"M'trying," she mumbles.

"I know you are, sweet thing. It's okay. Not everyone can lug around a sword the size and weight of an elf." Another flirty glance to Sten. 

"The sword you're using is fine. But you need quicker, lighter movements. We won't do anything too strenuous, of course."

Sten harumphs, folding his arms over his chest. "She was doing fine."

"Perhaps. But beings like us need to be able to dodge more than dig our heels in, no?"

"As you say, sir?"

Zevran frowns. "A little too obedient, aren't you? Never you mind, Zevran will fix that. There isn't a soul alive who I will obey," he says with a saucy wink.

She's obviously taken aback by his manner. "...as you say."

"You're frightening her," Sten's voice is nearly a growl.

"...yes. I am frightening her, over you. The hulking wall of muscle."

Zevran pulls out a knife from his belt. He's still in full Crow armour from the day's travel. He hands it to Blaze. "Have a feel of that. Light, yes?"

She takes it cautiously, hefts it thoughtfully. "Yes, sir?"

"Bit easier to swing around than that sword? Well. I suppose wood doesn't feel much like steel."

Zevran takes the wooden sword from her, replacing it with a second light dagger. "Now. Same motions that Sten ran you through, though try keeping your feet light. Like this." Zevran quickly demonstrates.

"Slower. She is not trained."

"Then what good were you?"

"He helped," Blaze flares, fire wrapping around the daggers she's holding. She jerks back. "Sorry."

A shadow falls over Zevran's face. "You have nothing to be sorry for. I'm sorry if I insulted you by implying you were not trained well. You have progressed remarkably for someone who had never picked up a sword before."

He turns away for a moment, taking a deep breath, forcing memories down, deep deep deep, deeper than even Azry could hope to unearth them.

When he turns back, his trademark smirk was firmly back on his face. "Shall we try again? This time without the flames."

She tries again, actually tries to copy his movements, hampered by the boots she's wearing. She almost-scowls, kicks off the boots, and tries again, feet surprisingly adept at the light movements now they're bare.

"Rude. Those are fine boots. Perhaps a little large, but." Zevran's pout is hampered by the laughter in his eyes. 

He shows her again, moving his feet along with his daggers. The same sword movements Blaze already knows, but doubled and ever moving. "Makes for a harder target to hit."

Sten watches on silently, making sure the assassin doesn't overstep.

She copies him again, focused and sharp.

"Take that away from the camp, please! I will not have anything on fire!" Wynne calls over. It had been common practice the last week to move training away from camp, but Sten had almost convinced Wynne that Blaze would be fine. She would not have fire, accidental or not, anywhere near the camp.

"And be careful with her, Zevran!"

"Wynne, darling, you know my heart belongs to you," Zevran says, blowing a kiss. 

He gestures out into the forest to Blaze. "Shall we?"

"I will accompany you." Blaze, Sten trusts fine. But the assassin-

"Sten! Can you come here? I need your input." Azry is bent over a map, scrutinising it.

"I-" He looks to Blaze.

"'Ll be fine, sir," she assures.