Owen and Zevran strolled through the Denerim market, admiring the goods at a few of the stalls, but not buying.
They'd been in Denerim for a week now, and the Landsmeet that Arl Eamon was constantly talking about seemed no closer to actually beginning. Most of that time they'd spent in hard work, doing chantry-board jobs to restock their diminishing funds. Large areas of Denerim were now considerably safer to travel through, Alistair's group having cut a considerable swathe through the bandit gangs that had become so used to a lackadaisical guard presence that they'd begun ruling the alleys and byways by day, not just by night. Arren's group had discovered and cleaned out an entire coven of blood mages hidden in an underground warren, disturbingly close to the finer residences and estates where much of the nobility dwelt when in the city. While they'd found no evidence to prove it, Arren and Morrigan were both of the belief that the location of the warren was no accident, that the blood mages had been hoping to influence the minds of those who ruled the city and Ferelden.
Yesterday evening Arren and Alistair had been closeted with Arl Eamon in close conversation, and today only one group had gone out, consisting of Arren, Alistair, Morrigan, Mouse, and Oghren, with everyone else told to take the day off.
"What about that woman over there?" Owen asked, a note of amused interest in his voice.
Zevran barely glanced at her, and smiled. "The largest udders I have seen outside a cow-barn, and fine large hips, to cradle a man in comfort."
Owen snorted. "She's a fat old hag!"
Zevran grinned, shrugged. "And if she was a fat, old hag that I had to seduce to get close enough to kill, I would look at her breasts and hips, and do what must be done."
Owen shook his head. "I still find it hard to believe that you can find something to admire about anyone."
"Oh, come, it is not that hard. Try it yourself; look, I will give you an easy one. That man over there, shifting crates. Look at him and tell me one thing you find attractive about him."
Owen gave Zevran a look, then gazed at the labourer for a moment. "Well... he does have a very nice ass," he admitted reluctantly after a moment.
"And a lovely muscular torso, and arms as large as most mens' thighs, hidden away under that hideous garment," Zevran pointed out.
"Mmm, maybe. All right, that man sitting on the crate, eating the apple. The scrawny one that looks like a weasel."
"His hands," Zevran promptly answered in a low murmur. "Look at how long and fine his fingers are, how dextrous as he's peeling the apple, how delicately he handles the little knife, imagine how they'd feel touching your most intimate parts..."
Owen's answering snort sounded half-strangled. "You're incorrigible."
"Of course," Zevran answered complacently.
Owen glanced up and noticed they were outside of a tavern that they'd cleared unwanted mercenaries out of the day before. "Let's stop for dinner," he said, nodding his head toward the chewed-up looking sign.
"At the Gnawed Noble? A little beyond our normal price range," Zevran pointed out. "But if you wish to spoil me with fine food and drink, I shall not complain."
Owen snorted again. "You're paying for your own meal," he told the assassin severely as he led the way indoors.
Owen's fine clothing was enough to gain them a reasonably good table, with a decent view of the room. Despite his words to Zevran, he ordered a good meal for both of them, before returning to their little game.
"The server who just took our order," he asked.
"Oh come, she is a vision. Give me a challenge, or should I give you one again? Say, the bartender."
"The bartender?" Owen craned his head for a moment. "I fail to see anything attractive about the man."
Zevran smiled and leaned back in his chair, arms crossed. "You're not trying. He has a lovely voice. A little nasal perhaps, but otherwise pleasant. And rather nice hair, though he could stand to shave more thoroughly. And look at that wide neck, those broad shoulders – he's built like a bull! Perhaps below as well as above."
"A fat bull. Look at the belly on him."
Zevran shrugged and grinned toothily. "Come, your turn again. Try for real this time. The woman sitting at the table over to your right."
Owen glanced her way, frowned in thought. "Well... she has very nice hair. And a lovely neck."
Zevran nodded. "Like a very swan, and she knows it, hence the beautifully piled-up hair, to better display her neck. And look how she moves – she is a warrior-maid, or I much miss my guess."
Owen smiled, glanced around. "All right – the older man who just walked in the door and is talking to the proprietor."
Zevran glanced that way, and his face lit up with a broad smile. "Ah! A very fine kisser, and his brother has a most excellent wine cellar," he exclaimed, and rose to his feet, lifting one hand and calling out to catch the man's attention. "Bann Teagan!"
The Bann turned, and an equally pleased smile lit his face. He hurried over to their table. "Zevran! I didn't expect to see you here," he said.
The assassin grinned. "A little beyond my usual purse here in Ferelden, I must admit. Come, join my friend and I for a meal, unless you have other commitments...?"
The Bann smiled. "None at the moment. I will most happily join the pair of you, if I'm not intruding?"
"Not at all," Owen said, giving the Bann an evaluative look. He'd recognized the name, of course – Arl Eamon's younger brother. And Zevran knew how well the man kissed? There was a story there, obviously, one he'd have to pry out of the elf later.
Zevran hurriedly performed introductions as the Bann took a seat. "Bann Teagan, this is Owen Amell, he joined Arren's group just after I last saw you. Owen, I'm sure you have heard of Bann Teagan Guerrin, our host's younger brother?"
"Ah, so you are staying at Eamon's estate then? I'd hoped such would be the case," Teagan said, sounding pleased.
"Will you be joining us there as well?" Zevran asked interestedly.
"No, I have my own townhouse. Not as fine a place as one of the great estates, like Eamon's is, but then I'm only a bann, not an arl. And bann of a very minor, out-of-the-way place at that," Teagan said with an easy smile. "But I am a frequent visitor to Eamon's estate when we're both in town, and will doubtless see you there."
Zevran nodded. It was a quite enjoyable meal, and the quick, efficient service they got showed that their association with Bann Teagan had raised their stock considerably in the eyes of the proprietress. They avoided talking about anything important – the tavern was too public a venue – but both Zevran and the bann were good conversationalists, and Owen let them carry the bulk of the talk, just sitting back and enjoying his meal, and watching the elf blossom under the bann's interested attention. He'd known the elf could be talkative when in the right mood and with those he trusted, but this was the first time he'd seen him be anything but watchful and quiet – or aggressively flirtatious – with anyone outside of Arren's group. He found himself wondering at the level of friendship between the two men, especially given how widely disparate their background were.
A couple of times during the meal their talk was interrupted when other nobles stopped at the table to greet the bann. Including the woman whose swan-like neck they'd been admiring earlier.
"Bann Alfstanna, a pleasure to see you again," Teagan said as he rose to his feet and bowed, smiling pleasantly at the woman.
"Bann Teagan," she said, dipping her head, and glancing at his dinner companions briefly. "I wonder if you might have time – tomorrow, of course, not now – to discuss with me the upcoming Landsmeet?"
"Of course. I'll send you a messenger tomorrow morning, to let you know what times I'm likely to be available. You're at your townhouse?"
"Yes. And thank you," she said, before turning and walking away.
"A fine figure of a woman," Zevran observed.
"What? Oh, yes, quite nice," Teagan agreed. "Quite a talented warrior, as well – she'd planned to make a living for herself in the army, before she ended up inheriting the bann. I think she preferred the military life, but she does a good job as bann. Now, shall we have a final drink to end the meal? Antivan brandy perhaps?" Teagan asked, eyes twinkling.
Zevran grinned widely. "Of course."
The bann signalled a server, and ordered a round of brandy for the table. Owen sipped cautiously at his while he watched the assassin and nobleman go through a near-identical routine of swirling, examining and sniffing before finally sipping their own.
"Does that really make it taste any better?" he asked Zevran, amused.
Zevran grinned widely. "That is arguable. Still, it is what one does when drinking a particularly fine brandy."
Bann Teagan smiled in equal amusement. "Yes. More part of the accepted etiquette of drinking it, I suppose, like which hand to hold your knife in when cutting your meat. It makes little difference to your stomach, but can make a great difference in how you're perceived."
"At least by those who consider certain manners more important than the man behind them," Owen observed dryly.
"Mmm, no, it is not just a failing of nobility," Zevran said. "If I was to pretend to be a dockworker in Antiva – something I have done, and quite successfully I might add – I would be caught out if I ate my shellfish by slurping them whole from the shell as the inhabitants of the inner city do, instead of the knife-and-thumb method the dockworkers prefer."
"Knife and thumb?" Teagan asked curiously.
"You hold the shellfish in your left hand, and slide the blade of the knife under the flesh of it with your right, pinning it down against the blade with your thumb. Then you convey it to your mouth on the blade, holding the shell underneath to catch any drips. Swallow it whole, then drink the liquid in the shell to wash it down. And you must be sure to keep the sharp edge of the knife turned out, away from you, having it turned towards yourself is considered bad luck," he said, and grinned. "If nothing else, you might cut yourself."
Owen snorted and smiled. "As good a reason for considering it bad luck as any."
Bann Teagan nodded in agreement. "Well, if you don't mind, I'll accompany the two of you back to my brother's estate. I should let him know I've arrived, if nothing else, and I wouldn't mind a chance to greet Arren and Alistair, if they're available."
"They might be," Zevran said guardedly. "They went out on some mission earlier today, and were not yet back when we left the estate. But, come, we shall go and see."
Bann Teagan insisted on paying for the meal, and as he had considerably deeper pockets than either of they, Zevran and Owen acquiesced with minimal argument.