"Your friend seems to have a very fine sword on his back," the stallholder says uneasily, and Zevran laughs. 

"Not the qunari. My fellow elf."
The stallholder sees how pregnant Blaze is, goes to open his mouth, but promptly closes it, most likely because he'd rather make a sale. A smart choice, Zevran thinks, as if the dwarf had said anything, Zevran would test the blades on him. "I think these ones, with the fire decal. May I?"

-And there's the realisation. "I-" she starts. "You don't-"

Zevran lifts the knives with the stallholder's permission, swinging them experimentally. "These are beautifully balanced." 

He turns to Blaze, and holds them out. "You try. See how they feel."

-She starts to argue, knows she shouldn't let him-

But. They're beautiful knives, and-

(And she wants.)

She takes them, and makes a few motions of her own - a little less certain than Zevran, but enough to know how the knives feel.

And by that point she's smiling at them.

"Perfect. They're made from good aurum too, easy to sharpen and will keep their edge," the dwarf says approvingly. 

"Yes, they are a good fit. Your shop does good work," Zevran says, grinning at the look on Blaze's face.

"Hand them to me," Sten says to Blaze.

She hesitates for a moment before flipping them in her hands to proffer the handles to Sten.

Sten regards them this way and that, flipping them in his hands with ease. 

After a while, he grunts. "These are ornate to the point of ridiculousness. But well-balanced." 

He hands them back to Blaze.

Zevran turns back to the stallholder with a smile. "Now, we haggle."

Haggling, is not something Blaze is particularly familiar with, but she's willing to learn.

Zevran, having been born and raised in Antiva, is more than a match for the dwarf. Despite the blades beautiful craftsmanship, and the smith's choice in metals, Zevran manages to argue the price down quite low, and even once he's handed the sovereigns over, the dwarf is grinning like he won.

"The trick is, let them think they've played you," Zevran murmurs to Blaze once they're walking away.

She nods. "Let them think they've won."

"Exactly. Now! We must get you a sheathe for those knives. I think I spy an armoury stall." Zevran leads the way.

She laughs, and follows, a little more relaxed this time.

The armoury stall is much faster, with the dwarf simply taking the measurements for the knives, and one of Blaze (Zevran deciding on a design that would still fit once the baby was born), and Zevran paid, the dwarf promising it would be ready in two days.

"Faster than anywhere in Antiva. Though I suppose there isn't much else to do here."

"Thank you for this," Blaze says quietly.

"Think nothing of it. You need weapons of your own, that fit you. Otherwise it's like wearing shoes two sizes too big."

"I don't like shoes that fit."

"That's because you're a true elf," Zevran laughs. "My Dalish mother would cry to see me in boots, but these are the finest Antivan leather, and I am a slave to material goods."

Blaze giggles quietly. "They are very fine."

"Don't get too close to them, they smell terrible."

"I'll keep that in mind."

"Antivan leather smells like rotting flesh. But that's how you know it's good."

Once they're out of the market, they have a good view over the central part of Orzammar. There's a huge bridge, spanning across the middle, leading into a huge ornate doorway. Dwarves seem to be piling into it, talking animatedly amongst themselves. 

"Well. I'm curious enough to see what's going on. Anyone else?"

"Would seem a waste to ignore it."