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Zevran watched Aurelie as she knelt by the stream, cleaning her armor and what little clothing she seemed to possess. Even now her hair was wrapped tight at the base of her neck. He had longed to see her hair, black as a starless sky, down around her shoulders. Every morning as she exited her tent, or in the months past, Alistair’s tent, her hair had already been pinned up. For months he had watched this ritual, an unhappy shadow playing across her face as she readied for the day, but as she caught his eye a smile full of warmth always greeted him.
This had intrigued him. Aurelie had begun to seek out his company during their long marches and during the increasingly cold evenings at the campfire. She would not always press him with questions, but would sit comfortably near him, content until that fool Alistair would intrude and lead her into his tent.
He slowly moved to where she now sat polishing her daggers, she smiled as he sat next to her. She did not flinch away from his touch as his hand moved across her hair from her temple to the base of her neck, but locked eyes with him.
“My dear Warden, always with those serious eyes and hair pulled tight, even while doing such mundane tasks as these,” said Zevran. “you must learn to let your hair down..so to speak.”
His hands moved quickly to undo the buns then the braids, watching in wonder as her long way hair fell across her shoulders. Running his hands through Aurelie’s hair and feeling her tension melt away, he wondered as to why she did not let anyone see her in this way.
Aurelie’s hand went to Zevran’s hair in return and followed the same path his hands had through her hair.
“You know, you should follow your own advice.” Aurelie said with a smile.
She worked at his braids undoing them and letting his hair fall forward into his face. The gesture had been so full of warmth it had startled Zevran, it had been unexpected, but as she ran her hands through his now down hair he let his eyes close, enjoying the movement of her hand, the dance of her fingernails across his scalp. When he reopened his eyes she had moved closer to him and he took the opportunity to move in, to close the distance and taste her inviting lips.
As he closed in Alistair’s voice intruded, no doubt looking for Aurelie, jealous and protective of her as he had become as she spent more of her time in Zevran’s company.
“Aurelie! Zevran!, Maker, has anyone seen them?” Alistair yelled, drawing nearer.
Much to his surprise and pleasure she did not move away, but sighed, discontented and with a quick smile pressed her lips to his. The kiss had been quick and chaste, but full of promise. Aurelie did not speak as she gathered her pack to return to camp, and as she walked towards camp, towards Alistair, she turned to smile reassuringly back at Zevran. Walking back across the camp he heard Aurelie ask Alistair “Can we talk?” as he found his way to his tent...
As Zevran readied himself the next morning by the campfire, he looked up to see Aurelie exiting her tent, alone. Her hair was down; the soft waves cascaded down her shoulders, softening the lines of her face making her fair skin glow in the soft light of dawn. The shadow that had been ever present was no longer visible across her eyes and as she sat near him to eat, her hand brushed his, a subtle and inviting gesture. The glare on the faces of Wynne and a few other companions as well as the poorly masked hatred on Alistair’s face told him that what he had hoped for since joining her company had suddenly become a possibility. A possibility he truly did not intend to waste.