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WARNING: This story has TWO MEN FALLING IN LOVE WITH EACH OTHER AND EXPRESSING SEMI-HEALTHY DESIRE FOR EACH OTHER'S BODIES. If you don't like homoerotic romance PLEASE BACK OFF! If that kind of thing makes you go start praying at the porcelain gods in a hurry, YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED. Please exit quietly using the "Back" button, thank you. Please note that if you decide to continue, we do not supply brain bleach, so bring your bleach brand of choice before your eyes start drifting further. Thank you for your cooperation, and have a nice day.

...Are all of you paying attention? Good; then we can continue.

In the previous chapter, our reluctant hero Zevran had been ordered by the Warden to change his equipment, and in the process he discovers that he can get along with Leliana. There was a lot more to come, however, and he realizes that he might have signed up for a lot more than he bargained for...

Of Whoresons and Nobles

Chapter 4

Leliana, Zevran soon discovered, may be sweet and gentle in behavior and speech, but there was steel beneath that soft, distinctly feminine exterior. The task was simple enough; choose a new set of armor that the Warden would approve of. What followed was a long and lively "discussion" over the benefits of wearing sturdy medium-weight armor versus flexible lightweight armor.

He was used to wearing light armor, for the flexibility it provides and its lightness allowing him to move with speed and stealth ("All that metal would make my every move rattle like pots being thrown down a flight of stairs."); Leliana insisted that only medium armor would protect him sufficiently ("The darkspawn are vicious and violent; they are not like the nobles you are used to killing.") He had to point out, rather curtly, that he simply didn't have sufficient strength to wear the medium-weight armor that they had (not for long, anyway, and certainly not while on a battlefield dodging arrows and slashes), and only then did she reluctantly give in.

Just to appease her, though, he picked the sturdiest light armor in their inventory: a finely made set of inscribed leather covered with steel studs. A bit stiffer and heavier than he would be used to, but he'll just have to get used to it.

Leliana did not give him the matching boots, however, instead handing him a fancier and lighter-looking pair. He stared at her, one eyebrow raised. "And here I expected you to give me the bulkiest pair."

"Don't be silly," she scoffed. "You said you wanted to be quick on your feet, yes? A lighter pair of boots will help."

He sat back on the log, then picked up one of the boots and inspected it. The boots were finely-made indeed, almost feminine in elegance, and very light. They were also well-worn, and very old. "These do not look like something you would find on amongst a merchant's wares."

"Well, these are not your average boots. They once belonged to Lady Rosamund, a clever and infamous bandit that once lived in the Korcari Wilds. She was quick and cunning, and for decades she ambushed any merchant unlucky enough to become her target, and eluded capture with wit and guile. She simply disappeared one day, however, and no one found any trace of her body…or the treasure rumored to be hidden in the Korcari Wilds."

He raised his eyebrows. Leliana's lilting voice had fallen into the sing-song pattern of a minstrel telling a story, designed to ensnare and capture an audience. Hooded eyes narrowed as little things clicked into place: the steady eye and hand with the bow, the dexterous fingers capable of picking apart locks and disabling traps…and the voice, trained so well to cloud minds and sooth emotions, to inspire and distract, ultimately to influence…

"You were trained in the bardic arts."

He didn't bother phrasing his words in the form of a question. He didn't need to bother; her face and manner did not change, but that lack of surprise alone was a give-away.

Although to be fair, she was very good at the mask; only someone such as he, an assassin trained in the arts of observing a mark (as well as catching hidden witnesses and questioning informants), would notice the tell-tale signs that the less observant would miss. Like the brief widening of her eyes, and the very subtle hitch in her breath.

Then she blinked, and smiled. "I suppose I shouldn't be surprised that a Crow would know about bards," she murmured.

"Bards? You mean the poet-spies that serve and mingle in the Orlesian courts, collecting secrets for their nameless employers? Nope, never heard of such a thing." He had been looking at the boots; deciding that they were adequate, he shrugged and put them on with little struggle (they were made for a woman's feet, but he was an elf, and small-boned enough). "The Crows have crossed paths with bards before; sometimes violently, sometimes not so."

"And you would have learned to recognize bards from minstrels, yes?"

"Perhaps. One could never tell. In the same way, it is rather difficult to separate a trained assassin from a skilled murderer, no?"

"Diff…oh." She frowned. "Now you're just making fun of me."

Zevran grinned. He was spared from having to reply, however. A long, broad shadow fell across his line of sight; following the shadow, he found that the Warden had returned, and was now standing beside him.

Those sharp eyes swept over Zevran's body, and while he knew the Warden was simply inspecting his outfit and not looking out of desire, the intensity of the gaze made it almost feel like a physical caress. Suppressing a little shudder, he remained seated, and gave thanks for the looseness of leather skirts.

You're acting like a boy yet to control his manhood, he thought to himself in disgust.

"That took quite a while," Leliana remarked as she gathered the remaining equipment. "Did something happen?"

The Warden scoffed. "Other than being cheated out of an unreasonable amount of coin? Absolutely nothing at all. If these are the prices Bodahn charges after his so-called discount, I shudder to think of what I have to pay at his full prices."

"Well, he does provide an easy supply of things," Leliana murmured. "Less travelling, less random encounter with raid parties…"

The Warden sighed. "Yes, yes, I know. But still…" He suddenly started speaking in a higher, fast-pitched voice, in a startlingly-accurate dwarven accent. "'I'm sure you'll be pleased with the goods my boy and I have collected. And with your discount!' Bah!"

Zevran watched, wide-eyed with shock, as the Warden began to pace up and down in front of the campfire, his arms waving about as he ranted, volume climbing with every word. "I save his arse when it was hanging out naked in front of a darkspawn axe and what does he do in thanks? Bloody charges me with overpriced goods! I did not even ask for a reward when I rescued the bastard, and he knows I damn well could have. Should have, in fact, and I was being generous to not do so. He knew that too, and he still makes me pay for things that I can get at much cheaper prices elsewhere. And he doesn't even give me the best prices when I sell my things. You'd think that with all the hiked prices that he'd have a codpiece made of gold by now! One of these days I'll strangle that gold-grubbing, lying, ungrateful…argh!" He kicked at a rock on the ground, sending the innocent thing flying off to be lost in the bushes some distance away, then flopped down on the log beside Zevran, an elbow coming to rest on one knee and his face smacking into the waiting palm.

An awkward silence fell, broken only slightly by the crackling of the fire and the chirping of crickets.

"…Bloody load of tripe, that's what it is," the Warden finally muttered.

Zevran stared at the human, and wondered if he had indeed sworn himself to a dangerous lunatic.

Leliana did not seem to feel any alarm though; she had started smiling as the Warden launched into his tirade, and when the Warden sat down she was already biting her lower lip. The Warden's last words were the last straw, apparently; she started giggling, hand clapped over her mouth in a vain attempt to snuffle the sounds.

The Warden peered at her from between his fingers, not lifting his face form his palm. "I'm so pleased you find this entertaining," he said in a muffled drawl.

"I'm sorry," Leliana said, grinning. "It's just…you're so….grim most of the time, it's so hard to see you actually display any emotion, much less something as, um, strong as that."

The Warden snorted, straightening as he did. "A good leader does not explode in front of his followers," he said stiffly, although the tiny smile that curved his lips spoiled the effect. "It's bad for morale."

"But you'd have bottled up your feelings, and when you do explode, you would have been a lot more violent, yes?" Leliana giggled again. "Admit it, Warden, you needed to vent, and you feel better now, don't you?"

"That I do," the Warden sighed.

"Besides…you didn't shout too loudly." Leliana's smile took on a wicked gleam. "Nobody woke up, as far as I can see."

"Nobody woke—oh Maker." The Warden's face paled. "Wynne. She—"

"Is still asleep, Warden." Leliana gestured towards one of the tents. "I suspect the mages didn't get much privacy, after what we have seen in the Circle; I believe Wynne could sleep through most strange noises at night."

"That's…not very comforting. I'd rather not have her sleep though an alarm in camp."

"Oh, I doubt she would be as unaware as that." Grinning, Leliana pointed to the armor pile. "Perhaps helping me move these would cool your head a little?"

"Perhaps." With a groan, the Warden stood and stretched. "Bodahn is still a cutthroat, and a greedy bastard, just so you know. Oh!" The Warden blinked, and then looked at Zevran. "I just remembered; I brought you something." He pulled out a pair of leather gloves that were hooked over the side of his belt, and held them out to Zevran. "I don't know what your size is exactly, but I think this should fit well enough."

Wordlessly, Zevran reached up and took the gloves. The leather was stiff and hard, making them seem more like gauntlets than gloves, really. He put one of them on, flexing his fingers, and found it comfortable and flexible enough. There was an odd tingling in his hand as he shifted his fingers. Lyrium, his mind supplied in response to the sensation. It was plain and mostly unadorned, although there was a vaguely Orlesian style to its design, which was odd considering that Orlesians were known to be extravagant to the extreme. But the gloves were of fine leatherwork indeed, and the lyrium enchantments in it no doubt meant it was expensive.

"Thank you," he said at last, and he meant it. "They are very fine gloves."

"You're welcome, and considering how much they cost, they bloody should be, or I'll whip Bodahn's gold-squeezing arse all the way back to Orzammar."

Now let it be known that Zevran had always been blessed with a rather lurid imagination; his childhood amongst whores and his experiences as a Crow had twisted that imagination. Said imagination had grabbed the Warden's words like a child grabs at candy, and gleefully tossed back an image that made Zevran's eyes nearly pop out of their sockets, then laugh so hard that he fell backwards off the log to land sprawled on his back.

He could feel Leliana and the Warden's incredulous stares on him as he chortled helplessly, and that only made him laugh harder. After a moment, the Warden stepped over to Zevran's side of the log, and nudged him not-too-gently with the toe of a booted foot. "What's so funny?"

Oh no. He might have a death wish, but he wasn't about to risk a painful death by telling the Warden what exactly had gone through his mind. Although not telling might make the Warden torture him until he did—then again, Zevran enjoyed games like those, so he didn't mind. Still on his back, Zevran grinned up at the Warden. "Believe me, my dear Grey Warden, when I say that you wouldn't find it funny."

The Warden scowled. He really was quite handsome, even with that little furrow in his brow. Zevran wanted to trail his tongue over the lines to smooth them away, before licking down the strong nose, and tracing over the firm lips until they softened and parted...

"I'm not your dear Warden," the Warden snapped, "and why wouldn't I find it fun…" His voice trailed off, and an uneasy expression drifted over his face. After a moment, he gave Zevran a wary look. "…do I even want to know?"

Zevran knew a good opportunity when he saw one. He languidly sat up, his smile growing sultry, and his eyelids lowered as he gave the Warden a lazy, melting stare. "I could happily share my thoughts…and more, my dear Warden," he purred. "You only have to wish it."

"…" The Warden's eyes narrowed. "…Maker's breath." With that muttered oath, the Warden headed for the armor pile, and started gathering it up in a huff. "I have a templar-trained bastard with a penchant for inappropriate witticisms who claims to be raised by dogs, a heartless shrew of a witch who eats men's hearts for breakfast, a former Chantry lay sister who claims to have visions from the Maker but is most likely just delusional—"

"I am standing right here, you know," Leliana said.

The Warden appeared to ignore her, almost viciously stuffing the armor his arms together in a bundle (Zevran winced as metal screeched against metal). "—a stone-faced qunari who supposedly murdered poor helpless farmers in cold blood, and a wise old mage who…well, is just too damn normal to fit in this little menagerie, and now I have an assassin who had tried to kill me, failed in doing so, and seems to have gone soft in the head after that crack to the skull. What's next, a smart-mouthed talking statue?" He scoffed as he straightened up while juggling what armor he managed to gather. "Maker preserve our poor souls…especially mine. Or better yet, my sanity, if there's anything of that left." The Warden stalked off, arms full of metal and mouth full of half-inarticulate curses.

Zevran's eyes followed the Warden's retreating back (he had to admit, the human had a truly marvelous behind), and he chuckled as he stood up, dusting himself off. He really should back off on the teasing, or one of these days the Warden might actually strangle him. Immediately his imagination supplied him with the sensation of a strong hand closing about his throat, slowly squeezing his breath out, and his head growing lighter as his lungs struggled for air…

…perhaps that wouldn't be a good enough reason to stop.

"You really are quite terrible, you know, making our Warden go into a fit like that."

"Hmm?" He looked up at Leliana's twinkling eyes. "Oh, it's all in good fun. Besides, if the Warden really wanted to kill me, I think he'll just reach for his knife and stab me without a word."

"True." Leliana glanced around, and then slid closer to Zevran, her voice dropping into a whisper. "So…what were you thinking about that was so funny?"

Smirking, Zevran told her. In lurid detail. And had the pleasure of watching her eyes grow to the size of saucers.

"…oh. Yes, I can see why the Warden wouldn't find it funny." She grimaced. "Although I'd rather not see in the first place. You're a bad, bad, man."

"I know, I know. Terrible. The women love it though."

She scoffed as she went and picked up the rest of the armor. "Sometimes, Zevran, I wonder how do you—"

A loud barking suddenly pierced the air, and a large four-legged shadow barreled out of the bushes and skidded to the stop in front of the fire. A long, lolling tongue licked a broad muzzle that was still flecked with blood, and there was another peal of barking as the shadow—a mabari hound, Zevran realized, and a very large one—pranced around in front of the fire.

The Warden's head poked out of the tent. "Anlan! Shush!"

Anlan immediately stilled, head tilted to the side. He whined inquisitively, but the Warden had returned back into the tent.

"Oh! The hunters have returned, then." Leliana looked at the dog. "…or one of them, at least."

The mabari barked as if in reply.

There was more rustling, and the clanking of metal as a familiar-looking blond showed up at the campsite, dragging half a deer carcass behind him. "You know, this would've been a lot easier if that mabari preferred chasing rabbits," the blond—Alistair, Zevran remembered—panted as he dumped the carcass beside the fire.

The mabari barked again.

"I know deer is more satisfying, but do you have to go kill such a large one?"

More barking. Zevran could almost swear that dog was actually trying to talk.

Apparently Leliana and Alistair were used to this. "Well we do have a lot of people to feed," Leliana murmured as she crouched down beside the carcass, taking out a dagger. "You and the Warden alone eat enough for six people."

"What can I say?" Alistair said with a lopsided grin. "It's a Grey Warden thing."

There was a sigh as a hulking giant suddenly appeared behind Alistair. "Or perhaps you're simply greedy and fond of stuffing your face like pigs."

"Hey! Not my fault I have a healthy appetite. And what took you so long anyway?"

"I am making sure we are not being followed." The giant—who must be the qunari the Warden had mentioned—dropped the other half of the deer beside Alistair's half. "You and that hound made enough noise to wake any number of large predators, or attract a band of scouting darkspawn."

"Can't help with the predator bit, but I can sense darkspawn, remember?"

"Surprising. I wonder if you actually pay attention, considering how much time you spend your time talking of inconsequential things."

"…you're as bad as Morrigan."

"At least the mage uses her brain." The qunari paused, his stern face scowling. "…even if she is a viper."

"I leave any of you alone for a moment and you start arguing," said a dry voice in clipped accents. The Warden emerged from the tent, dusting his hands. "Charming, really, how well we all get along."

"Warms the heart, doesn't it?" Alistair said with a mischievous smile.

"Brings tears to the eye," the Warden agreed, straight-faced. "Look at us, holding hands and skipping down the muddy brown road while singing of friendship and love."

There was an odd snorting sound. Zevran turned; Leliana had a hand clapped over her mouth, and she was quivering. Her eyes had that twinkle again.

"All to the melody of agonized screams, war cries, and clashing metal," Alistair sighed, his face mournful as he placed a hand over his heart. "It's like listening to the Chant of Light, only it's a bit more…violent. And there's more blood."

Leliana, obviously giving up being serious, giggled helplessly.

The Wardens stared at each other for a moment, and then smiled almost identical grins.

Zevran seriously wondered if he had really fallen in with a band of lunatics.

"…parshaara." Stone-faced, the qunari strode away from the fire. "You humans are incomprehensible."

"We have cookies in the tent," the Warden called after the qunari. "You can have them."

The qunari paused. Then, slowly, he stomped off again—in the direction of the supply tent.

"He really does like cookies, doesn't he?" Alistair observed.

"That he does," the Warden murmured. "I like to keep my companions happy, and it's not too difficult to steal cookies from children."

"Warden." Leliana sounded scandalized. "You didn't!"

The Warden rolled his eyes. "Of course I didn't." He raised an eyebrow at Leliana. "What kind of monster do you think I am? I brought those cookies from a baker in the last town we passed by."

"Oh." Leliana frowned. "Well, I guess that's—"

"…I did steal a few pastries from the baker though."

Alistair roared with laughter, while Leliana, wide-eyed, spluttered. But then the Warden smiled a charming grin at her, and she giggled again.

"You're terrible, all of you," she said, reaching over and lightly slapping the Warden in the arm. The Warden shrugged, absently rubbing at where she hit him.

"Speaking of companions…" the Warden turned, and caught Zevran's eye.

Zevran felt his heart skip a beat as a broad, entirely-too-untrustworthy grin spread across the Warden's face. Granted, the Warden looked entirely-too-handsome when he did that, but it also reminded Zevran of a cat that was just about to pounce on a cornered bird.

This did not look good.

"Since we're all gathered here..." His voice casual, the Warden sauntered over to Zevran's side and before the assassin could react, had draped a powerful, muscular arm over his shoulders.

Zevran froze. The warm, hard body (and the aura of danger surrounding it) was overwhelming, and the toothy grin was still there. One part of him wanted to break away and run for his life; another part simply wanted to curl up against all that muscle and heat.

Perhaps the Warden was right. That blow to the head had ruined my brain.

Warily, he turned and gave the Warden a narrow-eyed look. "What is it?"

The Warden chuckled, and the grin grew wider. "Why, I'm going to introduce you to all your new friends!" the Warden said with false cheer. "Now don't you worry, they won't bite…well, except for Anlan here, he bit Alistair once. But Anlan's a good boy, most of the time."

There was a happy bark. The mabari had trotted over to Zevran's side, and was giving him a tongue-hanging doggy grin.

Wonderful. "…I suppose that would be for the best."

"Excellent!" The Warden straightened, and a voice in Zevran's head screamed in protest as that warmth separated from him. He shivered (from the sudden chill or the desire, he couldn't tell), and then the breath whooshed out of him as the Warden gave him a hard slap on the back. "All you have to do is sit down and look pretty. Let the rest do the interro—talking, I mean."

And then the Warden was striding away, whistling a jaunty tune; after a while Alistair followed, shooting Zevran one last wary glare over a broad shoulder.

"Zevran?"

He turned, and found Leliana giving him a worried look. "Are you okay? You look like you swallowed a live worm."

He gave her a slightly wobbly grin. "I'm all right, Leliana. Just a little overwhelmed, is all."

"…Okay." Leliana straightened. "I have to go prepare dinner. You can sit down and…well, make yourself comfortable." She smiled, quickly, and then she vanished, presumably to get the utensils.

Zevran sat down at one of the logs again, and stared at the fire.

Leliana said he looked like he swallowed a live worm; he felt more like a live worm about to be thrown into a nest of hungry chicks ready to tear him apart.

Propping his elbows on his knees, he dropped his head into his hands and groaned.

~to be continued~

Author's Note: My thanks to those who had reviewed my previous chapters. It now stands at a grand total of...nine reviews, despite the hundreds of visitors to my story. I hope it's not because I'm that bad a writer...

Interesting to note the climbing number of people who have "Of Whoresons and Nobles" on the alert list, though. Glad to see that there are people who are looking forward to Zevran's adventures with the Warden.

There is a lot more dialogue in this chapter, but Leliana and Zevran both like to talk, and the Warden...well, isn't exactly quiet or subdued either. It's difficult to juggle between monologue and dialogue. On one hand Zevran is such an interesting character and this story IS mainly focused on him; on the other hand, the other characters crafted by the writers at Bioware are so quirky and memorable it is hard to ignore them without losing some of Dragon Age: Origin's magic. So I'll be attempting to balance both out, giving Zevran (and the Warden) the bulk of the attention while allowing some screen-time for the others. Hope I don't disappoint.

Until next time...panahedan.