The air was tense as they set up camp early, the clouds darkening and seeming to press closer to the ground, heavy with the looming threat of a downpour. Of course, most of the camp was worried about the risk of thunder and lightening as well as the inevitable rain.
When the heavens opened, everyone bar Zevran was holed away in their tents to wait out the worst of the pelting rain. The Antivan naturally ducked into the nearest tent, which turned out to be that of their dear Warden leader - who was seated on his bedroll, the war dog lying beside him. Hm, better than Oghren or Morrigan.
"Ah, I see this is not my tent." The blond sighed, looking from fellow elf to his dog and back.
"I'm not quite so cruel as to put you back out into that." The Warden answered, nodding to the rain that pounded the ground outside the tent, drummed against the waterproofed canvas over their heads. "You can stay in here until it lets up." He added casually, going back to stroking the mabari, no doubt in an attempt to keep him calm in case lightning and thunder was to follow. It was difficult to faze him, Zevran discovered. He seemed to be the sort of person who almost never let anything surprise him.
Zevran shot a quick grin of thanks, and sat down near the entrance of the tent so he could peer out at the sky overhead.
"This is the first storm I have seen in Ferelden that matches the ferocity of ones back in Antiva." He commented at length.
"Are there many storms in Antiva?" The Warden asked, and the blond nodded.
"Yes, mostly around summer. Quite a relief from the heat, as sultry as that can be." He answered, smiling to himself briefly at the memories spent sitting on window ledges in awe of the raw majesty of a storm, a display of sheer power from the skies in the bright light and booming cacophony that followed. Nature's reminder of how truly insignificant they all were, including the nobles and Crow Masters.
The Antivan shifted along when the other elf actually joined him at the mouth of the tent to examine the rain and the odd yellow quality to the light that still fell on the camp.
"Have I ever mentioned that I like storms?" Zevran questioned, aware of just how close the Warden was to him. A few more inches, in fact...
"I don't think you have. But I can see why."
The Antivan chuckled, about to say something else when a flash of light lit up a bank of clouds. Zevran counted under his breath, reached three before the skies rumbled. Sitting down on the ground, he could have sworn he could feel it.
Unable to help himself in the face of the boom of thunder, the Antivan laughed softly to himself. The Warden watched him, before smiling in response.
Then, as if on some unspoken cue, the gap between them was closed as quickly as the flash of lightning had been, their lips pressing together firmly, no hesitance or qualms from either of them. Zevran could taste smoke and the forest on the Warden's thin, warm lips, noticing how similar it was to his smell, how distinctive. Everything about the Warden was distinctive, and the kiss was as awe-inspiring as the storm outside.
The next flash of light saw them part at last, only a little out of breath, so they could watch the storm pass on overhead. There would be time enough for both action and discussion afterwards, if they chose.