Redcliffe and Orzammar

CONTENT:
Rating: Mature
Flavor: Adventure/Drama
Language: hm, i think we avoided it this time!
Violence: no
Nudity: yes (m)
Sex: maybe... whoops, yes! (m/m)
Other: none

Author's Notes:

Remember how I talked about summarizing the boring parts? :X I tried to write it in-character, at least.

Redcliffe and Orzammar

==#==

Arl Eamon wasn't home. It seemed he and Teagan were needed in the capitol, to help Anora sort out the country. Alistair breathed a sigh of relief. Better them than him!

He hadn't realized how much he'd been dreading the return to his home town when it involved him getting a stern talking-to about how he'd thrown away Eamon's plans, his own heritage, the entire country's founding bloodline...

And for what? It wasn't like anything could be done about it now. Alistair had to put on his big boy pants - or rather, he didn't. Arl Eamon wasn't home! And Alistair could caper all over the castle, staying up late and eating all the pies. He could enjoy himself, and all the comforts of home.

Maybe, he thought with a touch of melancholy, for the last time.

He didn't know when he'd be back, if ever. What if he got to Weisshaupt, and the Order wanted him to stay? Or assigned him somewhere else?

Oh well. No sense asking for trouble before it arrived. Alistair was going to murder a fish sandwich, then see how many pies the cook had made. It was mincemeat pie and pecan pie season!

The elves, after all the pomp and circumstance, had decided to do a tour of the local pubs and brothels. Alistair was invited, but.. naah. He didn't tell them about the pies, either. Their loss.

The next day, it was hungover elves on the boat. They were only lucky it wasn't on the ocean, Alistair kept reminding them. Numerous times.

After the bracing boat trip northwest across Lake Calenhad, it was a mere hop, skip, and a jump to Orzammar.

==#==

Bhelen's servants laid quite the feast. No whole roast nug for this Orzammar king; it was all venison from the mountains, roast pheasant, artichokes and leeks, Orlesian red wine and delicacies. Bhelen handed around his favorite. "Pickled oysters. You've got to try these!"

"Oh, seafood!" Alistair took a couple and popped them in his mouth. He chewed twice, then made a face. "Kinda..." chew, chew "...chewy?"

Bhelen laughed. He and Zevran helped themselves to the bowl. Bannon had his doubts about the little wrinkled grey purses. Gamely, he tried one and had to agree with Alistair. "Don't see the appeal," he commented.

Zevran said, "They are famous aphrodisiacs."

Alistair about choked, and looked around for somewhere to spit out his food, but... alas, it would be highly impolite in the royal hall. He chewed gingerly. Which got him nowhere.

"But I have to agree with my Ferelden companions," the assassin continued. "You should try Antivan smoked oysters. Now those have much more flavor. Not to mention," he added with a wink, "greater potency."

"Antiva," the king mused. "That's out east."

"Mm hm," Zevran agreed, on his third helping.

Bannon said, "Orzammar must be doing well if you can afford this kind of food."

Bhelen washed his aphrodisiac down with some wine. "The Orlesian merchants are happy to share samples. They're eager to be able to trade through the mountain passes, with hopes for a modest toll."

"Don't know how eager Ferelden is to trade with Orlais," Alistair mused.

Zevran said, "They will be desperate to. After losing so many crops and farms, livestock and all, to the Blight."

Alistair frowned. Bannon said, "I thought Orzammar was only underground. Isn't the land above part of Ferelden?"

Bhelen narrowed his eyes. Bannon shrugged. He'd only been asking. Alistair shook his head and said, "The border doesn't extend into the Frostbacks. I don't think?"

"We guard the passes, we get paid," Bhelen growled.

"No argument here," Alistai said. "You can take it up with the Queen."

"Queen? Aren't you the king?"

"Uh..." Alistair quickly tried to recover from a moment of panic. "King? Me? No. Who said-? No! I never said I was king. Did I?" He turned to Bannon. "Did you?"

"I don't recall ever saying such a thing." He briefly wondered if all this wining and dining was for Bhelen to butter up the Ferelden monarch. Well, he could hardly just kick them out now, could he?

Zevran stepped in smoothly. "Orzammar seems to be adapting well to your new reforms. Have you had any further trouble with the traditionalist factions?"

Bhelen waved that off. "Any of Harrowmont's old cronies still lingering, I sent them off into the Deep Roads to reclaim more of the old Thaigs. And their House warriors, to guard 'em and mop up any lingering darkspawn. They're well out of my beard."

"Hmm," mused Zevran. "I suppose you've never heard of 'keep your friends close, but your enemies closer.'"

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Only that were they here and conspiring against you, you could have spies inform you. And you could deal with them swiftly." Zevran picked apart the delicate whitemeat of his pheasant breast. "Now that they are far out of reach, well on their own, they can plot and plan together."

"Pah. They can rot out in the Deep Roads with their plots." Bhelen chewed thoughtfully for a while. "But good idea. I'll give my strongest supporters the choicest holdings. After they're cleaned out."

==#==

Later, Bannon and Zevran were ensconced in their secure stone guestroom. Bannon said to his partner, "Bhelen's just making friends left and right. Once his enemies get back and all their hard work is taken away from them..."

Zevran shrugged. "He has the biggest army of cutthroats as his most loyal allies. He'll be fine."

"I wonder where Harrowmont got to. I don't remember seeing him at Redcliffe or Denerim."

"He was too smart for that." Zevran shrugged off his clothes. As usual, he folded his neatly and set them on the stone cabinet, while Bannon casually threw his anywhere. His mouth quirked in a fond grin. "But enough about kings and plots. Come kneel down here on the furs, I want to show you some things."

"Oh? More Antivan massage techniques?" The thief was game; he eagerly got into place.

Zevran passed him the last of the Antivan brandy he had stashed for their trip, while he heated up his oils. "Not so much more, as some finer points. You are an excellent lover, have no doubt. And, you have had the perfect role model. However, I feel I can expand my role to that of mentor, and teach you so much more."

He looked over at his partner. Bannon's expression was still open, his demeanor eager. Good, he would be an excellent pupil. "Drink your brandy. I need you good and relaxed."

"But not so much that I can't perform?"

Zevran chuckled. "I have no fear for that, my lusty Grey Warden." He tested the jar of oil and found it perfectly warmed. He brought it over and knelt behind Bannon. He applied a light coat to his lover's back, then gripped his shoulders. "You see, it is this tension we need to release."

"Mm hm." Bannon sipped his brandy and leaned back into the assassin's hands. Zevran worked him like clay, until he was malleable and pliant.

Lower and lower Zevran's hands went, tracing the musculature, smoothing the skin. He rubbed more oil onto his hands. "Now...," he purred, sliding one hand down along Bannon's crack, all the way under. As his finger pad found his lover's entrance, Bannon shivered and came fully erect. "You know, you're very sensitive here."

"Oh? What was your first clue?" the thief snarked, if a bit breathlessly.

Zevran chuckled. "Now relax and open to me. Yes, like that." He slipped one finger in. Bannon shuddered again, and Zevran put his free arm around him, trying to anchor him. "Do try to pay attention."

"I don't know if I can, if you keep doing that!"

"Tsk! Discipline!"

"Myah huh." The thief's head lolled back.

"You think that is something, but... if I touch you here..." He was rewarded with a jolt from his lover's body shaking through them both as he held him tight. "When I'm done with you, I hope you have enough wits to remember this, as there will be a test." He withdrew his hand and Bannon gasped.

"Hey!"

"If you can't pay attention, I'm afraid it will be useless to show you this," Zevran teased.

"I can! I am!"

"Hmm... I don't know."

"I'll do anything you tell me," Bannon promised. He wriggled back against Zevran. "Anything you want."

The assassin grinned. "Very well. Lean forward."

Considering all the animalistic cries and moans he elicited from his lover, Zevran couldn't be sure he was capable of learning and retaining anything. Ah, but to his delight, Bannon proved quite adept at following instructions when they switched places. Mm, yes, it was quite good! But, of course, there would need to be much practice. Much practice.

==X==

End Notes:

Alistair had to put on his big boy pants-
::waves to jester::

"I wonder where Harrowmont got to. I don't remember seeing him at Redcliffe or Denerim."
-whoops! er... i mean... i meant to do that!