To Denerim

CONTENT:
Rating: Mature
Flavor: Adventure/Drama
Language: yes
Violence: no
Nudity: no
Sex: no
Other: none

Author's Notes:

Part of this previously appeared on the Bioware boards, as one of the Zevran thread prompts. Yeah, that was apparently in 2012. See how much you remember! :X

To Denerim

==#==

The south Imperial Highway was still treacherous. Teagan would lead Redcliffe's rebuilt army on foot along it, and arrive a few days after Arl Eamon's coach and wagon train, which would be ferried across lake Calenhad to the Bannorn roads. Hopefully the Landsmeet wouldn't dissolve into battle, but a show of strength wouldn't hurt.

The Warden's group got to ride in relative style. They elected for Wynne and Leliana to ride in the coach. The rest of them, even Shale, could ride in a wagon. In less than three days, they came into Denerim from the West gate.

Bannon looked around the city anxiously. Not because Loghain could have more of his Guerrin knights, or Arl Howe's guards, hunting them, but because he wanted to see if there were any elves about. He was sure he saw one down a side alley, but why weren't there more?

Eamon's estate was near the market, between the Arl of Denerim's estate and the castle. The coach and wagons pulled in through the gate, circled in the paved entry yard. Everyone got out, and the arl went inside to order the household arrangements, and oversee the unpacking of everything.

Bannon trotted around the side of the grand house, through a narrow pathway to the side and back yard, where the kitchens and servants' entrance would be. He didn't find any elven servants, but there was an old groundskeeper by the side wall with some bricks and mortar. He was re-mortaring a section.

"Excuse me," Bannon started.

"What do you want, knife-ears?" the human growled, not looking up from his work.

Bannon had half a mind to tell him he was Warden Commander Tabris, but there was a good chance the shem wouldn't even believe him. Instead of wasting time arguing, he slipped back into his shem-kisser role. "Pardon me, ser, but I've been away-" saving the kingdom and incidentally, your fat ass - "is there any news on the Alienage quarantine?"

"Arl Howe sent in some healers."

Bannon's knees went weak with relief. Thank the Maker! "Is the gate open?" Maybe after this official meeting, he'd have time to check on his father and Shianni.

"Gate's closed. The Arl allows a few healthy elves out for work each day." The man grunted as he wedged a large brick into place.

Well, yes, can't do all your cleaning and chores by yourselves, shems. Need those elves to do it for you. "Can I send a message, ser?" he asked humbly. Or maybe he'd have to go into the Alienage much later - under the cover of darkness.

"No one goes in that filthy, stinking-" He turned to retrieve the trowel lying in the tray beside him, and must have noticed Bannon's swords, because he quickly changed what he was about to say. "Kitchen lad comes in a few times a week. Maybe he can take a message."

"What's his name?"

"Dunno." The caretaker shrugged, and went back to work before the mortar squeezing out from under the newly-laid brick oozed all the way down the wall.

"Thanks," Bannon said, not very sincerely. He continued on to the back yard, looking for the kitchens. Luckily, he found the kitchen boy there, fetching wood from the shed. "Hey!" Bannon called to him.

He jumped at Bannon's voice. "Uh? Y-Yes?" He was young, in a scruffy brown tunic with the sleeves rolled up. He'd probably grow into it in a few more years, if he tended it carefully and it didn't fall apart.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to startle you. What's your name."

"Zack, ser."

"You don't have to 'ser' me. I'm an elf, just like you."

"Y-You - They let you carry weapons." He goggled at the swords.

"Yeah, that's part of my job. Listen, I need to get a message to my family. Do you know the carpenter, Cyrian Tabris? or Shianni?" Bannon held his breath. If they were among the dead... he didn't know what he'd do.

"Oh yes, Shianni! She's a-" he gulped and swallowed whatever he was about to say.

Bannon let it pass, as it was probably something impolite. All that mattered was that she was alive. "Can you tell her that he cousin Bannon is here? I'll come to see them as soon as I can." He pulled a silver from his purse and held it out. "There's two more if you can return with a reply."

To his surprise, Zack backed up a step, eyes wide. "Y-You... You're him!" The boy gulped a breath. "You killed the-!" He slapped both hands over his mouth, and looked around in alarm in case any shems were in earshot.

"Yeah," Bannon said, unable to keep a proud smile from tugging at one corner of his mouth. "That's me."

The boy's eyes only got wider. "It'd be an honor, ser! I'll tell Shianni right away!"

"Good, but honor doesn't put food on the table." He held out the silver again.

"But..." Zack looked at it longingly. He wanted to do the right thing, but that was a lot of money.

"Take it. I have plenty."

"Yes, ser!" He made the silver disappear into his pocket almost faster than Bannon could.

"And what did I tell you about calling m-"

"Zack!" yelled a shrewish voice from the kitchen door. "What's taking so long? If you're lollygaggin' about again, it's another switching for you!"

"Coming!" Zack yelled back. He started grabbing pieces of cordwood.

"Here, let me help."

"N-No no no! Ser - uh - B-B-Bu- You can't!"

"Why not? You think it's too heavy?" Bannon hoisted an armload and headed for the kitchens before Zack could pick his jaw up off the ground.

The woman in the kitchen was rather scrawny for a cook, Bannon thought. She was more than surprised to see him. "Who are you? What are you doing with those weapons?" The scullery maids all looked up from their work in alarm. Some gasped, and one let out a squeak. They all backed away in fear.

"I'm Warden Tabris," Bannon said in a soothing tone. Wow, the shems must have a totally different version of the story about armed elves infiltrating the kitchens and slaughtering the nobility. Well, the same version, but an entirely different interpretation. "Where do you want your wood?" he asked in the same cheerful tone, glad Zevran wasn't' here for that line.

"Put it down and get out," the head cook insisted bravely. "Where's Zack?"

"Right here, mum!" Zack bustled in through the doorway with his own armload of wood. "Sorry!" He scooted past to the wood rack by the ovens.

Bannon said, "Sorry to hold him up. I had to talk to him a minute." He moved to unload his own stack of cordwood. Zack helped.

"I don't know what you're playing at, but you'd best leave before I summon Arl Eamon and his guards!"

Zack jumped up. "But he's Grey Warden Bannon Tabris!"

"Honestly, Zack, you'll believe anything!"

"But I saw him! When the guards came-"

"It's all right, Zack," Bannon interrupted before he went on about his near-arrest. "She's right to be cautious."

"Warden!" Zevran's voice came in from the yard. A moment later, the elf's silhouette appeared in the doorway, his stance relaxed, yet coiled in preparation of a swift strike, his sword hilts prominent over his shoulders. "Ah, there you are. Eamon wants to see you and Alistair about your presentation at the castle."

Bannon straightened and smiled, without a trace of a smirk, at the cook. "Duty calls." He dusted his hands and followed Zevran out.

"What were you doing in there?" the Antivan asked in a low voice.

"Oh, you know me, delivering some wood to some young maids."

Zevran snorted. "They looked terrified."

"Well, my wood is just that fearsome," Bannon retorted.

Zevran snorted again.

"Oh, is that a challenge?"

Now Zevran snickered. "We shall see," he said with a big eager grin.

==#==

Bannon wasn't surprised Zevran had lied about Eamon trying to talk with him and Alistair. The arl was still busy directing the servants. There was time before they had to make an appearance at the castle.

"Alistair," said Bannon. "Let's go to the armorer."

"But, I just got new armor." Eamon insisted he wear it, because when they went to the castle, Alistair had to look impressive.

"Yeah, now I can't be looking all shabby next to you," the elf griped. "We've got all that drakeskin we can trade in."

"Oh yeah, good idea."

"Go grab the skins." Bannon turned to the others. "Sten, you need any armor?"

"I require a helmet, but your country has none that fit me."

"Oh. Yeah, that might be a problem." How do you put a helmet on a qunari?

"I will visit the market with Shale. May I have my stipend?"

"You will?" Bannon blinked. "All right, sure. Try not to have too much fun, though," he warned, imagining what a qunari and a golem would do in a marketplace. "Oh, and there's a sweet shop over on the north side. You have to go up the street a little way."

"Sweet shop?"

"Like a bakery, but less flour. More sugar."

"Thank you." The giant accepted his coins, then went off into the market with Shale and Wynne. People in the street cleared the area around them. Well, they'd be easy enough to find, if needed.

Bannon handed out allowances to Leliana and Morrigan. "Zevran! You coming to the armorer's?"

"Si!"

"Hey, Oghren!" Bannon went over to the cart. "Want to go-?"

"KRSHHHHnnnnnnnKKKKKzzzzz..."

"Right, then." Bannon looked over at Alistair, who was frowning into the cart. "Didn't you find the drakeskins yet?

The knight pointed. "He's sleeping on them."

Bannon got up on tiptoe to peer down into the cart. Sure enough, there was a bundle of drakeskins under Oghren's head. "Well, grab them."

"Um..." Alistair reached in and grabbed the bundle. He gave a tentative tug. The dwarf didn't budge. Alistair yanked harder and got the package loose. The loud KLUNK of Oghren's head hitting the wagon bottom didn't interrupt the snoring.

"Why did we bring this guy again?" Bannon griped.

Alistair shrugged and tucked the bundle under his arm. "Do you know where the armorer's is?"

"Yeah, this way."

==#==

Zevran suddenly clutched Bannon's arm in a deathgrip, drawing in a hiss of breath.

"What? What is it?" the Denerim elf looked around in alarm. Were there Crows lurking in the crowd? Had Howe's guards spotted them? Some of Loghain's knights? He didn't see anything out of the ordinary in the crowded market. Not even a mime.

"Black Leather Armor," Zevran said, capitalizing it with religious fervor. He squeezed Bannon's arm even harder and pushed him towards the armorer's shop. That looked like where they were supposed to be headed. And yes, Bannon saw it now, between polished plate suits, a stand with leather armor, very black. "I must have it," Zevran insisted. "Get it for me!"

"It's probably for a shem," Bannon protested. His arm was going numb.

"It's Leather," the Antivan breathed. "And it's Black." He drew in a tight breath, making a faint squeaking noise, and his entire body quivered violently.

Bannon was terrified that the assassin had just had what was called and 'orgasmic experience' right there in the middle of the crowded market street. And on his arm. He tried to pry Zevran off. "Look, fine! If you want me to get it for you, you have to do two things..."

"What?"

"First, let go of my arm!" Zevran dropped Bannon's arm and trotted closer to the armorer's window. Bannon followed, trying to keep his voice down. "And second, you have to pretend you're not that interested in it."

Zevran's face was turned up, a beatific expression of worship plastered clearly across it as he gazed at the window display. "It has polished steel studs. Ohhhh, studs." He made that scary squeeing noise and quivered again.

Right, this was a lost cause. "All right, stay out here while I-"

"No! No, I must go inside, I must ask how much such a fabulous piece of craftsmanship is. I- I must try it on! I want to feel its-"

Bannon cut him off before he could start talking about how much he wanted to feel up the leather. "Absolutely not! If they see how much you want it, the price is going to double - no, triple," he amended, noting that Zevran was almost drooling. "And if it's too much anyway, we're going to have to not be suspects when it goes missing. Now stay here and moon over it while I go ask rationally."

==#==

"What's with Zevran?" Alistair asked as he accompanied Bannon into the armorer's shop.

"Don't ask."

They went up to the counter. "Welcome to Wade's Armory," the laconical man behind the desk said. "I'm Herren; how may I help you?"

"We're shopping around for some armor," Bannon said, leaning casually on the counter. "How much is the black leather, there in the window?"

"That's not for sale!" a voice cried from the back room.

Herren put his face in his hand. "Wade," he complained tiredly, "this is an armor shop. Of course the armor is for sale."

"That's a showpiece!" The owner of the voice appeared in the doorway. He had bushy black muttonchops and a long moustache.

"Hey," said Bannon; "if it's just for show..." He waved a hand carelessly as if he couldn't be interested.

This caused the bristly armorer to, well, bristle. "Here now, every one of my suits of armor is a work of art and completely practical in every way!"

"Must be hard to get the blood off the dyed leather."

"It's dyed and coated with a lustrous seal that makes it easier to clean."

"Hmm." Bannon frowned thoughtfully. Actually, that sounded good. "But will it fit an elf?"

Wade came forward and looked him up and down. "Not unless the elf in question is built like this handsome devil." He turned to Alistair. "You'd look absolutely devastating in black leather."

"I don't wear leather," the Templar replied.

"Oh?" The man's eyes raked him head to toe. "A cotton man all the way down, are you?"

Alistair just looked blank. The part of Bannon's mind that had been corrupted by prolonged exposure to Zevran had an idea what Wade might be talking about. Bannon shook it off. "Uhm, look, we were told you specialized in working exotic materials. We have some drakeskin here..."

"Drakeskin! From an actual dragon?"

"Well," Bannon said, motioning for Alistair to open the parcel of rolled hide; "from drakes. Not the big flying dragons."

"Oh!" Wade's eyes flew wide as he saw the skins. Judging from his reaction, he wouldn't have even noticed Zevran's restrained drooling. "Oh, it's magnificent! Imagine, Herrin, what I could do with this! This is incredible! Take the black armor, it's a gift for letting me work with such outstanding materials."

The laconic man jumped up. "Now... all right, Wade; I'm sure that's very nice." He fixed Bannon and Alistair with a look. "Please note that my partner only crafts the armor, he is in no way responsible for setting the prices on the work. He is especially -" and here, Herrin shot his partner a look - "not permitted to give anything away."

"I already said we're not interested in that armor," Bannon said.

"We could cut it down to size," Herrin offered. "For a nominal fee."

Wade screamed as if Herrin had suggested slicing up his baby. "We are not cutting my work of art!"

"How nominal?"

"Oh, haggle later," Wade snapped. "What kind of armor would you want from this drakeskin? Do you want it dyed black?"

Black, with polished steel studs. Bannon imagined how such armor would look on him. Yes, very dangerous. Very sexy. Zevran would practically die from envy! No, wait... Bannon frowned to himself. Zevran would just murder him and take the armor. That was more likely. "Ah, no. We should leave it with its natural luster. But can you put that coating on it?"

"Ah, yes! That will make it shine brilliantly! The scales will sparkle!"

Bannon bit his lip. How to tell this man he would rather fade into the shadows, not glitter, without admitting to being a thief? "Well, now I don't want to attract attention on the battlefield," he hedged.

"How about making it grey?" Alistair suggested.

"Grey? Eugh!" Wade made a face. "What a most insipid and uninspiring lack of colour!" He looked at Alistair as if wondering what sort of bug had crawled into his shop.

"Well, we are Grey Wardens."

And now he looked as if he'd swallowed said bug. "You're Grey Wardens? Magnificent! Hundreds of people will see this armor! It is completely on the house!"

"Wade!" Herrin cut in. "Please recall what I said about his ability to set prices."

"But, Grey Wardens! You can't buy that kind of publicity!"

Despite the prospect of free armor, Bannon was beginning to sympathize with Herrin. "How about a sort of charcoal grey?" he said to placate Wade. "Maybe a sedate matte finish? Less glitzy and more professional-looking. Very serious. The Grey Wardens are very serious."

Wade began nodding. "Yes, yes, I see it now. Oh, with a white griffon emblazoned on the front?"

"Not too big," Bannon said. "White and bloodstains... not a good combination. Perhaps on the arm?"

"On the pauldrons," Alistair added. This bit of fashion advice apparently put him back on Wade's good side.

"Done and done!" Wade gathered up the hides and bustled into the back room. "You can haggle now all you want!"

"We would appreciate a down payment before starting the work," Herrin said tiredly. "Well, at least one of us would like to eat."

==#==

Bannon paid the man and left them to the work. The instant he set foot outside the shop, Zevran nearly pounced on him. "Well? Where is my armor? I do not see a package under your arm! Where is my black leather?"

"He's working on it," Bannon lied, to rescue his arm before Zevran cut off the circulation again. "You'll just have to be patient." The assassin growled, but did let go of his arm. "What do you want black armor for, anyway?"

"What? So I can walk down the street, and everyone will say, 'Look at that sexy elf! Look how sleek, see how dangerous!' I will be the envy of men, the desire of women. Or vice versa!"

"Yeah, but you're an assassin. You can't be moving stealthily if everyone in town is staring at you."

"Bah!" Zevran scoffed. "Antivan Crows are so widely feared, no one would dare to interfere with our work. We have no need for stealth. Our marks die of fright as soon as they lay eyes on us!"

The snickering that came from Alistair was enough argument for that statement.

"Well," Zevran hedged, deflated. "In civilized countries."

"The armor you have suits you," Bannon pointed out. "It's broken in, it's comfortable, it lets you fade in with rock or dirt. It's very serviceable, sturdy."

"It is common! Rock? Pah! Dirt?" Zevran narrowed his amber eyes at Bannon. "You didn't get it, did you?"

"Well..."

"No, no no no; I see what is going on here. You failed."

"I did not!"

"Yes," Zevran said, drawing out the word. "Yes, you ser, are a failure! Some 'Master Thief' you turned out to be!"

"I am not!" Bannon shot back hotly. "And I never said I was a Master Thief!" Luckily, they had made their way into the courtyard of Arl Eamon's estate, where there weren't any city guards to hear this conversation.

"Yes you did."

"I did not!"

"So, you are not, then?"

"Not what?"

"A Master Thief?"

"I didn't say that."

"You are either saying you are or that you are not. Which is it?"

Bannon growled. "Master Thieves don't go around saying they're Master Thieves. Other people say it!"

"Ohhhhh, now I understand." Zevran rolled his eyes. "Well, you will not hear me saying it, especially since you utterly failed to procure my black leather armor."

"It wouldn't fit you, anyway! Besides," Bannon tried one last desperate shot; "it wouldn't match your Antivan leather boots."

Zevran gasped and stopped dead. He looked down at his feet. His whole body sagged slowly as he realized the truth. As beautiful and as dark as the leather was, it would pale in comparison to true black. And give up his Antivan leather boots to wear... Ferelden boots? It was a sadist's choice!

Bannon came back and put his arm around Zevran's shoulders to console him. "Come on, you know I'm always looking out for you. You can't strut around sexily while your feet are all pinched and sore."

"Well..."

"And blistered. Blisters are not sexy, my friend!"

"I suppose."

Bannon patted him on the shoulder. "That's the spirit!" Another disaster averted. But Zevran looked so dejected. Bannon figured it wouldn't hurt to ask Wade if he had any Antivan leather. Or maybe to dye Zevran's boots black. He wondered how much a set of black leathers in elven size would actually cost.

Maker's Breath, what was he thinking!? He wasn't made of money!

==X==