Bits of Business

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

Author's Notes:

This is just bits of business I had to take care of. Uh, and it turned out long. Yay!

Bits of Business

==#==

"Hey, Bannon?"

"Yeah?"

Bannon and Alistair were in the bathing chamber, washing up and cleaning their teeth after getting out of bed. Zevran had already woken early and snuck off somewhere.

"Will you go with me to the armorer? I have to return the helm we borrowed."

"You 'borrowed' something without me?" Bannon gave him sad puppy eyes.

Alistair chuckled. "Yeh, we actually had to ask. It was so difficult," he snarked.

"I have to get my armor repaired, anyway."

"Oh, good." Alistair bent closer to the mirror, finishing up with the razor, in a concentrated effort to shave his whole face, except that one little stray patch below his lip. Bannon would never understand that 'style.' At least it was barely noticeable, but why bother?

When Alistair was done and rinsing soap lather from his face, Bannon moved in to inspect his teeth. When he was satisfied there weren't any stray bits of food stuck in them, he moved on to combing his hair. He wanted another trim, but Zevran adored it so. Running his skillful fingers down through the long, long locks. He might have to grow it down to his waist...

"Can I ask you something?" Alistair interrupted his musings. "Something kinda personal?"

Bannon shrugged. "Sure." It was funny, come to think of it, that Alistair was his closest friend - besides Zevran. His brother, not his lover. The man he'd swindled out of a lot of coins when they'd first met, the man he'd hidden cheese from when they were both starving... Bannon couldn't imagine doing that sort of thing to Alistair any more.

"Well, it's just, I was wondering... an unspecified idle curiosity, mind you..." The Templar hemmed and hawed, and Bannon waited for him to ge to the point. "What's it like? Being with another man?"

Bannon stopped in mid-comb and looked at him.

"I mean," Alistair sammered, "not... you know... i gory detail, but... I think I know how it works, with two men." He pantomimed some hand gestures.

"Yeah...?" Bannon semi-encouraged, not sure what the Chantry boy was actually trying to ask, here.

"And I think I understand - not to be, uh, prying or anything, and not meaning anything by it, - but like that he, um, you know." Alistair curled one hand up high. "And that you, er, you know." He curled the other one underneath the first.

"Not always, but usually," Bannon clarified. "What's your question?"

"Well..." Alistair frowned at his copulating hands. "Just... doesn't that hurt?"

Bannon chuckled. "No, Alistair, it doesn't hurt."

"Really?"

"Look, it's the same thing with a woman."

"Ueh?"

"If you do it wrong, or badly, or too hard, you could hurt her." The elf ran the comb idly through his hair again. "Zevran's very... very talented."

Alistair gaped, thoughts, probably damaging his tender brain. Then he shook himself. "I don't know. IT just seems to me that would be entirely uncomfortable."

"Well, I guess it's not for everyone," Bannon said with a relieved little laugh. It certainly wasn't for men in Ferelden, or elves in the Alienage. He frowned as his thoughts strayed, and he had to wonder - was there something wrong with him?

==#==

The Wardens went to breakfast, and caught up with their companions and the latest news. Rumors were flying about Arl Howe's demise - Did Loghain attack and kill him? Over suspicions of slave trading? Did Howe kidnap Anora? Did Anora kill him? Or had she fled from her father, in fear for her life from him? Where was Anora now? Loghain had called a meeting for the afternoon to face the arls and banns and explain.

Arl Eamon would attend, to avoid looking suspicious, as Leliana recommended. There was a chance, however, Loghain would confront him about the Grey Wardens' hand in all this. Luckily, Loghain had no proof.

Anora remained in her room, waited on by her handmaid. She declined to return to the castle or to attend the meeting. Leliana was apparently becoming close with the queen, despite Anora's inherited distrust of anything Orlesian.

The Orlesian Grey Warden, Riordan, was also abed, recovering, under Wynne's supervision. Alistair was eager to talk to him, learn from him, and possibly cede the Ferelden Grey Warden order to him. Bannon didn't think he liked that, but who was he to lead an ancient non-partisan order of warriors?

At least Riordan was grateful for his liberation. What about Soris? He'd only been pissed that Bannon had run off to save the world instead of him. Well, sure, that was understandable. But it wasn't his fault, was it? There as Duncan, and the Wardens, and the darkspawn, and Loghain's treachery, and everything else.

Bannon and Alistair took Sten and Shale with them, to avoid needing an armed escort of Redcliffe guardsmen. Zevran was nowhere to be found. Good, the black leather, and the circulation of Bannon's arm, would be safe.

Bannon took the earring out of his pocket and stared at the brassy gold, the glinting gem chips. Once more, he considered this... thing between him and the Antivan elf. Couldn't he disentangle the comradeship from the sex? Certainly, they were separate things. They had been, before. Before Zevran had seduced him for his own amusement and gratification.

Bannon frowned. What he'd felt before, for the assassin, he would not have classified it as 'love.' Friends, rivals, comrades, brothers... but love? Was it just an illusion? A trick his cock played on his heart?

But he wanted to spend the rest of his life with Zevran, sharing his life, sharing everything. Isn't that what marriage was? Marriage by choice...

Then did he want to never have sex with anyone other than Zevran? Definitely not! But... the Antivan surely felt the same way. Why couldn't they be together with the choice of any sexual partners they wanted?

Whose business was it who he had sex with, anyway? It's not like that was something anyone did out in the open.

Bannon sighed deeply, looking at the ring. What am I going to do with you?

Throw it away? No!

Sell it, pawn it? No.

Wear it? ...

He turned it over and over in his fingers. No. He couldn't wear it. Dangling from his ear, for all to see?

He couldn't.

He slipped the ring back into his pocket as Shale and Sten's ponderous footsteps drew closer.

"Will we be going to the bakery?" Sten wanted to know.

"Maybe," Alistair said. "What do you think, Bannon?"

"Yeah, maybe."

Shale said, "I do not see what is so fascinating about sugared confections."

"You would if you ate one," Alistair shot back.

"Well, I did."

The Wardens blinked. "You ate a cookie?" Alistair asked.

"I didn't know you ate anything," Bannon added, worried.

"I do not. I simply placed a cookie in my mouth and... chewed, until it was dust. I do not see the point."

"That's sad," Alistair said.

"Maybe you should try drinking liquor next," Bannon mused.

Alistair punched him in the arm. "What are you thinking? A drunken golem?"

"Uh, yeah - no! I meant you shouldn't try it. Bad idea. Waste of good booze."

Shale drew his brows together in an altogether canny look.

Great, thought Bannon; I've created a monster.

==#==

As they traversed the marketplace, various people waved and called greetings to Alistair. Wow, his 'speech' had sure made him popular. Bannon couldn't help but notice that many of them were young maids. Probably with eyes on the queen's crown. Alistair didn't seem to notice.

"I can't stop thinking about Goldana," he said to Bannon. "And her kids. Her supposed husband. If I could just... maybe send her some money?"

The elf frowned. "Alistair, you're not responsible for her happiness."

"I know that, but... if I could do something-"

"Money won't make her happy."

"I know, but..." He sighed. "I don't know what to do."

"You don't need to do anything," Bannon told him.

"I feel so helpless."

"Just focus on yourself."

"On myself, feeling helpless."

Bannon sighed at his friend's stubborn mood. "If it will make you feel better, send her a bag of gold, but don't expect any gratitude." He strode ahead and went in the door to the armorer's.

There were a few people present, looking at armor and shields. One poor fool was trying to haggle with Herren. Sten and Shale ducked through the door and gravitated towards the helmets. Sten complained about a lack of helmets that fit him, and Shale, as usual, scoffed at needing helmets at all. Bannon waited his turn at the counter, but Alistair decided to return the bucket helm directly to Wade.

He approached the archway to the back room. "Hello?"

"Ah! The Grey Wardens!" Wade rushed out of the back. "My favorite customers!"

"I just came to return this," Alistair said, a little awkwardly in the face of the man's enthusiasm. He offered the helm. "Not a scratch, as promised."

"Aigh!" Wade yelped. "Put that away before someone things I actually made that dull monstrosity."

"Wade...," Herren complained tiredly. "We sell all types of armor."

"You sell all types of armor. I sell masterpieces!"

Herren gave up on that and turned to Alistair. "Why are you returning this item?"

"I, uh, well, I was just borrowing it."

"'Borrowing'?" The man turned with a glare. "Wade!"

"Oh, pish-tosh!" Wade grabbed the helm and went to put it in an obscure place on the back shelves. "It was for a good cause!"

"'Renting,'" Herren shot back. "It's called 'renting,' and that means they pay for it." He turned back to Alistair. "I'm sure you recall I told you my partner is in no way or wise in charge of setting prices."

"Uh... well..." Alistair looked unsure.

Bannon stepped in. "Look, my friend already had a verbal contract, and the helm is in resalable condition. In the meantime," he cut off Herren's argument, "I need to have my armor repaired."

Wade shot over to him. "My baby!" He tugged the dragonscale leathers out to assess the bloodstained rents. "Aigh! What have you done to it?"

"It wasn't me, it was the other guy."

"Armor of this calibre should never be treated in such a heinous manner!"

Herren said, "Now, Wade. It's armor. It's meant to be worn in battle."

Wade drew up to his full height and glared down at the elf. "This, ser, shall cost you!" He turned on one heel and marched into his workshop.

Bannon blinked in surprise and looked over at Herren. The laconic businessman's neutral expression may have twitched towards a smile.

==#==

They left Sten and Shale at the armorer's, to get the former measured for a custom helmet. Next stop was the Alienage. Bannon wanted to check on his family, see about paying them that visit he'd promised.

No sooner had they walked in the gates and crossed the bridge than they were met by those three beggars. And more of their friends. Alistair was concerned that they'd have to take a firm hand and tell them to shove off. And risk a confrontation that could get ugly. Yet all Bannon did was smile and hail them as long lost comrades-in-arms at Ostagar.

"Hello, my friend!"

"Good to see you, ser!'

"And how's your family doing?"

"Oh, much better, ser. Thanks to your generosity. Thank you, ser! Andraste's Blessings!" The two silvers Bannon gave him disappeared into a dark pocket, never to see the light of day again. "And this is my cousin. He was at Ostagar, too."

A new beggar shuffled forward eagerly, hands cupped. Bannon grinned and said, "Oh my, don't tell me, I can see - the darkspawn et half his face!"

The beggars stopped a moment, frowning. Bannon turned to 'half-foot' with a broad wink. Half-foot burst out in a long guffaw. The other elf looked about to punch Bannon in the face, until two silver coins landed in his hands. Then he was all bright eyes and cheery smile. "Ha ha! Good one, ser!"

The beggars laughed and smiled and blesed Bannon, almost all the way down the bridge. Then, after alms had been given and the Grey Wardens passed, the elves scattered to spend their new fortune, or hoard it, or whatever they did with it.

Alistair frowned at himself. They were elves, just like Bannon. Poor folk of the Alienage. Who was he to judge? Wasn't he planning to send a whole purse of gold to his sister? Didn't he want to see his family prosper and be happy? Bannon had said as much about it before.

Yet... people shouldn't take advantage. "You know," he ventured, "There were like twice as many beggars there as last time."

"I know."

"I don't think they were all at Ostagar?"

Bannon just chuckled. "Come on, Alistair. How stupid do you think I am?"

"Well, you're not. Just... They're taking advantage."

The elf nodded.

"Shouldn't you... I don't know, encourage them less? A little? Maybe?"

"Look, good will is hard to come by. And it ain't cheap."

"Bu-u-ut..."

"Someday, we might be glad to have friends like that."

Alistair closed his mouth in a frown. He didn't see how 'friends like that' were much of 'friends' at all, but... Bannon had made up his mind, it seemed.

They found Shianni in the square beneath the giant tree, and Bannon asked her if it was all right for him to bring guests to dinner.

"That elf fellow that was with you?" she asked.

"Zev, yes. And Alistair and Wynne, if that wouldn't be too much trouble."

Shianni tilted her head, brow furrowed in puzzlement. "Why would shems - sorry, I mean humans," she corrected, looking guiltily at Alistair, "want to come here for dinner?"

"Alistair is my friend and fellow Grey Warden," Bannon told her. "I would like him to meet my family."

"I'd really enjoy that," the knight added. "And some good home cooking."

Bannon added, "And Wynne is a good friend as well. you'll like her; she's very easy to talk to. she's a healer."

"I don't need a healer." She narrowed her eyes at him.

"No," he said guilelessly, "but you like to talk. a lot."

With that, she laughed and agreed they could come tonight. She started planning a goose, and Bannon offered her money.

"We don't need charity," Shianni said stubbornly. "Honestly cousin, Soris is right. The outside world has changed you."

"It's not that," said Bannon. "Just... I have been successful out there, and I want my family to be happy."

"Well that's sweet, but you can't pay for your own dinner. You're the guest, after all!"

"All right, all right," he said, smiling. "But at least let us bring the drinks."

==#==

Alistair was elated to be invited to a real family dinner - a family who loved each other very much. He tried not to smile like a fool.

They were turning to head back to Eamon's estate, when a pale figure caught Alistair's eye. For a moment, it looked uncannily like Duncan, in bleached breastplate and skirting. But no, he was too light of skin and too grey of hair. "Who is... Is that a Templar?"

Bannon and Shianni turned to look. "That's Greyson," she said. "We don't know what he's doing here. He hasn't tried to take away any children."

Templars weren't kidnappers. They followed reports of children with magical talent, to bring them to the Circle Tower, where they could be protected, and trained to control their powers so they didn't accidentally hurt anyone. Or become possessed by a demon, like Connor had. However, common folk had a different view of such practices.

"Maybe you can talk to him," Shianni said.

"Sure," Bannon replied. "We'll see you tonight."

"Good day, Miss Shianni," Alistair said with a little bow. He was glad he could make her smile and bring some colour to her cheeks. She seemed so uncomfortable around him, and he knew why, but he wasn't like those other... shems.

Alistair and Bannon crossed to the Templar, who seemed to ignore their approach. He looked a bit old for a Templar. "Careful," Alistair muttered to his companion, "he might be lyrium-addled."

"Greetings, Wardens," the Templar said.

Now Alistair could see why he appeared old. He was blind. "How did you know?"

"You're quite the talk of the town, so to speak. And no, I'm not lyrium-addled."

"Er, uh, sorry."

Bannon said, "Ser Grayson, is it? Do you mind if we ask what you're doing here? Can we help you?"

"It's a good a name as any," the man answered. "And yes, you can help me. There's been a rash of dead dogs lately."

"Dogs?" Bannon blinked and looked at Alistair.

"I would like a survey done on where they occur, and what signs are on the carcasses."

"You think there's some disease?" Alistair asked.

"That's what the investigation will determine."

Alistair looked at Bannon, who was frowning in thought. "Is there a reward?" the elf asked. Alistair rolled his eyes. Really?

"Yes, I have means."

"All right, we'll look into it."

Bannon dragged Alistair off. Out of earshot (he hoped) the former Templar said, "What do you mean, 'is there a reward?'? Isn't this important to your community?"

"If it's anything."

"Well... yeah. You don't think it is?"

Bannon shrugged. "We don't know, until the investigation is done, do we?"

"And when are we going to have time to do that?"

"We're not." The thief grinned cannily, and left Alistair to wonder what that meant.

They turned a corner, and Alistair suppressed a groan. There were twice - no, three times - as many beggars lying in wait for handouts.

"Hello, friends!" Bannon said with unabashed friendliness. "I'm so glad to see you all here, so ready and eager to help."

"Hello, Warden," several chorused. Some had caught on to the 'help' bit.

"There's been a spate of dead dogs around the Alienage - maybe you've heard about it? Or seen some?"

The elves looked at each other, confused. "There was one down on Way street."

"Good eye!" Bannon called. "Now we don't want any diseases spread by these carcasses, or worse, a plague of mad dogs. So I need you all to sweep the back alleys and find out what's going on, and report back to the Templar Grayson."

"Uh...," said Half-Foot. "But... ser? What about, well, um..."

"Templar Grayson will have rewards for anyone with information." Bannon clapped his hands briskly. "Come, come! There's still daylight lift."

The beggars grumbled, quietly, but began shuffling off. A few of the younger ones trotted away, perhaps eager for a reward.

The Wardens crossed the bridge, Alistair shaking his head.

"I told you," Bannon said.

"I know."

"You should have known better."

"Yep, I should have."

==#==

Zevran met them at Eamon's estate. "Your friend Riordan is awake. He had some interesting news about joining your Order."

Alistair said, "He's up and about?"

"Not so much," Zevran brushed the question off.

Bannon interrupted. "Alistair, you got on and talk to him." As for himself, he dragged the assassin to a quieter side hall. "What has he been telling you about the Joining?"

"He says that among his things, he has a kit to perform the ritual," Zevran said, eyes alight. "Howe stashed it somewhere. We need to infiltrate the Denerim estate, and you, my friend, will put your very impressive talents to use to steal it. Then, I can join-"

"Wait, wait, whoa. I told you, you're not Joining."

"You said you and Alistair did not have the means. Riordan does."

"No, I said it could kill you-"

"Bah!"

"Zevran!" he snapped, teeth slightly bared. "You are never joining the Grey Wardens. It's a death sentence, and I won't - I can't lose you." He bit down on his traitorous tongue.

The Antivan blinked and looked... confused. Then thoughtful. Bannon turned away, unwilling to face him, fearing the confession would finally drive Zevran off. Had he gone too far, revealed too much?

"What about the Crows?" was all the assassin said. "They are still hunting me. Us."

"You're worried about the Crows?" Bannon turned back. "We can take the Crows. You don't need to be a Warden to be able to handle them."

Zevran shook his lowered head. "I have to believe there was some advantage you had, some mysterious power that let you survive that ambush."

Bannon cocked his head in thought. "I guess the secret is to skip the extra mercenaries and go straight for the Crow. Take out the head of the snake."

Zevran nodded. "You really are a master tactician."

Bannon chuckled. "I just got lucky." He let the double entendre hang in the air a moment. Then he shrugged it off. "So anyway, tonight, we're having dinner at my dad's."

"With your red-headed cousin? Bene!"

"Just keep your 'benny' in your pants."

==#==

Bannon trotted to catch up with Alistair in Riordan's room. Well, there wasn't enough room for him to have a private room; he was bunked with Sten and Oghren. Bannon was surprised to find the door locked. He rapped on it tentatively.

Alistair opened it. "Oh good, there you are." The elf entered and Alistair secured the door again.

Riordan paced by the window, slowly. He was still a bit pale, his eyes yet showing creases of pain But he was a Warden. Half a steer and a week of sleep should set him right.

"Zevran said something about your kit?" Bannon started without preamble. "You can induct more Grey Wardens?"

"A few. Perhaps." Riordan sat at the side table, facing them. "It depends on what that bastard Howe did with my things, where they are." He held out his hands in a helpless shrug.

"They could be in the Denerim Estate," Alistair added. "Or sent off to Fort Dracon's vault."

"Howe did not seem to know what it was. And believe me, I was not about to explain it to him, no matter how... insistent he became." His mouth twisted in a wry grimace. "I did not yet thank you for killing him, mon amie." He nodded to Bannon.

"That was mostly Zevran," the elf told him. "He is not to be Joined," headed in a strident tone, just in case the fool assassin tried to go behind his back.

"Non? He seems quite capable."

"No." Bannon fixed Riordan with his gaze. The human had to respect Bannon's authority in this. Or else... it would not be good.

Riordan just tipped his head in acceptance. "You are the leader of the Grey Wardens, mon amie."

Bannon blinked. "You don't-?" He looked at Alistair.

The knight shrugged. "You do sort of have seniority," he told the Orlesian.

The man waved that off. "I am too old. Too weak. I will save my strength for the final battle."

"You're not old," Alistair said. "You're not that much older than Duncan... was."

"There is so much you still do not know about the Wardens," Riordan said, shaking his head sadly.

"Well, now is a good time to tell us," Bannon prodded.

Riordan looked up at them, studying one, then the other, his eyes hooded. "There will be time," is all he said. "Now... I should rest."

Alistair and Bannon left, the latter scowling. Further along the hall he said, "I don't like it. He's hiding something."

"Like what?" Alistair asked. He lowered his voice and checked for nearby servants. "Something worse than the nightmares, not having children, dying young from the Taint?"

"Yeah," Bannon said, but he hated to think what that could be.

==X==