Title: Fabulous

Summary: He cut an imposing figure, striding through the army camp as if he owned the place. Alistair was certainly impressed. Tongue-in-cheek Aeducan interpretation

Notes: I'm coming down with a cold, and the next chapter of my multi-chapter is not coming along well. So, here's something more humorous than usual. And I named my dwarf after my old dog, Bramwell. Poor Bram died a very long time ago. Great Pyrenees, very fluffy.

This character was a weird one. I made him originally as suicidally depressed before I realized what a bummer that was. Then, because I wanted the achievement for romancing Zevran, he became flamboyantly, ridiculously homosexual. Because a flamboyantly homosexual dwarf is a marvelous and terrifying thing to witness. I giggled like an idiot through the entire "first time" cutscene.

He cut an imposing figure, striding through the army camp as if he owned the place, all dwarven mail and giant axe. Alistair was certainly impressed. The intricate mustache braids and facial tattoos didn't hurt the regal image he invoked, either.

The dwarf walked into his peripheral and waited, arms crossed, as Alistair finished harassing the Circle mage. He didn't look impatient, merely curious, and nodded to himself as the mage stormed off.

"You must be Alistair," he said.

"I am, actually." Alistair stared down at the dwarf for a moment before comprehension dawned. "Oh, you must be Duncan's newest recruit. He didn't mention your name, sorry."

"Nothing to be sorry about. I'm Bramston of house Aeducan, formerly of Orzammar." He clasped Alistair's hand firmly and grinned. "I've fought with Wardens before. You're a good order, and you make lovely darkspawn bait."

"Um, thank you, I guess?"

"You're welcome." Bramston nodded decisively. "Well, what now?"

"Now, um…"

Alistair got his wits back, and they started walking. He felt somehow like he'd just met some sort of obscure, eccentric prince or something, from the way the dwarf strode along like he believed everyone would bend over backwards to accommodate him. From the wide berth most of the soldiers gave him, it might've been true.

"Wait, what? You really are a prince?"

Bramston gave him one of his politely baffled smiles. "An exiled, disgraced prince, yes. You just admitted that you're a long-lost prince as well. Perhaps we could form a club… Do you think Duncan was secretly a Rivaini warlord?"

Alistair ignored the wrench he felt in his gut every time Duncan was mentioned. "Uh, no, I don't think so. Royalty's not a Warden requirement, anyway."

"Oh, well. That would have been perfect, though. Poor, sweet Duncan…" Bramston wandered off with a wistful look on his face, apparently decided that the conversation was over.

Alistair huffed and walked over to Leliana. "Do you ever feel like that man is completely impossible?"

Leliana sighed, following their leader with her eyes. "What? Impossible? Yes…It is impossible. Such a shame. He's so good-looking, for a dwarf."

"Yes, he's – wait, what? What are you talking about?"

The lay sister put on an innocent, doe-eyed expression. "What are you talking about, Alistair?"

"I – he- argh, just forget it. You're all impossible."

Leliana's giggled followed him even after he fled.

Alistair looked back and forth between them.

"No. You're not. Bramston!"

"What?" The dwarf peeled his eyes away from the bound assassin, who was flashing way too much leg through the strips of his leather skirt and grinning salaciously, to blink vaguely at Alistair.

"We're not taking the assassin." Alistair folded his arms to punctuate this point.

"Yes, we are," Bramston said with that placid smile that Alistair knew by now meant that he was being political again. "He seems like an honest fellow."

"Honest fe – he was trying to kill you five minutes ago!"

Bramston shrugged. "Clearly, you've never been to Orzammar. Once, my little brother tried to poison me for five courses straight, and then he sent a waiter with a knife at me. Ended up accidentally assassinating one of the Dace boys… We played it off for laughs, of course, but it was a shame. He had nice hands."

Alistair stared very hard at his fellow Warden, half-hoping that if he did it long enough, the other man would spontaneously combust. He seemed so normal, and then he opened his mouth…

"Your very dubious history aside," Alistair said as patiently as possible. "We can't just take in assassins. He can't be trusted."

"Nonsense. I think Zev will get along with us swimmingly."

The assassin in question spoke up, then. "Need I mention that I also have very nice hands?"

Bramston threw him an indulgent smile. "Very nice, yes. And you can stop pretending. You slipped those ropes two minutes after you regained consciousness."

Zevran laughed. "You are very astute, my little friend." He rose to his feet in one graceful motion.

Alistair squawked, fumbling for his sword. "Bram! He just – assassin – ropes – can't be trusted-!"

Bramston patted Alistair's hip consolingly. "It's okay, Alistair."

"It's not okay. Nothing is okay. I'm going to go ask Morrigan to turn me into a toad." Alistair stormed off, leaving the dwarf and the elf to exchange vows of fealty and friendship bracelets, or whatever it was that crazy, suicidal non-humans did together.

Alistair scooted over to Leliana as unobtrusively as possible.

"Um, Leliana?"

"Yes, Alistair?" She barely glanced at him, enraptured as she was with the spectacle by the forge.

"You know a bit about poisons, right? Well, are there any that make people… do that?"

"Do what? Shop?"

Alistair looked back at the group. "Is that what you call it?"

Bramston and that armorer, Wade, were prancing around the shop, the dwarf in his smallclothes as Wade threw clothing and mail about for him to try on, occasionally winding a measuring string around various parts of him. Herren had planted his face on the desk and seemed to be weeping, and Zevran watched the whole thing with an indulgent smile and wandering eyes. There was an ungodly amount of girlish squealing and abuse of the word 'fabulous.' Every once in a while, a puff of glitter filled the air.

"Is this… normal, for dwarves? I've never met one before."

Leliana laughed. "I'm sure there are dwarves like that, but no, it's not a dwarfish trait."

"But he's… does he have a fever? I mean, I've never seen him so picky about embroidery and… pink, before."

The bard gave him a level look. "You mean you don't know?"

"Know what?" Why did women always have to talk in riddles?

She sighed and gave him an amused half-smile. "Well, if you haven't figured it out by now… You're hopeless, Alistair."

"Heeeeey…"

Alistair watched as Zevran was dragged into the madness, apparently being fitted for drakeskin armor. Poor guy, Alistair thought, having to put up with Bramston's very touchy feely help with measuring his leg length and Wade's fluttery hand gestures about patterns and fabrics. He bore it like a champ, but, personally, Alistair wouldn't be caught dead in Wade's lecherous grasp, amazing armor or no.

"Oh, those two are incorrigible!"

Alistair stopped stuffing his face long enough to arch an eyebrow at Wynne. The old mage sat down heavily by the fire with a loud sigh. Leliana gave her a sympathetic pat on the back before returning to tuning her lute.

"Who are we talking about this time?" he asked cautiously.

"Your fellow Warden and that assassin of his," Wynne snapped, eager to have someone else to bare her grievances to. "They've been keeping me up half the night with that noise they make."

"I haven't noticed anything…"

"It's useless talking to Alistair," Leliana told Wynne. "He still hasn't figured it out."

"How could he not? I know they're not very open about it during the day, but at night…"

Sten interrupted them by coming to sit at the fire, a perturbed look on his face.

"Mage," he said, looking to Wynne. "You are somewhat versed in the ways of your people, correct?"

Wynne sighed. "Yes. Is this about Bramston?"

The Qunari didn't bother confirming her suspicions. "Why do they copulate? They are both men, and they are not even of the same species. They will produce no children. It is… unnatural."

Leliana put in her copper. "Oh, I do not know about that. Some people find lying with someone of the same sex to be quite pleasurable."

Sten just gave her a flat look. "It is unnatural."

Wynne glanced sharply at Alistair. "Surely you've figured it out by now?"

"What? Sorry!" Alistair flushed bright red as he snapped out of a very dazed daydream of Leliana with another woman in very compromising positions.

"He is hopeless," Leliana sighed.

"So my brother has returned," Bhelen sneered. "Come to claim the throne for yourself?"

For the first time, Alistair saw Bramston looking completely, unabashedly furious.

"Oh, no, brother," he said frostily. "Grey Wardens cannot claim birthrights, and I could not take it if I wanted to. Your betrayal and murder of our older brother ensured that."

"I was only doing what was best for Orzammar," Bhelen said smugly. "Trian was a fool, and I could not leave Orzammar in the hands of a moral degenerate like you."

"Moral degenerate, says the murderer and backstabber with a noble hunting mistress," Bramston scoffed.

Bhelen flushed with fury. "At least I didn't bandy her about the Diamond Quarter like you did with your… your catamite."

Bramston's face turned into a blank mask. "So that is how it is to be?"

"It always was, brother." Bhelen looked away. "I'm not going to apologize."

"I should kill you where you stand. You left me to die in the Deep Roads. But," Bramston sighed and began to walk away. "Despite my reputation, I do not murder family. Goodbye, brother. I will see Harrowmont on the throne, and you in your place among the deepstalkers."

The party followed him in silence until they reached the inn they were staying in. Alistair was the first to break it.

"So, what was that all about?"

Bramston sighed. "Just what it sounded like, you dolt." The insult had no sting, just a sort of weariness. "That was my brother, who killed our older brother and framed me for it. I was sentenced to abandonment in the Deep Roads with nothing but plain clothes and no weapon. I looted corpses along the way and fought my way to Duncan's party of Wardens. That's how I was conscripted."

"Oh," Alistair said blankly. "And the other thing?"

Bramston arched an eyebrow at Zevran. "He really doesn't know?"

"Not a clue, my Warden." Zevran smirked.

"Alistair," Bramston looked him square in the eye. "I am a queer dwarf. I like men. I like to put their cocks in my mouth. I don't feel anything sexual about women at all. Bhelen's always tried to use that against me to ruin my reputation. And he hated that I walked around with my friend Gorim openly, even though we weren't lovers. And – hey, are you okay?"

Alistair's face was so red, it looked like he was going to explode. "You mean – you and Zevran – all the glitter and embroidery – fabulous?"

Bramston grinned. "You're so cute when you're mortified." He laughed aloud at the strangled sound Alistair made. "Don't worry; you're not my type. And I am a manly man, but I like the finer things sometimes, like sweet wine and pretty, sparkly things. And shoes! Oh my Stone, the shoes on the surface! You have no idea how ugly things are down here. The surface world is just fabulous!"

There was a loud thump as Alistair collapsed on the ground in a daze.

"The squishy one has fallen," Shale said unnecessarily. "May I step on it?"

"Not now, my beloved Shale. Now, we have a king to enthrone!"

"You want me to what?"

Alistair didn't even have he energy in him to yelp anymore. Instead he just stared down at Bramston with puffy, tired eyes.

Bramston shifted uncomfortably. "I want you to, ah, have sex with Morrigan?"

Alistair rubbed his forehead and said, slowly, "And why would you have me do that?"

"Because one of us will have to die to kill the archdemon. I really wish you'd let me conscript Loghain – then we could just have him kill the dragon. Too late for that now, but Morrigan has a plan. One of us impregnates her, her baby takes Urthemiel's soul, and we release Morrigan into the wild with an unholy god-baby with possibly unlimited power. What could go wrong?"

"You're not as persuasive as you think you are." Alistair sat down heavily on the bed. "Do you really think my life is worth possibly dooming Thedas with Morrigan's sprog?"

Bramston eyed him suspiciously. "You're taking this awfully well. Are you in shock?"

"Probably."

"Oh, all right, then." Bramston shrugged and sat next to him. "I'll be honest with you: I don't want to die, and you're supposed to be the king. You can't just sacrifice yourself and undo all the work we put into the landsmeet. Do you know how many deranged sexual favors Zevran, Leliana, and I had to perform to get you that throne?"

Alistair choked on his own saliva for a minute. "You – you what? Tell me you're joking."

The dwarf grinned. "You're right, I'm joking, but it sounds feasible, doesn't it? Some of those Banns were pretty cute."

"You're deranged."

"So I've been told. But Alistair," Bramston clasped his friend's hand entreatingly. "Would you please go make sweet love to that beautiful woman so that you can make a beautiful god-baby and save our lives? I promise it'll be good. She's assured me she knows what she's doing."

"If you're so enthused, why don't you do it?"

"I already tried." Alistair recoiled from Bramston as if he'd been burned. "It, ah, it didn't work, and Morrigan wouldn't let me bring Zev in to help. Little Stoneheart just doesn't like curvy women." He sighed pathetically.

"Your… It's named 'Stoneheart'?"

"Sounded more dignified than 'Rock Cock.'"

Alistair stood up and started walking away. "That's it! I'm going to go lose my virginity just so we can stop this conversation. Bye, Bram!"

"Good luck! Make sure you –"

Alistair slammed the door and sprinted off before he could get any sex tips shouted at him. Even sleeping with Morrigan had to be better than that.

Having sex with Morrigan turned out to be one of the best things he ever did.

Alistair stood tall and proud in his golden plate armor before the assembled nobility. The archdemon was dead, the city was in the midst of reconstruction, and darkspawn numbers were steadily decreasing on the surface. He even had a crown. Life was good.

Bramston ascended the steps, clad in utterly fabulous plate made just for him by Wade, looking as neat and well-groomed as ever. He grinned at Alistair and made a point of looking him up and down before whistling suggestively. Alistair just rolled his eyes.

"I'm going to make a speech now," he said quietly. "I'm allowed to grant you one boon, so use it wisely, all right? No bright pink phalluses in the Denerim market, all right?"

"If I'd known throwing you to the witch and giving you a kingdom would make you loosen up a little, I'd have done it sooner." Bramston winked and turned to grin and wave at the assembly. Alistair took that as his cue to begin.

Bramston showed some restraint and merely asked for troop support in the dwarves' efforts to reclaim the lost thaigs. Alistair was quick to grant it to him, and they turned as one to wave and smile at the cheering populace barely held back from the now-open doors to the Great Hall. Alistair was on top of the world. He didn't even flinch when Bramston sneakily pinched his ass.

Yes, life was looking just fabulous.