The Concierge
CONTENT:
Rating: Mature
Flavor: Adventure/Drama
Language: yes
Violence: no
Nudity: no
Sex: yes (implied/offscreen, m/m, m/f)
Other: none
Author's Notes:
a bit of fluff filler before the big mission. you can tell how i had elves in my head all the time, no matter what book i was reading, or what movie i was watching... :X
ps: i'm using orlesian spellings, not french. yes, on purpose!
The Concierge
==#==
They sent Alistair off with a contingent of Grey Wardens, led by Commander Kristoff. The Templar had already learned the name of the horse they gave him, and started talking to it as if it were his new best friend. Bannon supposed he'd get along with the horses as well as he had with dogs.
Then the elves went back to bed. They spent some of the time until noon sleeping. They roused at lunchtime, ravenous.
Leliana brought them to the front desk of Le Gallu. "This is the concierge, Francois."
She introduced them to an impeccably dressed man of pale skin and narrow face. He had short dark hair and such a fine, thin moustache that it looked as if pencil lines had been drawn on either side of his upper lip. A trident shape of a beard clung to the tip of his chin. "Bonjouir, messires," he said, followed by a lilting passage of Orlesian.
"Francois," Leliana scolded with a smile. "Our guests are from Ferelden and Antiva."
He bobbed his head like a pigeon in a minute bow. "Of course, mademoiselle. Greetings, ser. Buenos dias, signore."
"Ooh, I like him," said Zevran. Bannon was impressed, but not about to admit it.
Leliana told them, "Francois is the finest concierge in the land. Anything you need - anything at all - just ask him, and he can procure it for you."
"Anything?" Zevran asked with a leer.
"I am as discreet as I am capable, signore."
"Ooh, I really like him!"
"I'm sure they will put you to the test, Francois," Leliana told the man with a smile.
"I relish the challenge."
"I could really go for a seven-course meal right about now," Bannon said.
One thin dark brow arched. When he saw Bannon wasn't joking, he said, "I shall rouse the chefs at once, messire. Would there be anything else for today?"
Damn. Bannon might have to admit to being impressed, after all.
Leliana said, "Oh, do be a dear and see if you can procure tickets to the theatre." She turned to the elves. "You must see the latest production at Le Teatre du Monde. They have a live elephant!"
"Will you be joining them as well, mademoiselle?"
"Not tonight, Francois. I must be off about my business, yes?" She looked at the elves and nodded. They nodded back. "Then I leave you in Francois' most capable hands. I will check in on you, in a few days, if you have not left already."
"All right," said Bannon.
She stepped to him and took his hands. "May the Maker bless your journey." She leaned in for a farewell kiss-kiss. Then she did the same for Zevran. "May the Maker bless your endeavors."
"I shall rely on my own skill for that, if you do not mind."
"Of course, Zevran. The Maker can be subtle." She winked and departed.
"Messires," Francois said, "your meal will be ready within the hour. Would you like a hot bath drawn while you wait?"
"Actually," said Bannon, "that sounds good."
It was good, and the meal was sumptuous, though Zevran paced himself, knowing a Warden's appetite. The concierge presented them with tickets to Le Theatre du Monde for the night's show. They had a private box with a fantastic view of the stage, as well as the aisle where the elephant and horses and dancers paraded through.
Bannon thought it was probably not much of a trick to get the Grey Wardens in, them being such a big deal and all. Still, they both had a laugh at the thought of how many snooty Orlesian nobles got kicked out to make room for them. They lounged with feet up on the spare velvet-cushioned seats, guzzling complimentary champagne.
The show was outstanding, having both elves on the edge of their seats in no time. The story itself was a grand spectacle about a young street rat from Rivani who found a magical artefact that granted him three wishes from a powerful spirit. Accompanied by song and complex dance routines, the thief ended up marrying the princess and ruling the land.
The elves enjoyed it so much, they asked Francois for tickets to every night's showing, as well as the matinee. Bannon even dared to ask him to meet the actor who portrayed the thief, Henri Morgaine, and the concierge arranged it.
After the matinee showing, Bannon and Zevran were taken backstage, to the actor's private dressing room.
"Bienveniu, my Grey Warden friends." the young man beamed at them, his teeth bright white within his bronzed face. "Come in, come in. Sit down!" His accent was fluted noble Orlesian.
"It is a pleasure to meet you," Zevran said, smiling in kind. "Your performance was astounding. And such a lovely voice."
"Yeah," Bannon agreed, not sure how to behave around such a famous actor. The man was a professional liar, after all.
"Do not mind my taciturn friend," Zevran said. "He is struck dumb with awe and admiration."
"I don't know as I'd lay it on that thick."
Henri sat at an elaborate dressing table, piled with all sorts of cosmetics, a collection that would make Leliana swoon, no doubt. He fussed at his hairline, and then pulled off his luxuriant dark mane - it was a wig! Beneath, he was blond. And his ears!
"You're an elf?" Bannon blurted.
He laughed. "Of course, mes amis! The audiences come to see a lean, lithe, beautiful young man. Not some gangly, hairy, pimply human, non?" He winked. "I merely play a human on stage. A strapping young lad. Perhaps the princess with otherworldly beauty, non?"
"Really?" said Bannon.
"I am in love!" added Zevran.
"Is the princess an elf, too?" Bannon looked around, perhaps eager to meet her. Unless... she was a him?
"Ah, not this time. For such a revealing costume-" Henri held his hands cupped in front of his chest- "only the real thing suits. Nesce pas?"
"Indeed," said Zevran. "My friend, I must ask you, for my heart pines to know... would you perhaps consider a threesome with me and my good friend here?"
"Zev!"
"You like him too, no?"
Bannon slapped his hand over his face. "Don't listen to him, he's Antivan."
Henri chuckled.
"But would you?" Zevran insisted. "You did not answer my question."
"To be as forward as you, my Antivan friend: no. Thank you."
Bannon said, "I apologize for my friend."
"Pas du tout." Henri waved it off. "It happens all the time. I have a great many admirers."
"Lucky elf." Zevran sighed. His glee deflated, even moreso when Henri mopped at his face and the Rivani bronze rubbed off to reveal a rather pasty white skin. "You are not even Rivani?"
"No no no, naif." Henri grinned. "I am pure Orlesian. You cannot believe everything you see on the stage. And, considering the Game, all of Orlais is a stage, nesce pas?"
"That is really amazing," Bannon said sincerely. The elf could transform his skin, his accent, his race - even his sex!
Zevran goggled at the actor's abdomen. "You - it is all make up? All the way down?"
"Ah, what we actors suffer through for our art."
"I find myself somewhat disappointed."
Bannon said, "You were only in love with him when he looked like you?"
The assassin grumbled.
To Henri, Bannon said, "So... what is the trick to playing a woman convincingly?"
His brow arched eloquently. "You have aspirations to the stage, mes ami?"
"He does voices!" Zevran put in.
"You do have a fine, melodious voice. You would be a marvellous singer."
"I don't sing."
"Ha-ha, but that does not mean you can't." Henri wagged a finger at him.
"It doesn't?" exclaimed Zevran. "I knew it!"
"I don't sing!"
"And," Henri added, "you have lovely eyes. Oui - all the men would swoon to see your limpid pools regarding them softly."
"Er, um, yeah," Bannon said, scratching the back of his head uncomfortably. "I-I was just curious, you know."
"Of course!" Henri dabbed off more of his makeup, peering into the mirror. "The secret to laying a woman is to let yourself become soft, yielding." His eye caught Bannon's in the reflective glass. "Yet to realize the ultimate power you have over those men so much bigger and stronger than you. Wield your power subtly."
"Um... oh."
Henri chuckled. "Let us see your effeminate walk - your body language!"
"Er-"
"Come, come, both! I will give you pointers." He grinned. "Convince me you are women."
Bannon and Zevran looked at each other and shrugged. They adopted hip-shot poses, and Bannon fluttered his eyelashes.
"Ah, not bad. Good, good."
The actor gave them some pointers and demonstrations, even going so far as to pretend to seduce the both. Then he sent them off, to stagger a bit awkwardly home to Le Gallu.
The boys enjoyed the show every night, and even came up with their own version of one of the songs.
==#==
Zevran began to wonder if even a Grey Warden could get fat. Not that he had noticed any expansion in his lover's waistline, or extra padding on his rump. But where did he put it all? The Orlesian feasts were quite tempting. And the world famous pastries! The confections were truly magical - intricately decorated. Some almost too beautiful to eat (almost). The flavors, the colours! Zevran tried to take the smallest samples possible, but there were just so many!
And the sedentary lifestyle at Le Gallu. IT was all silk sheets and down pillows, and 'let me fetch this for you, messire,' and 'let me arrange that for you, messire.' He and Bannon had taken to walking home from the theatre, but that was a trifle compared to the rigorous miles they had traversed from camp to camp.
Of course, not traveling left ample time for other taxing exercises.
Zevran had to admit it was difficult... all right, impossible - to keep up with a well-fed and rested Grey Warden stamina. Of course, he tried! He pushed his limits as far as they could go, and further. In the end, he had to admit defeat. Never before did he have a lover who could wear him out.
He felt more troubled than satiated, as if he had somehow failed, or indeed had been defeated - conquered, and his title of World's Greatest Lover stripped from him.
But Bannon didn't lord it over him. He just cuddled Zevran into his arms and snuggled up for sleep. Zevran relaxed. He didn't have anything to prove. He could just enjoy himself, for himself. Without performing on command, without having to seduce a mark.
He sighed in contentment, and slept deeply.
==#==
"I have a surprise for you," Bannon told him one night at dinner.
"Oh?" The assassin fought down his natural trepidation of surprises. Surely this would be a good one. Bannon had been conspiring with that concierge. The thief was a heavy tipper, and had Francois eating out of his hand.
Bannon signalled their server, and he came over bearing a silver tray with a covered bowl. Zevran's nose twitched, and his eyes widened as the server dramatically revealed the dish. "Antivan fish chowder, messire."
"Ah! Authentic Antivan fish chowder?" He sampled a spoonful. "Indeed!"
"I'm glad you like it," Bannon said as the server melted into invisibility.
"You should try some, amore."
"Eh... fish and cream?" Bannon made a face. "I don't think so."
"You haven't lived!"
The whole meal was Antivan cuisine, with properly smoked oysters and paella. And a bottle of aged Antivan brandy.
Zevran cradled it in his arm on their way up to the penthouse. "What's this?" Waiting there in the entry were two women, blonde and redhead, in revealing silk dresses.
"I couldn't find a crooked politician," said Bannon. "I'm sorry."
Zevran laughed. "A prostitute or two, a bowl of fish chowder and a corrupt politician? You remembered!"
"Of course, I miss nothing!" Bannon said with a wink. "But you mustn't call them prostitutes. Niala and Reiza are professional courtesans." He nodded at the women, and they smiled. They moved to flank Zevran, leaning in and draping their arms over him.
"Wow!" Zevran looked at his lover. "All this for me?"
"Well..." His Ferelden elf looked adorably shy. "I was hoping you'd share?"
"Really?"
Reiza brazenly said, "Maybe he should get on his knees and beg you."
Zevran appreciated the thought, but gently chided her. "No no no. This is something I have been wanting for some time now." He slipped his hand into the thief's and gripped tightly so he couldn't get away. "Let us go inside."
Together with the courtesans, they herded Bannon into the bedroom. True consummate professionals that they were, Zevran was able to direct a show, a fete, to be remembered.
==X==
End Notes:
Henri is an Orlesian elf character I developed, when toying with ideas for an Inquisition character. But the only elf you can have for that is Dalish. You don't really get to have a sense of his true nature in this short scene. But of course, he had to mess with them! I didn't see that coming ;D
Prince Ali, the Grey Warden (or Antivan Crow)
Make way... for Prince Ali!
Say hey... it's Prince Ali!
Hey, clear the way in the old bazaar
Hey, you! Let us through, it's a bright new star
Oh, come be the first on your block to meet his eye...
Make way, here he comes, ring bells, bang the drums!
Oh, you're gonna love this guy!
Prince Ali, mighty is he, Ali Ababwa...
Genuflect, show some respect, down on your knees!
Now try your best to stay calm,
Brush up on your Feastday salaam,
Then come meet his spectacular coterie!
Prince Ali, mighty is he, Ali Ababwa...
Long as ten regular shems, check him and see!
He defeated the Tainted horde!
A hundred darkspawn with swords!
Who slayed that Archdemon, my lords?
Why, Prince Ali!
He's got 75 golden camels...
Purple peacocks, he's got 23...
When it comes to exotic type mammals
Has he got a zoo!
I'm tellin' you,
It's a world-class menagerie!
Prince Ali, handsome is he, Ali Ababwa
That physique! How can I speak?
Weak at the knees...
So get on out in that square
Adjust your veil and prepare
To gawk and grovel and stare
At Prince Ali!
He's got 95 Orlesian monkeys...
(He's got the monkeys; let's see the monkeys!)
And to view them, he charges no fee!
(He's generous, so generous!)
He's got all kinds of servants and flunkies
All bow to his whim, love serving him,
They're just lousy with loyalty!
To Prince Ali!
Prince Alia, amorous he, Ali Ababwa...
Heard your princess was a sight lovely to see!
That, my friends is why
He got dolled up and dropped by
With sixty elephants, mabari galore,
With bears and lions, a brass band and more,
His forty fakirs, his cooks and bakers,
And birds that warble on key...
Make way... for Prince Ali!