“And apparently quite good at ‘diplomacy’ yourself,” Zevran snorts. 

“He’s very, very good at following orders.”

“I would very much like to stop having this conversation, please,” Alistair mumbles into his hands, them having come up to cover his face. 

-Blaze would save him, but she has no idea how to change the topic of a conversation.

“Oh, is he now?” Zevran said, leaning across the table to bat his eyes at Alistair. 

Who kicked him under the table. 

Zevran turns a mock-wounded look on Blaze. “Bullied. I’m being bullied!”

She gives him a flat look. "I think bullied is what happens when you're not already goading the person."

“Nuh-uh,” Zevran says, maturely. 

Blaze is mature, she's above this-

-She's sticking her tongue out at him.

He does it right back. 

“Ugh. Children,” Azry says, grinning at them both. 

There's the faint tensing again, before Blaze grins back shyly.

Azry, Alistair and Zevran turn the conversation onto something much less blush-inducing from Alistair, and once they've finished dinner, Azry and Alistair excuse themselves.

Zevran wolfwhistles.

Alistair flips him off, while being dragged down the hallway by his tiny girlfriend/commander.

"Be nice," Blaze chides quietly.

"Blaze, you wound me. I'm incredibly nice." 

He stretches in his chair, looking like a very content cat. "We will pick up your sheathe, in the morning. Then I think we should be able to get in some practice before we get pulled along into whatever mischief Azry volunteers us for."

She nods. "I'd like that."

“Good. So would I.” 

Blaze smiles and then...

Yawns.

Stamina potion or not, she's had a long day.

Zevran chuckles. "All right. Come on, Blaze." 

He stands and holds out his hand.

She takes it, because that feels a little easier than trying to get to her feet on her own.

He wraps her hand snugly into his elbow, and guides her down the hall to his room. Their room, really.

She leans against him, content, and trusting.