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WHO: Salvatore and You
WHAT: Sal does research on Western Approach
WHEN: Before departure
WHERE: Library
NOTES: Two dorks being dumb at each other

He’d only ever read about the Western Approach, and then, not much. Vaguely. He knew it was an expanse of arid land located in Orlais. If he was going to spend the next few weeks there, he wanted to learn as much about it as he could.

That is why one might find him the library, huddled under a window for light and swamped by piles of books and scrolls, many open, as if he could read them all simultaneously. He’s got an inkwell balanced on his knee and a book for note-taking beside him. He stops reading to jot something down, then scratches at his nose with the quill still in his hand. A splotch of black is left on his nose, but he doesn't notice.

No one else in the room exists.

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Alayre couldn't stop himself from looking a tad smug now. There's the usually quick wit Salvatore blushing like a mere maiden from something as simple as that. This humors Alayre to no end. Maybe this is revenge on his part from all the times Salvatore embarrassed him. Perhaps. Though, Alayre honestly doesn't think that way. He just finds the reaction utterly adorable.

"Ah, I see." The Knight-Commander replies as he sits besides the Mage. He idly turns the pages of a nearby book as he speaks. "There's no harm in exploration but be mindful that adventure often breeds trouble." Alayre glances over towards Salvatore and tries not to smile. That's a difficult feat for him to achieve around Salvatore.

"I suppose another offering of supplies and goods are in order for your journey."

"I'm not going alone." As if that made it any less dangerous. The region alone was wonderfully hostile, without the added bonus of darkspawn and the local wildlife. He'd be lying if he said he wasn't apprehensive. This wasn't like the Fallow Mire, where the whole hoard of them went down and did what needed to be done. There would only be a handful of them, far away from support and anything he knew as familiar. It was a daunting thought.

Sal's look turns curious. "Another?" He just now realizes Alayre hadn't come empty handed. He's dumbfounded a second, before covering it with a smile. "People are going accuse you of favoritism. You're spoiling me."

A huff escapes Alayre as Salvatore tries to ease his worries about this venture. Alayre is quite aware of the dangers. More than aware. He's certain that Salvatore understands them quite well too. This is no stroll through the gardens. This is darkspawn territory with a dash of true evil on the side.

The Knight-Commander should've volunteered himself for this dangerous mission but he had to respectfully decline. Alayre must focus his attention on the Order while its gathering its strength or else those accursed mages will find some way to destroy it. That's the honest truth. While the hostility between the two fractions is low, Alayre knows it's like a powder-keg waiting to blow.

"This is no idle task you do." He replies quickly with a small sigh to follow. "You shall be in grave jeopardy. Keep your wits about you and come back to me alive--" Alayre pauses suddenly once he catches that following sentence.

Come back to me alive? The Knight-Commander shakes his head. Poor choice of wording or honest worry? Alayre knows he cares for Salvatore but the old man isn't keen about admitting it. Therefore, Alayre hastily offers the "gifts" to Salvatore, all but dumping them on his lap.

"Let them talk. You need provisions anyway."

"I, uh..." Come back to me alive... He feels a flutter of apprehension. Is that the kind of thing you say to a friend? Or ... whatever this is they're dancing around. Perhaps he would have said it to Sabriel, once, long ago. Before. But what he had with her was different, and maybe never recoverable. "Yes. Of course. I'd make a dreadful corpse."

He stares down at the items, picking one from the pile. "More tea. You're nothing if not predictable."

These two should consider ballet considering how well they're dancing around the obvious. Alayre has an annoying habit of being indirect at times. It's something like a defensive mechanism of his. Unless forced to state what's really on his mind, he'll remain this woefully vague or cling to his silence. It's a very annoying habit the man honestly needs to break.

"Are you criticizing my choice of gifts?" Alayre asks with a slight frown upon his lips. Maybe he's too predictable for Salvatore's liking. This honestly worries and prompts him to ask the following.

"What sort of....gift would you rather receive?"

Salvatore has never known anyone so indirect. He doesn't have a great deal of patience, either. This beating around the bush is going to wear thin.

"Oh ... no. It's fine. I'm thankful. I am." He puts the tea back with the rest and bundles it all up and pulls it more firmly onto his lap. See? He wants it. "I suppose my tastes are not so fine as yours, is all." He feels uncomfortable admitting what he would rather get. "I'm rather fond of books. Simple things, really. ...socks."

"Socks?" Alayre blinks his eyes comically in true puzzlement. "You like...socks?"

The look he gives Salvatore is one mixed with confusion and humor. Alayre could almost feel his laughter upon his tongue but he does well not to laugh. He figured that Salvatore is the type to fancy practical gifts but he's not about to purchase the young man a pair of mere socks as a gift.

"Mayhaps it's best for me to settle on flowers then to highlight my...appreciation of you." He wants to say 'affection' but Alayre is worried that he'll scare the Mage.

"Though if you're truly fond of literature, I can recommend a few good books."

"Everyone should like socks. They keep your feet warm." He shifts some so he can can show Alayre that his socks are not just any socks. They are knitted in alternating stripes of blue, green, and gold. They don't even match the rest of what he's wearing.

"But, flowers are nice too." He would ... really like flowers. As for the books, well, they're surrounded by a pile of them. The answer to that should be obvious. "I would like that. Thank you."

Though. He sighs and looks at Alayre silently a moment, contemplating. Then asks, "What would you want as a gift? Besides tea."

A laugh finally escapes him once be catches a glimpse of those absurdly colorful socks. "Those are quite...something." Alayre replies with a wide grin upon his face. Sometimes this strange young man can be aggravatingly sassy and other times Salvatore can be oddly adorable. This is clearly one of those times.

"What would I want?" Alayre looks a little surprised by the question. It's almost as if he's not used to people asking. "I'm a difficult person to appease at times since adore the rich finery of wines, fancy cheeses and such but...I truly love poetry."

Laughter is good, even if it is at his socks. It's especially good to see on Alayre, who puts on a serious face far too often. It makes Sal feel ... well. He doesn't want to explore that.

His face falls. He doesn't exactly have access to - or working knowledge of - rich finery. He could ask around, raise the money? But there is a light. "Oh. Poetry I can do." He's come across a few books of the stuff. But also, ahem! "There once was a man from Orlais / Who wore a scowl all day / But in walked a mage / Both beautiful and sage / Kiss me or I won't go away." Too forward?

'Kiss me?'

Alayre eyes the man before him awkwardly after that little demonstration of his lyrical prowess. While it wasn't the most in depth or well made poem, it brought a rare smile to Alayre's face. Typically somber and usually too serious for his own good, it takes much to make the Templar smile. That's why Alayre is grinning at him now as he leans forward ever so slightly to award Salvatore with a kiss.

"A lovely try but I do not wish you to go away." He whispers before boldly pressing his lips against Salvatore's. Everything about Alayre is quite stern and a little callous but his are quite soft.

Excuse you. It was a brilliant poem for being made up on the spot. And look what it accomplished.

Salvatore sighs into the kiss, lips chapped from worrying them when he reads and studies and trains. He pulls back with a grin of his own. "I won't leave right this moment." Though he would have to leave, and soon, and for a long time.

It's simply amazing how this crummy poem has Salvatore locking lips with a Templar, a Knight-Commander at that. Maybe the mage actually has some skill or maybe he's just lucky. Alayre doesn't make it a habit to show affection like this, especially not in the form of a kiss. He pulls away briefly once Salvatore mumbles something.

"How true. I suppose I better take advantage of our limited time together." Alayre whispers as he seeks out another kiss. Salvatore's lips feels a tad rough against his but not unpleasant. It's something for him to get used to.

Eventually someone is going to spot the two making out in the library if they keep going on like this. Not eager to have rumors swarm about regarding himself and Salvatore, Alayre reluctantly pulls away again. "Forgive me for being too forward, Salvatore." He says with a slight sigh. "The temptation was far too great but I don't regret giving in." Alayre smirks somewhat.

It was not a crummy poem. He's going to write it down in fancy calligraphy and frame it and sneak into Alayre's office and hang it on the wall before he leaves.

He's past the point of caring if they're caught. He accepts the second kiss as readily as the first. Though he scoffs good-naturedly at Alayre taking the credit. It was his limerick that put things in motion. "You should try being forward more often. I was beginning to wonder if you even actually interested."

While Alayre wouldn't exactly let that sad little poem hang on his office walls, he certainly would keep it hidden under rows of books at the bookshelf. So upon Salvatore's return, the mage will have to search for his piece of poetry to hang again upon the wall.

A sigh leaves the Templar as Salvatore mentions his lack of forwardness. "What can I truly say? I've always been a tad--" He pauses momentarily as he struggles to find the right word. "I suppose 'timid' shall do. I haven't had much opportunities to enjoy the comfort of another." Alayre is a Templar after all.

Recalling how Alayre had blushed during their conversation in the tent, Sal doesn't doubt that one bit. Opportunities for company were not hard to come by in the Circle. But, given what happened to most of those former lovers and friends he'd rather not look back on it.

"Is that what all the gifts were for? Because you're timid?"

Alayre smiles ever so slightly and nods. What can he really say? He can't exactly deny his somewhat bashful trait even though he wishes to do just that. "I suppose so." He replies honestly as he brushes his hair away from his eyes. Those silvery-gray strands always get in the way but he refuses to cut it anytime soon. Not everyone looks good in the standard crew cut the Templar typically wear.

"I've been trying to win your attention for some time now." His smile widens a tad. "I just didn't know what to do or how to do it. Therefore, I settled on showering you with gifts."

"Alayre..." Eyes shining, Salvatore shakes his head. Something warms inside him. That someone would go to that kind of trouble... No one has ever expressed their interest in him quite like this before. "You already had my attention."

There's also a small wiggle of trepidation in the pit of his stomach. He distracts it by gathering up the books strewn around them.

"I did..?"

A hint of surprise lingers within Alayre's eyes as he stares at Salvatore with such wonder. "Truly?" He questions again once Salvatore starts gathering his belongings. Alayre of course leans in to assist but suddenly he reaches for the mage's hand instead.

"You mean to tell this fool of a man that you've already had your eyes set upon him?" A chuckle escapes him as he brushes his fingers lightly over Salvatore's knuckles.

"Oh, do tell."

Laughter bubbles up at Alayre's surprise. Sal gives up on collecting his books. One of his hands has has been claimed, anyway. "Truly. I thought it was obvious."

He turns his hand over so his palm presses against Alayre's, tangles their fingers together. "I'm not going to embarrass myself and give you details. Use your imagination."

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