The awful town with all the murder was apparently nothing on Orzammar. The night after their first set of errands for the hopeful Bhelan, Alim was more agitated than Zevran had ever seen him. They'd claimed a corner of the tavern and the locals, while curious, gave them a fairly wide berth. The party had dwindled down to himself, Alistair, Leliana, and a very miffed Alim.

"I hate this place. I hate these people. I swear I will drown that smarmy little bastard in darkspawn dung the moment he gives me the troops I need."

"Do we need to mutter about treason in a place quite this public?" Alistair asked, clearly thinking he was being quiet and looking a bit taken aback at Alim's ferocity.

"Considering how much we abused him to his face, I don't think the man could really be surprised that we don't like him." Leliana graciously included herself (and all of them) in that we, though it was Alim's mouth that had been running.

"I don't think it's treason when you owe a man no allegiance?" Zevran suggested helpfully. He wasn't sure if it was shared frustration or just familiarity, but they didn't seem to mind his being there. Or it could be alcohol. Even being careful, the dwarven stuff was strong. He was feeling a bit spinny, and Leliana's cheeks were pink. Alistair was big enough to absorb more, it seemed, and Alim was nursing the same ale he'd begun with.

"But everyone seems to think we do, now. I need the army. Couldn't care less about the king, but listen to the way they're talking. Look at the bastards who've jumped us in the street out of loyalty to the other smarmy bastard. And I'm sure it'd be just as bad if we'd picked him to back."

"Would you like me to perhaps assassinate them both?" Zevran whispered. "They could begin over again with someone new and wretched."

"Oh! Yes. Yes, let's do that. How soon can you-" He was cut off by a cuff to the back of his head from Alistair.

"No assassinations." He scowled as best he could. "Besides, I haven't heard anything particularly good about Harrowmont, and Bhelan is planning on helping the Casteless, isn't he? It's something to support the lesser of two evils."

Alim huffed. "Except he wants us to go and root out the only economy they have, by way of arbitrary executions."

"But that place is so horrid. I can see why he thinks something must be done. It must make the alienages look positively homey." Leliana's smile wavered at the silence that followed that. "What?"

Zevran put a hand on her shoulder and looked her in the eye firmly. "No."

"I only meant-"

"No." Alim's forehead made a dull thunk as it hit the table."Hate this place."

"I'm getting another round of drinks," Leliana said, flustered, and hurried away. Alistair looked awkward and opted to stay quiet.

"Seems to think we're pets," Alim muttered into the table.

Zevran nodded. Delightful woman in many ways, but he did have to wince sometimes. "Perhaps you should smack her with a rolled up broadsheet, like you do your pet bear?"

"He ate the last one I had." Alim sat up again rather quickly and downed most of the rest of his ale at a go. It was rather interesting to watch, actually.

"I'm surprised you don't have more of a gag reflex. When have you had time to practice?" Zevran said, and apparently even Alistair got that one, from the horrified look he got. Alright, he was a bit tipsy.

"If you knew what lyrium tastes like, you wouldn't be surprised. And if you try to put honey in it it foams over." He wiped his mouth defiantly, and Zevran snickered harder. "Whole city is claustrophobic."

"You grew up in a tower with barely any windows," Alistair pointed out. "And I think it's you who's claustrophobic. The city is... claustrophobizing?"

"There was still a sky out there. And I didn't hate those people. Most of those people." Leliana returned with a tray and looked surprised when he pulled the nearest mug toward him quickly enough to slosh a bit.

"You ought to be careful with dwarven brews, Alim. What I said earlier was a bit of a joke, yes, but they really are strong."

"Mages drink much stranger things than this. You missed my bit about Lyrium. It was pretty funny, too." He appeared to have forgiven her, and she slid onto the bench beside him. "This place needs a library."

"We were at the library. You made us wait there for an hour," Alistair reminded him.

"No, here, in the bar. There's nothing to do."

It was all Zevran could do not to laugh. Laugh a lot, anyway. "Tell us the truth. Have you ever gone drinking?"

"I don't know where you all got the idea that I've never tasted alcohol. You can do all kinds of things with alchemy and potions. Mulled wine and late night studying is an excellent combination, too."

"I don't mean to question whether you have imbibed." Though Zevran was beginning to notice that the mage doth protest too much. He could just see a bunch of giggly apprentice mages allowed weak wine, convincing each other that they were drunk. "A tavern is a very particular thing, a little world unto itself with its own laws and societies. And you are not supposed to read while you are here."

"Taverns are stupid, then. Orzammar is stupid." He looked around at all of them, seeming to challenge them, and did with the second ale what he had with the first.

"I don't think he concedes to benefit from your wisdom, Zevran." Leliana snickered at him. "I don't see why you shouldn't read in a tavern, but if they kept many tomes about, they'd be spilled on in short order, don't you think?"

This was apparently the logic that could appeal to him. He shrugged and provoked a story about Grey Warden dissipation out of Alistair. For a while, they were calm and comfortable again. Zevran grew a bit quieter, enjoying the view in the golden light and soft haze in his head. They were all three of them rather fetching. Leliana's cool coloring was softened and the disarming gentleness of her pretty face was soothing. Alistair, for all he was pretty clearly a lost cause, was a fetching man. And Alim was special, he'd admitted long ago. He didn't know how, and apparently he might as well flirt with a tree for all the good it did him, but he could watch, and enjoy. He had such a dark complexion, unusual this far south. The clear, rich brown of his skin and the flattering fall of thick, raven hair... Maker's breath, he was delicious.

He was pulled from his reverie by the sudden arrival of another patron, a pretty, solid young lady who wanted surface gossip and apparently had a cousin who traded topside. It was hard to convince her that everyone who lived upstairs didn't know everyone else and none of them had met the woman in question. And then Leliana became convinced she had, in fact, which complicated matters even further and amused their visitor a great deal. The end result was that she thanked them for the fun with another round.

"Oh, this... this one actually tastes good. What is it?"

Leliana took a sip. "Mead. Spicy, too. You haven't had this before, with your sweet tooth?"

Alim had apparently forgotten that he was very worldly and experienced. "No, but I'm having more. One thing. One thing about this place I don't hate. Oh, it's fizzy. I like fizzy."

There was the slightest hint of a concern in the back of Zevran's mind, but he hadn't figured out what it was, yet. "We will have to find you Antivan sparkling wine. It isn't quite as sweet as this, but oh, the bubbles."

"Hmph. Antivan wine is a pale imitation of Orlesian wine." Leliana sniffed.

"By which you mean you charge twice as much and compliment yourselves a great deal, while we simply take time to enjoy the fruits of our vineyards." He looked imperious right back.

"Antivan wine is for children to practice on. No subtle notes, no artistry."

"Only an Orlesian would think enjoying all nature has to offer in the pursuit of intoxication was doing something incorrectly."

"One might as well be drinking grain alcohol and berry juice."

"Because it is so much better to taste nothing at all and compliment oneself for being so sophisticated?"

Alim looked a little blearily up at Alistair. "I haven't had either."

"Me neither. I'm with you, though. This is good. We got a barrel of its once, me and the other recruits, from a merchant who'd had a wheel break and needed the weight gone for an easy price while she got it the rest of the way to town. Even Duncan was pleased about that."

Zevran and Leliana were both too wrapped up in good-natured, faux-nationalist bickering to notice Alistair getting up and bringing more of the stuff until it was on the table. Zevran's concern finally solidified in his mind. "Oh. Oh, dear."

"Hm?" Leliana sipped delicately. "Do you concede?"

"Oh, no, but the honor of Antivan wineries will have to wait. I just had a thought." He lowered his voice, though the other two were chattering so determinedly he didn't think he had much to worry about. "I suspect our friend has no idea whatsoever how to drink."

"I think you're right, though he wouldn't like us to say it." She laughed. "Poor thing. He'll have a terrible morning at this rate."

"For which he has my sympathy. The first case of truly bad wine-head ranks high among personal tragedies." He shook his head. "But if that were all... There is a stage for the doing of foolish things, first, and he is a mage. A mage whose favorite tricks seem mostly to make things explode."

"Ah. I see what you mean. Should we try to find Wynne, do you suppose? Drunk apprentices must be a challenge she's met before."

"I suspect Wynne is quite asleep. It's the middle of the night, for whatever night signifies underground." Zevran frowned. "Perhaps we could have Sten hit him on the head."

"I haven't seen Sten for hours. I think he gave up on us in disgust a long time ago." She shook her head. "And I'm rather glad Morrigan's gone. Her instinct for trouble being what it is."

"I am absolutely a fan of trouble myself, but not the sort that causes cave-ins. Or attracts attention from unfriendly locals when our giant has abandoned us. But I think perhaps it must be done delicately." And he was a bit drunk to be doing anything delicate. When he looked back over, Alim was complaining again, to an increasingly dazed looking Alistair. Also a complication, if the mage had a tendency to be a surly drunk.

"I have decided I agree with you. This city is entirely too closed in. Let us walk out to the surface." Zevran hooked his arm in Alim's quickly. Simple plans were often best.

"Oh. Oh, alright. Sodding city." He shook his head slowly.

"Fresh air could be fun." Alistair stood up. Then he sat down again very quickly. "Oops."

"Oh, dear." Leliana sighed. "One of us should take Alistair up to the room first, I think."

"Perfect. Why don't you do that?"

"Why don't you?"

Fortunately, Leliana was at least as far gone as he was. He suspected that if they were matching wits on a more even field she'd outmaneuver him, but he spent a lot of time drunk that he doubted she had, for at least a few years. He could force his head through the fog. "You are stronger than I am. And more of a height to be that mountain's crutch."

"I... there's not that much difference, Zevran."

"Should you bed him, do remember to tell me how it goes. I'm interested in the details."

"You are a horrible, awful man!"

While she was sputtering he urged Alim up from the table and left an extra coin for the barmaid. He was a greedy hedonist, but he knew what deprivation was like, and was always generous tipping. Quietly. He'd have been sneakier had any of his companions been paying more attention.

Alim was quiet on the way out of the tavern, but once they were in the street he had opinions again. "I wonder why it doesn't bother the others."

"Why what doesn't?" He wasn't especially bothered at the moment, but he had Alim on his arm and his head buzzed delightfully. He was drunk enough that he had to think about each step, but solid enough still to steady Alim. He was too content to be bothered.

"Everything. Needing to deal with scummy politics to get what we need. No sky. Dusttown."

"Ah. Well, that last one was a bit... upsetting."

"It is like the alienage." He shook his head and stumbled, but got himself back upright. "Not better or worse. Just like. Stupid. They're all dwarves."

"I know." He nudged Alim out into the hall of silly statues, quiet at this hour.

"I like dwarves. I mean, the ones I know. That I do like. I don't want to sound like a human. This place, though, the people we've had to deal with."

"You are far too delicate a flower for such intrigues as these?" Interesting that he was so distressed by this and not other things, but Zevran was too fuzzy to follow up on the thought.

"I just hate it here. And I have to die here."

"Bah, so fatalistic all of a sudden? What was in that mead?"

"No, no, not now. Well, maybe now. Who knows? But it's what happens to Grey Wardens. The taint catches up, and they send us to the dark to die."

Zevran stopped without meaning to, leaving them in the shadow of a statue that looked very ominous at the moment, though for all he knew it depicted the paragon responsible for the perfect cake recipe. "What?"

"Oh, that's not what they call it. Dying in battle, taking darkspawn with you, all very noble. The joining, you see. It kills you. Sometimes fast, right when they do the ritual. Sometimes slow, if you don't die then. Still taint, still poison. And when you're not good for anything anymore they put you in the deep roads."

That didn't quite make sense, but Zevran was disquieted anyway. "So when you said the Grey Wardens can all go hang..."

"They don't tell you before, no. I like Alistair. Alistair's good to me, but the rest... I don't care one bit that Duncan's dead. He wanted it kept a secret. So you ought to tell anyone who asks." He pulled Zevran forward, toward the door. "They say it's the only way to kill darkspawn. But you kill darkspawn, and no one made you drink that filthy stuff."

He shouldered clumsily through the door and breathed in deeply. It was a cold night, but they were both too deep in their cups to mind too much when the sky was so brilliant, the stars looking close enough to reach up and come back with a handful of diamonds. Alim looked tired and gaunt in the hard, silver light, eyes a bit damp.

"So you'd rather not be a Grey Warden?" Zevran cast about for something less dismal. "What do you want instead?"

He began to carefully pick his way down the shallow stairs, slippery with years and weather. The merchant encampments were all closed for the night, a bit of a glow from braziers and late campfires creating nothing but an eerie emphasis on the shadows. "A cat."

"You have a dog that must be good for twenty cats. Or a small horse."

"I love him. He can stay. I just still want my cat." He fell, inevitably enough. Fortunately they were close to the ground and he didn't seem damaged as Zevran helped him up. "I always wanted one, but you can't have pets in the tower. And someone would probably turn it into a spider anyway. I thought if I could do very well, I could get a position that would let me leave a lot. At least visit other circles. And then I could have my cat, and see things outside the walls again." He shook his head. "That really was innocent. I didn't really realize until later what they did if you stepped out of line. People who raised you and taught you, willing to turn us tranquil or hand us over to the templars if you did anything they thought might make them look bad."

"You are the most melancholy drunk. Come, let's get clear, and you can enjoy all the stars and open air you need, my little... coldhouse flower." He was trying not to get sucked into Alim's mood. No one would have any fun, then. They were quiet as they picked their way past the market and down into the pass. He found a flat stone and settled Alim on it.

The mage opened a water skin and the air briefly smelled of honeyed intoxication. "Where did you get more of that?"

"The bar. You were there."

"Sneaky little thing." Oh, well, the point had been more to get the cranky drunk mage away from a cave full of dwarves that made him crankier than to get him to stop being drunk. "Come, if you're going to make it worse, try to think of happier things. ...Tell me the story about the dragon."

"You can have some if you want." He held it up to share and Zevran slid onto the ground beside him for a swallow. This was even stronger. Honey and fire. "So it begins with the dragon terrorizing the kingdom, doing... doing dragon things."

He got muddled up several times and the story didn't quite come out making sense, but it did cheer him up. "And I think he may have married the princess, or maybe they were just friends after that, and they turned the queen back into a queen and not a rosebush anymore."

He'd left out why the queen was a rosebush at all, but Zevran didn't mind. "How does it go again? The bit you like."

"Dragon, dragon, how do you do?"

"I come from the king to murder you," Zevran finished, and the significance that had escaped him sober struck him. "Are you my dragon, then?"

"You must be one of the first two sons. You didn't do a very good job." He tried to take another swig but he'd finished the mead. He was starting to wobble even while sitting still.

"I hope we can keep that accursed third son at bay, then. I quite like you with your head attached." He reached up and pulled Alim's scruffier than usual hair back from his face as a precaution.

"What are you doing?"

"You'll thank me in a moment." He tied the mess back with a spare bootlace. That was rather charming. His profile in the moonlight was odd and fey but no less sweet. If he weren't so thick or virtuous or whatever it was, wouldn't this be the perfect moment? To tangle his fingers more enjoyably in that soft hair, be warmed against the night's chill by each other. He even thought, as he tugged the stubby little ponytail to make sure it would stay, that it might work if he tried now. Alim's defenses were lowered. Certainly he wouldn't force the issue, but he might be justified in trying again. "You really are exceptionally lovely in this light."

Alim shot him a look that, though a bit unfocused, seemed to him to be a little more promising than usual. "Come now, surely I haven't been shy in declaring myself wholly and entirely head over heels in lust with you? Let me take your mind off that rotten city under the stone. Favor me with just a kiss and when tomorrow's headache kills me I'll die happy."

"Zevran, you are completely ridiculous."

It was a more direct answer than he'd ever received to his teasing. "Why do you deny yourself the pleasures of the flesh, little flower?"

Alim looked like he might actually answer the question, then covered his mouth and fairly fell off the rock, spinning around. Zevran rolled his eyes and tried not to feel sympathetically dizzy as he amended, "My very drunk, somewhat stupid little flower."

When he was quite done retching on his hands and knees, Alim looked miserable again, but a more honest, sensible kind of miserable than before. "I'm not sure I can get up."

"You see why I put your hair back?"

"Yes, thank you. How'd you know?"

"That a man who's clearly never been drunk before and weighs perhaps seven stone soaking wet would make himself ill by mixing liquors and drinking enough to drown a..." Not cat. "Crow? I must be clairvoyant."

"Where's my staff?"

"Wynne put it under her bed when you said you were coming to the tavern with us." He was apparently not the only one a bit worried about overindulging novice mages.

"Oh. Right. It would help."

"Give me your hand, lush." Zevran hauled him up, leaning against the cliffside himself. "We'll get you to bed."

"I'd rather sleep out here."

It had its appeal, but he shook his head. "Too cold. And the others would think I had spirited you away to do with you as I will. Unless you'd like me to spirit you away? It might be tough to arrange on short notice."

"Too tired." He shook his head and winced.

"Ah, well, one never wants to start out a good spiriting hung over. Then bed it is." To sleep alone, and such a pity that was. Alim wasn't good for much on the way back, though he did lean a bit more heavily on Zevran's arm, and need to be caught twice more. If he held on a moment longer than he ought to have, the Maker would probably forgive him. He was drunk, too.

Orzammar didn't have much accommodation for strangers, and the room was crowded and hot. At least even Leliana was asleep, curled in her bunk. The beds were hard and narrow, stacked three high, and a little short for the humans. Sten hadn't even bothered, joining the dog on the floor as another obstacle to step over. Zevran kindly steered Alim into the only bottom bunk open, where he crawled in with a grunt. He took the one above, only missing a rung on the ladder once or twice, and feeling himself swim with vertigo when he closed his eyes. Not quite bad enough to be worrisome. Almost nice. Floaty. He listened to Alim's breathing and was just conscious enough to chuckle when it turned into unintelligible muttering. Mages had that odd connection to the realm of dreams. Why shouldn't he talk in his sleep? It was cute.

He couldn't make out much of it. Someone named Jowan seemed important, though.