You must be joking. I wouldn’t even know how to do a fish kiss.” She straightens up and peers at Rhodri with a contrived owlishness that would shame any actor. “In fact, I’ve never seen a fish, or a kiss for that matter, in my entire life. They’re types of Tevinter fruit, are they?”
“... I’m not going to dignify that with a response,” Rhodri declares after a moment. She shakes her head.
Astala laughs and nudges Rhodri until she looks at her, and opens her mouth wide. “See?” she shifts her tongue and points all around in the cavity before pulling her finger back out. “Not a drop of anything in there. A land creature kiss guaranteed.”
Rhodri squints, and with a slow nod, she offers Astala her cheek. Astala grins.
“Knew you’d come around,” she chuckles, and a kiss is planted on Rhodri’s cheek with a flourished ‘MWAH!’ that makes her squeak in delight.
“Not so bad, was it?” Astala enquires archly.
Rhodri smirks and nudges the other Warden with her elbow. “Not a hint of fish.”
The foolish pair share a contented sigh, and just as the party’s energy looks to be flagging, Alistair pierces the silence.
“‘Stala? Rhod?” His eyes dart between them. “What’s a fish kiss?”
Without missing a beat, Astala swipes her cup off the ground and makes for the last of the juice. “I’ll tell you in a second,” she says calmly. “Just let me get something to drink.”