Wynne: You must know that murder is wrong, I assume.
Zevran: I’m sorry… are you speaking to me?
Wynne: That is why you wish to leave your Crows. A crisis of conscience.
Zevran: Yes, that is exactly it.
Wynne: Joke if you wish, but I have the feeling that deep down you regret the life you have lived.
Zevran: It’s true. I regret it all.
Wynne: Must you be such a child? Are you incapable of a single, serious conversation?
Zevran: I know. I am terrible and it makes me sad. May I rest my head in your bosom? I wish to cry.
Wynne: You can cry well away from my bosom, I’m certain.
Zevran: Did I tell you I was an orphan? I never knew my mother.
Wynne: Egad. I give up.
Wynne: Have you changed your mind yet? Are you willing to speak seriously?
Zevran: Of your bosom? As you wish.
Wynne: (exasperated) No, I do not wish to speak of my bosom.
Zevran: But it is a marvelous bosom. I have seen women half your age who have not held up half so well. Perhaps it is a magical bosom?
Wynne: Stop… talking about my bosom.
Zevran: But I thought you wished to speak seriously?
Wynne: I do. I thought, however foolishly, that you might be willing to speak of your past.
Zevran: We could do that. There have been many bosoms in my past, though only few as fine as yours.
Wynne: Enough. I am ending this conversation.
Zevran: You have not asked my about my conscience for some time, my darling Wynne.
Wynne: That is correct. And I am not your “darling.”
Zevran: (Sigh) So once again I am rejected, just as I am by the cruel, cruel fates. They are harsh mistresses to the elves.
Wynne: Zevran, I am old enough to be your grandmother.
Zevran: You say that like it’s a bad thing.
Wynne: And what would you do with me if you had me, hmm? This is a game you play, nothing more.
Zevran: Ha, you are a cynical woman, Wynne.
Zevran: Cynical and powerful. It drives me mad with desire.
Wynne: I am going to walk away now.