The cool spring breeze soared through the streets of Denerim, rustling the canvass roofs of the market district's many shops. The din of trade and conversation filled the air, accompanied by scents both fragrant and foul.

It would be here where The Warden would hatch his plan to cook Leliana the perfect Orlesian dinner. That is, if everything went according to plan.

The plan was going well so far. All the pieces were in place. He had to shop for the ingredients without drawing attention to what he was doing. No one in their group outside of Alistair, Zevran and Oghren could be tipped off of his intentions, especially not Leliana.

So far, so good. Wynne was shopping in the Wonders of Thedas store, Sten was haggling with a dwarven merchant over some armor, which would take hours, and Leliana was no doubt being kept busy by Oghren's many wonderful stories in the Gnawed Noble Tavern. The dwarf's job was to keep her busy until The Warden had everything he needed. Alistair and Zevran knew their jobs as well.

Even Morrigan had elected to stay at camp, so The Warden wouldn't have to worry about her.

Everything was going just as he had hoped. Now it was time to shop.

"Nicolae, we have a problem," a strained but familiar voice said behind him.

The Warden turned around and didn't know whether to gasp or laugh out loud.

There approached Alistair and Zevran, both carrying a large wooden barrel with a pair of small legs and boots jutting out upside-down from the top.

"I told you using the dwarf as the distraction was a bad idea," Zevran grunted through gritted teeth, his legs shaking under the weight of the barrel.

They heaved the barrel down onto the ground. A muffled, gravelly voice echoed from inside.

"Hey, watch it! That hurt!"

"Oghren?!" The Warden asked, staring at the barrel. "What happened?! You were supposed to be at the tavern!"

"I was!" The dwarf shouted from inside his cylindrical prison. "I was right where you told me to be!"

"Then why in the name of the Maker are you in a barrel?!" The Warden asked, practically yelling.

"Well, obviously, I was homesick for Orzammar. I settled for the next best thing." The dwarf sarcastically quipped. "What does it sodding look like?! I fell in and got stuck!"

"We found him in the tavern like this," Alistair explained. "We thought we would check to see if he needed help with Leliana..."

"But clearly, he needed more help than we thought," Zevran bitterly said, sighing through his nose.

The Warden bent down and checked the side of the barrel.

"It says 'Pickles.' How did you get stuck in a pickle barrel?" he asked.

A great big belch echoed inside the barrel.

"I like pickles. Pickles are good." Oghren said.

Alistair thought quickly. "Don't worry, Nicolae. The plan can still work."

The Warden was on the verge of panicking. He began pacing in front of his friends, back and forth.

"Where's Leliana now?" he asked them.

Zevran coughed awkwardly. "Yes...well...that would be our second and biggest problem."

"She wasn't at the tavern," Alistair sullenly admitted. "We don't know where she is."

The Warden furiously ran a hand through his dark hair, looking down angrily at the barrel.

"You had one job, Oghren," he said.

"On the bright side, now we all get to be surprised. Not just the redhead," came the dwarf's muffled reply.

Zevran facepalmed.

"OK, so we don't know where Leliana is," The Warden said, thinking out loud, trying to improvise. "She could be anywhere."

"But she's not anywhere around here," Alistair pointed out. "You can still gather the supplies while we keep a watch for her."

The Warden stroked his chin, considering his friend's plan.

"It's the best plan we've got on the fly," The Warden admitted. "Very well, I'm going to gather what I need as quickly as possible."

He pointed at the two. "You two keep an eye out for Leliana, and get Oghren out of that barrel. Don't make me regret including you lot in this."

Zevran playfully saluted. "Yes, sir!"

The Warden shook his head and quickly made his way into the market district.

Oghren's little legs kicked in the air uselessly.

"Hello?! Isn't anyone gonna sodding get me out of here?!"

With a sharp schnk!, Zevran's dagger was in his hand.

"I could whittle his legs down until he's thin enough," Zevran offered, smiling deviously.

Now Oghren's legs were kicking in fear. "Blast it, elf, I'm already a dwarf! How much shorter you gonna make me?!"

Alistair held up his hands. "Look, piddling around isn't going to get us anywhere. Let's tip the barrel on its side and try pulling him out."

The warrior and rogue, with a heave and a push, got the barrel on its side. They stood back up.

"OK, now we won't have gravity working against us," Alistair said, dusting his armored hands off. "Now, Zevran, I'm going to grab his legs, and you-"

Alistair never got to finish his sentence. Two delicate but strong arms descended from a high perch and grabbed the backs of both their heads, knocking them together.

After two yelps of pain, the two collapsed to the ground, out cold.

How will the plan go now? To be continued...
-LCB