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“I never knew you could sing.”
Thora gives Alistair a puzzled look. “I can’t sing.” She sits down by the fire and groans, holding her head. “Ugh. Moving was a terrible idea.”
Zevran hands her a glass of something that smells suspiciously like elfroot and stale piss. “A secret Antivan hangover cure,” he says. “Your head will stop spinning in no time.”
“You’re sure you’re not trying to poison me?” she asks, mostly joking.
“I think Oghren took care of that last night, yes?” Zevran says with a teasing smile.
Thora laughs, and then groans again. Her head is obviously not amused. She holds Zevran’s concoction off to the side so the smell won’t make her eyes water.
“You were singing last night,” says Alistair, oblivious to the rest of the conversation around him.
It takes her a moment to realize what he’s talking about. “Last night I was piss-drunk.” Because none of the rest of you will drink with Oghren and he gets lonely, she could add, but doesn’t, especially since she probably won’t be drinking with Oghren again anytime soon. “Maybe we were singing tavern songs? I don’t really remember.”
“Is that what the noise was?” asks Morrigan idly, sipping her tea. “I thought Bodhan’s ox had come down with an illness.”
Alistair blushes. “I liked it.”
She snorts. “You must have been drunk, too, then. Or you’re tone-deaf.”
“Oh, it wasn’t so bad,” says Leliana. “I don’t know much dwarven music, but it just takes a while to get used to the quarter-tones.”
Thora stares blankly.
“Oh,” says Leliana. “Nevermind, then.”
“Could you teach me any dwarven songs?” Alistair’s charmingly eager -- or Thora would find him so, she thinks, if her head wasn’t about to explode.
“I’m not really a good person to ask.” She holds her nose, makes a face, and chugs down Zevran’s potion.
“My dear Warden,” murmurs Zevran, “if you mean to flirt, perhaps you need a better plan of attack, yes?”
“To... flirt?” Alistair’s face turns even redder, but Thora’s yell cuts off whatever babbling he’s about to launch into.
“By the Stone, Zev, what did you put in this? I feel like I’ve been punched in the gut.”
“It would hardly be a secret if I told you,” says Zevran. “But doesn’t it distract you from the pain in your head?”
“I hate you,” says Thora.
“Good, I didn’t miss breakfast!”
Thora looks up. Oghren’s awake, and he doesn’t look worse for wear... well, worse than usual, anyway. It’s hardly fair.
“Oh, Oghren, you’re just in time,” says Morrigan with a smirk. “Alistair was just asking about your lovely singing.”
Alistair stands up abruptly. “I think I should go help pack up the tents.” Oghren chuckles as he all but runs off.
“The next time you get drunk, Thora,” says Zevran quietly, “do invite me, and I’ll teach you some tavern songs from Antiva.”
“I’m never getting drunk again,” says Thora, although they both know that’s a lie.