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WHO: Samouel and Anyone
WHAT: Doing odd jobs around Skyhold, and everyday life stuff.
WHEN: Anytime during the first two weeks
WHERE: Skyhold
NOTES: Anything and everything can happen. Prose or brackets welcomed

There was always something to be done around Skyhold, which was perfect because without having any missions to go on, Sam would have probably slowly gone insane. As it were Sam threw himself more into his practices.

On most days Sam busied himself with dedicating his time to his magic. Mornings often found him in the library picking out a book and later taking it to the dining hall to read as he ate his food, or finding a secluded spot in what was being turned into a garden. Always to himself, invested in the pages, and trying to be out of the way of everyone.

Afternoons he took to actually practicing his magic. A good part of the time he would offer any aid he was capable of doing down at the tents where they cared for the injured and sick. He wasn't nearly as skilled as the more practiced healers who had trained most of their lives in the Circle, but he made up for it with determination. Or if he seemed to just be in the way, Sam found himself testing out spells on the practice dummies behind the Herald's Rest.

The other days that Sam didn't dedicate to magic, he dedicated to manual labor and honing the skills his father taught him. It was also a way to make a few coins here and there. While he did spend some amount of time helping with the stables, Sam primary kept himself to the forges housed behind the tavern. It was hot, rough work, but it didn't both him in the least. It reminded him of things before the Conclave, or even the Blight. Didn't hurt that it was warm and he got a fair workout in the process.

Evenings Sam always found himself at the Herald's Rest. He never drank, except maybe once in a while when Cabot pressed that he try the new "special" of the day or a friendly suggestion by another was made. For the most part he simply just spent time in the tavern because there wasn't anywhere else to go. Especially on those nights that sleep either would not come to him or he just didn't want to face his dreams.

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"Who are loyal, intelligent, fearsome in battle, and quite handsome as far as war hounds go. Not the worst comparison to be made. I do wonder- forgive me if I am prying but what is a Circle Mage doing in the smithy?" Normally mages kept either to their studies or to their social circles. Not laboring about through the day.

"Not at all a bad comparison if you know the fine qualities of the mabari. So I take it you've had the pleasure of seeing one first hand?"

The question about him working as a smithy gets him to laughing though. It's soft in his attempts to keep a certain level of volume, but his shoulders shake with the mirth. "A question I a get a lot. At least after someone finds out I'm a mage. It's simple really." Leaning back a bit for balance, Sam holds up with hands and wiggles his fingers. "I'm good with my hands."

It's obvious he's made the joke before but it still manages to amuse him. "My father was a blacksmith, as was his father. I was taught the trade myself. Course my magic kicked in a bit after that. Don't see why I can't do both."

"I traveled with one for the better part of a year. Marvelous creature- she saved us from more than one ambush." There may be a statue of her somewhere. If there wasn't? There truly ought to be, she was as much a part of their merry band as Sten, as Morrigan, as he.

"It is somewhat curious-" Ah. That wrings a crackling laugh from Zevran, low and warm and silky. "Ah, I should have seen that coming. I suppose you could say you have a magic touch, yes?"

Another soft snicker. "There absolutely is no reason why not. I will say it does give you a more imposing presence than most mages I have known, no willowy scholar you. I dare say you could likely sweep me off my feet if you so wished."

Magic touch? Sam's smile spreads into a smirk at that. "I suppose I could."

At that point Sam gets up and moves over a bit closer, giving an amused snort at the idea of tossing people over his shoulder. "I probably could, but I'm sure I'd be asking for trouble if I tried. Most likely flat on my ass too if I'm guessing right." Reaching over Sam taps at the metal on the scale mail armor. "You know your armor and you know how to ask for it. So I take it you know how to fight."

The smirk has softened back into his usual smile, and he tilts his head, curious if he's right.

Edited 2015-10-19 07:55 (UTC)

"Depending on who it is you wished to sweep up it could be a most enjoyable sort of trouble." Wild with implication, that, and rich with promise his accompanying smirk. This close he has to tip his head back to keep his eyes on the smith's, but it is no great trouble. They are quite lovely eyes. "Well...I have been known to disarm a bandit or two."

And kill them afterward, but that wasn't near as pleasant to hear mid flirtation.

"You have your magics and your forge, I? Two shortswords and at least seven daggers."

"Two shortswords and... at LEAST seven daggers?" Sam grins and leans back a bit to give the stranger another once over. Before it had simply been for sizing up for the armor. Now? He was taking his time to appreciate the view.

"Alright, be honest. Do you have the daggers on you now? If so where are you keeping them?"

Knowing full well when he's being admired, Zevran practically preens under Sam's gaze.

"Now telling you would ruin the thrill of discovery, would it not?" Not his most subtle invitation but Fereldans and subtly got along about as well as Orlesians and mud. Not terribly well.

At that Sam leans in close, not touching, but definitely borderline personal space. "That sounds like you're trying to bluff your way out of saying you don't have them on you." His grin is wide, maybe a bit mischievous.

He obviously is very much aware of the flirtations going on, but he isn't quick to act on them.

"If you absolutely must see some of them-" He sighs as though put upon, drawing up a hand and- there is but a flick of the wrist, something fluid and almost frivolous- and he is holding two daggers by the tip for throwing. "Do you require the rest, or do you trust me when I say I have them?"

Never trust Zevran, but. Do.

Sam's gaze follows the hand, leaning just a bit closer out of sheer curiosity, and stares intently. He blinks then. The motion is so quick he misses it, and when his eyes focus again there is a pair of daggers in front of his face.

He blinks a couple more times, impressed and even more curious.

"As tempting as it is to just say I want to see the rest, because that was very impressive, I have to go with that I trust that you are very much armed."

Edited 2015-10-19 09:57 (UTC)

"And wise are you for it." Another flick and almost like magic, the knives are gone. The trick would be making certain he can replicate that in the splintmail, it is not so fluid in movement as a cotton shirt. The wrists would be simple enough, as would the boots and those around the belt-

Perhaps not so different after all.

"Let us see what it is you have found. If I am lucky I will not need to have this adjusted. An elf asking for mail is a rare thing, after all."

At that Sam nods and backs off a bit so that the man has plenty of room in case he plans on trying either of them on. Seeing as he isn't getting back to work any time soon Sam takes off the apron and sets to the other side of the table.

"Well if you need that done, just let me know. Our wares would be more accommodating but we had to make certain our troops were geared first, and the shipments are slow to come in. For now at least."

Taking a seat on the table, though a bit more leisurely, he tilts his head just a bit.

"Considering what happened at Haven? I do not blame you." He's heard plenty and it was a tale to hear, some would not believe it. Zevran has seen more than enough to know the strangeness of truth when it is laid before him.

All the more reason to make certain the splintmail fits. This he tries first, unbuttoning his fest and folding it off to one side before he begins fastening the breast plate, such as it was, over him. He needs room to maneuver but not so much that it would slide about and get him killed- and it is a touch long. With leather this is a simple enough fix, but he does not know what might be done for mail.

"It is a bit loose in the chest- even a short human would be more broad than me, I should think."

Sam watches with interest as the man fastens himself into the armor. Just by looking Sam can tell that the piece doesn't quite fit the right way.

At hearing that the chest isn't fitting right Sam rubs his chin, frowning slightly in thought. "Hmmm." Leaning over Sam grabs one of the splints and tugs it lightly, just to see how much room there is. "I see. Well what about the rest of it? Arms? Sitting well on your thighs?"

"A little long in the torso, but that is to be expected." The arms- he buckles those on as well, frowning. "No matter how much I do I suppose I can never hope to become as massively gorgeous as smiths. Alas."

He could fit a squirrel or five in the room between- it's almost comical how it hangs off. Damn his slim arms.

Sam grins, still pulling at parts to see just where the Elf was having issues with the armor. "Well I don't think I could fight into a decent pair of leather without issues. Guess we're even."

He looks up then, raising his brows in amusement. Considering his height he had a time of getting things to fit right as well.

"I could see if we have a smaller one. Or do you want to see about the other one first?"

"Making leather armor for larger frames is difficult, you need enough padding for it to be worthwhile but not so much to keep it from moving as needed." Most taller human rogues he knew went with scale mail. Perhaps he should look into that as the splint seems to be sized oddly.

"Let us see how the scale fits first and go from there, yes?"

"As I've been told." That had been a fun conversation with plenty of unamused sighs and looks. What he had been curious.

Sam nods and pulls his hand back. "Alright. Do you need any help getting this off-" Sam makes a face as something occurs to him. "I guess I never caught your name." At that Sam holds out a hand. "Course it's always rude to ask and not give your own. I'm Samouel; lumbering healer in training and occasional blacksmith."

"Zevran Arainai. A pleasure to meet you Samouel." He takes the hand as given and shakes it gladly. Such a kindness is not often offered but, again, Circle Mage. Different standards of living there.

There's a smile as he gets a name and the handshake returned. The grip is firm, but controlled. Interesting.

"Zevran Arainai?" He repeats the name a couple times as if testing it out. "The name sounds familiar." He's pretty sure he hasn't met Zevran before. He would have remembered the face at least if he had, but he knows he's heard the name before.

"Antivan Companion to the Hero of Fereldan?" He was beginning to give up on not making a thing of that. Everyone here seemed to know at least scraps of the story.

Sam blinks at that and he's quiet for a moment. Which is then followed by excited wide eyes and a grin. "You're that Zevran?!" Oh shit he just shook hands with THAT Zevran. His excitement is curbed a bit as that settles in.

Oh... that's a little intimidating.

"Are you join the Inquisition?"

"I am indeed!" His grin is returned in full. "I am surprised that so many seem to know of the part I took in that particular adventure."

The Dalish? That made sense. Elves in general remembering his name he could understand. Humans tended to keep to their own.

"With everything going on I thought perhaps they might need my help."

"Well you helped save Ferelden. That's pretty big. I'm very thankful for that." He grins. There hadn't been a whole lot about all the Hero of Ferelden's companions, but their names and their part had been recorded at least.

"Ah, well I feel more confident on this war already." Sam tilts his head and gives Zevran a questioning look. "If you're staying why aren't you getting custom made armor?"

"Because the smith I have for such things is currently not speaking to me. Or rather his partner isn't giving him any of my letters." Wade and Herren were wonderful with what they did- but Herren was displeased with him from the last order he made about a year ago. "Also outfitting the many is more important than the specifications of the few. Let it never be said Zevran is not a team player."