"Who's a good doggy? Yes, yes, you're a good doggy!" cooed a feminine voice in that only-used-on-animals-and-babies tone.
Alistair winced and opened his eyes, squinted at the firelight and closed them again. Cold stone floor. Weight on chest. Wait, no shirt. No shirt? No pants! Cold stone on back, scratchy, hairy weight... Peek – dog paw. Ew, drool dripped. Definitely dog.
Oh Maker's Breath – the tavern, the party, drinking...
His eyes flew open.
Elissa Cousland crouched by his head, one hand still petting her prized Mabari hound. The hound lay next to Alistair, king of Ferelden, one paw laid possessively on his bare chest. The gnawed looking remains of a blue and gold dress barely hid the muscular warrior's small clothes.
She raised an eyebrow with a faint smile. "As a warrior, I've learned an important thing, my dear. Always send along a backup."