I hope you will all forgive me for leaving you in the lurch for so long. I was initially side-tracked by DA2, then in early April my father was diagnosed as being terminally ill with lung cancer. After a blessedly short illness, he died at the beginning of May. At the moment, I'm grateful for the distraction that writing NNN provides and now have the energy to concentrate on it. As usual, I need to thank my beta, WellspringCD, for her help in making each chapter readable. I would also like to thank lisakodysam, Shakespira and mille libre for their support through what has been a very difficult time.
Fearghal leaned against the sideboard, facing the table, around which Alistair and others sat, having just finished their breakfast.
"Thamar tells me that the Assembly will already be in session. Apparently, since King Endrin died, it's met every day, trying to resolve the succession. Alistair, you and I will attend the Assembly; I think full plate will be in order, 'dress to impress' as Fergus used to say. Leliana and Zevran, I want you two to explore Orzammar; keep your ears open and see what you can find out about the two candidates. One is Prince Bhelen, the late king's son, the other is a Lord Pyral Harrowmont, former adviser to the king. Wynne and Morrigan, I want you to go to the Shaperate; I'm told it's where all the records are. Find out what you can about the candidates, and anything you could find out about dwarven customs would be useful, too; it's only a matter of time before I put my foot in it."
Fearghal grinned at them all, then left to go and get into his armour. He was pulling his armour and padding out of his pack when Alistair came in.
Alistair started to move towards his own pack, then stopped. "Does the king's son not automatically inherit the throne in Orzammar?"
"Obviously not," said Fearghal, grinning. He looked thoughtfully at Alistair. "You know, it's not so different in Ferelden. I mean, in practice, that's what happens but there has to be a Landsmeet to approve the succession. From what I remember my father telling me when King Maric died, it's a formality but, in theory, an alternative candidate could be proposed."
Fearghal started to pull on his padding. "I know Father was anxious before that Landsmeet; there was a faction that thought Cailan too young and inexperienced to rule, they wanted to put Father forward as an alternative candidate. He wasn't interested, though; he didn't have that kind of ambition and was content to see Cailan take the throne."
"He thought Cailan would be a good king?"
"In time, yes. Besides, Cailan was betrothed to Anora and he would have Loghain and Eamon to advise him." Fearghal smiled ruefully. "Funny how things turn out, eh? Anyway, it's worth keeping in mind, all we have to do is to find a candidate that would be acceptable to the Landsmeet."
Alistair merely grunted, buckling his armour on.
~o~O~o~
Feraghal and Alistair found the Assembly easily enough; it was housed in an impressive looking building at the far end of the main thoroughfare in the Diamond Quarter. The guards at the great doors of the Assembly Chamber seemed to know who they were, and pulled one of the doors open, waving them through with a gesture to stay quiet.
They found themselves in a huge chamber with a vaulted ceiling. From the doorway, tiers of seating dropped down, encircling a wide, paved space at the bottom. The chamber was full to bursting and both factions were yelling loudly at each other about trade contracts. A lone figure stood down on the floor; he seemed to be attempting to bring order to the furious debate that raged around him. The lone dwarf on the floor rapped his large staff on the floor; the sound echoed off the walls as the metal heel of the staff struck the stone floor hard enough to produce sparks.
As the noise abated, the dwarf glared about him at the hotheads seated in the tiers. "Deshyrs, lords and ladies of the Assembly; I've already doubled the guard to prevent violence. Must I summon more?" he demanded to the accompaniment of embarrassed murmuring and shuffling. For a moment, Fearghal believed the dwarf had succeeded in bringing some kind of order to the proceedings until another dwarf leaped from his seat, bristling with indignation.
"Steward Bandelor, Bhelen's sympathisers are tying our hands with trivialities! They may as well open us to the sky!"
"I suggest we put the matter to a vote," offered a richly-dressed noblewoman, rising to her feet.
"And I suggest you have a taste of my family's mace...!" was the enraged response of a third dwarf, who brandished his weapon recklessly, causing those nearby to shrink away from him.
"ENOUGH!" roared the steward, striking his staff against the floor so hard that it broke, just above the metal heel. "The assembly is in recess until the members can regain control of their emotions!"
Fearghal and Alistair flattened themselves against the walls, drawing curious looks, as a stream of irate dwarves jostled and shoved their way out of the chamber, although they were ignored by some who were too busy throwing murderous looks at others. As the chamber emptied, the steward climbed the stairs, muttering, "Stone-forsaken fools, that's the third sodding staff I've broken this week... " He stopped abruptly, as he noticed them.
"I'm sorry. This is the Assembly of the Clans. Only deshyrs and occasional guests of state are allowed in." The steward eyed them coldly.
"We are Grey Wardens, ser. I am Fearghal and this is Alistair."
The Steward rubbed his face tiredly and his expression softened. "Forgive me, I am so exhausted. I completely forgot about the message from the gate guard. I am Bandelor, Steward to the Assembly of the Clans." He gestured to them to follow as he walked through the doors. "Welcome to Orzammar, Wardens. I hope you can forgive our unrest. The loss of our king has hit us hard. Respect for your Order is great, but I'm afraid you won't receive a proper hearing until we have a king on the throne."
"A Blight is coming, Steward," said Fearghal.
"That is troubling, but it will seem distant compared to the empty throne. The assembly is blind to all else." The steward's voice was regretful, but resigned.
"Does this city not care the world is about to end?" Fearghal strove to keep his tone civil, but didn't quite manage to keep the anger from his voice.
The steward didn't seem offended, however; he smiled sadly at them. "This is their world, and it ended when Endrin died."
"I understand, I'm sorry." Fearghal took a deep breath to calm himself. "Is there anyone who has the authority to aid us?"
"I must admit, Warden, I'm at a loss myself. It lies with Prince Bhelen or Lord Harrowmont, and they are slow to trust anyone in these uncertain times."
"Very well. Thank you for your time, Steward." Fearghal and Alistair bowed and made their way out of the Assembly's ante-chamber.
"Maker's cock! Why does it have to be so complicated?" growled Fearghal.
"I suppose we should try and see Bhelen and Harrowmont?"
"I suppose so, although I have a nasty feeling that they're going to say they can do nothing until the succession is secured. We passed the Royal Palace on the way here. Let's go and see if we can arrange an audience with Prince Bhelen, then we can find out where Lord Harrowmont is and see if we can meet with him too."
They were waylaid by a swarthy, shifty-looking dwarf before they had even left the Assembly building. He introduced himself as Vartag Gavorn, 'top' advisor to Prince Bhelen, and seemed keen for news. Fearghal hid a smile, relieved that someone was showing an interest in why they were in Orzammar. He explained briefly about the Blight and the treaty that obliged the dwarves to provide aid. Vartag was quick to point out that the treaty was with the king, something that Orzammar was lacking.
Fearghal felt his eyes start to glaze over as the dwarf droned on about how sympathetic Bhelen was to their plight, which led to speculation about whether the Blight was indeed a Blight. Fearghal interrupted when Vartag paused to draw breath.
"How can we convince you to help?" he demanded.
Vartag looked startled at Fearghal's directness, then thoughtful. "There might be a way, if you demonstrate to Bhelen that you owe Harrowmont no fealty?"
It was Fearghal's turned to be surprised. We've only been here one sodding night! How does he think we've come to some sort of agreement with Harrowmont?
Vartag Gavorn launched into a diatribe against Lord Harrowmont, then Fearghal ears pricked up.
"... but, if a neutral party, a stranger, were to approach certain key members, perhaps with irrefutable evidence of Harrowmont's deception... I'm certain my lord prince would show his gratitude."
"Wait, isn't there someone you can report him to? After all, if, as you say, the evidence is irrefutable... "
"Normally, the Shapers would handle this sort of accusation, but the most important among them, the Shaper of Memories, is related to Harrowmont; his grandfather was Lord Harrowmont's aunt's first cousin."
"I see. Well, as a neutral party, I shall have to consider you request very carefully. If I agree to help you, the Grey Wardens will no longer be neutral and that is not something to be given up lightly."
"I understand, Warden. However, I should make it clear that if you want Prince Bhelen's help, you'll have to show where your loyalties lie."
"I'll bear that in mind, ser. Good day." Fearghal nodded at the dwarf, then strode past him towards the door.
"Well, I suppose that's saved us a trip to the palace," said Alistair as they descended the steps.
Fearghal couldn't help smiling. "True. Ordeal by Royal Flunky will have to wait for another day. Harrowmont next. Let's hope he's more approachable than Bhelen."
The words were barely out of his mouth when they were hailed by a red-haired dwarf with the biggest nose Fearghal had ever seen.
"I had heard there were Grey Wardens here. My name is Dulin Forender, second to Lord Harrowmont, King Endrin's own choice as successor. Word is spreading of a Blight on the surface. It is shameful we are not in a better position to help."
Fearghal felt a surge of hope at the dwarf's words. Maybe, at last, here was someone he could deal with. "I would speak with Lord Harrowmont."
"In ordinary times, Lord Harrowmont would be honoured to meet you," replied Dulin.
Fearghal braced himself, sensing a 'but' coming.
"Unfortunately, we've already caught more than one of Bhelen's spies approaching Harrowmont under the pretence of friendship, so, I'm afraid I won't be able to take your word. If you want to speak to Harrowmont, you will need to prove he can trust you."
Fearghal wanted to scream in frustration. "Maker's breath, stop playing games! The treaty compels you to help!"
"You're asking the King of Orzammar to send armies to the surface, but Orzammar has no king and we have no army." Dulin allowed his own frustration to surface. "Right now, the men who should be fighting darkspawn are fighting in the street. If this situation isn't resolved, we face civil war! If you want Harrowmont's time now, you'll have to prove you have no intention of turning against him later."
"And what would constitute proof?" asked Fearghal.
"Bhelen is hosting a Proving in two days, supposedly to honour his father's memory. The deshyrs take it very seriously. Unfortunately, Bhelen has found a way to blackmail or intimidate House Harrowmont's best fighters into stepping down. If you were to enter the Proving as Lord Harrowmont's champion, it would prove your loyalty beyond a doubt."
"I'll consider it. I've just explained to Bhelen's man that Grey Wardens are supposed to be neutral and not interfere in politics." Fearghal tried to keep from clenching his jaw.
"Well, don't take too long about it, warden. The Proving is in two days and... "
"I know, but if I'm to be forced to choose a side, I'm not going to rush into my decision! Good day, ser."
Fearghal and Alistair returned to the compound.
"Ugh, let's get out of this plate," groaned Fearghal, rolling his shoulders and heading to their room. He tugged at buckles, scowling. "That was a waste of time! We're no further forward than when we arrived. Worse, it looks like we're going to have to back a candidate and backing the wrong one could be disastrous. So much for being neutral." He shrugged out of the padded tunic, then started to remove the leggings, pulling them down over his hips and sitting on the bench to pull them off; he kicked them away, bad-temperedly.
"So what now? I don't think it's even midday. Maybe we should go and look around Orzammar, see if we can find Leliana and Zevran?" said Alistair.
Fearghal grunted. "I'd probably thump the first dwarf who so much as looked at me funny." He rose from the bench and started to prowl, restlessly. "I wonder if we can enter the Proving in our own right?"
"Hmmm, maybe causing a diplomatic incident isn't such a good idea," said Alistair, grinning.
Fearghal grinned at him. "Indeed. It's just so... " He growled in frustration.
"Why don't we use that steam room? I found it very relaxing yesterday. Well, before... you know..." Alistair grinned sheepishly, blushing.
"Before you seduced me?" Fearghal laughed at the look of shock on Alistair's face and felt some of his tension ease.
"I promise, I shall let you enjoy it, unmolested," promised Alistair, grinning. "It really is amazing. It feels like the heat gets right into your bones and all the tension just melts away."
"I'll go and ask Thamar if it's all right to use it and grab some towels on the way back."
Thamar assured him that the steam room would be ready to use in ten minutes, so Fearghal grabbed some fresh towels from one of the bathrooms and went back to Alistair. He found Alistair lying on the bed, hands behind his head. He looked so tempting that Fearghal was ready to give the steam room a miss. There are other ways to unwind, after all. Alistair looked up and saw the towels; grinning, he got up off the bed and pulled his shirt off. Fearghal realised he was staring when he saw Alistair blush and hastily started removing his own clothes. When he reached for his own towel, Alistair was already waiting by the door, a towel wrapped around his hips.
~o~O~o~
Alistair watched Fearghal through half-closed eyes, feeling relaxed and drowsy in the damp heat of the steam room. Fearghal had stretched himself out on one of the benches and Alistair wasn't sure if he'd fallen asleep. On the rare occasion when Alistair had watched Fearghal relaxed and sleeping, he was always struck afresh at how young he looked in those unguarded moments. Alistair realised that he didn't know how old Fearghal actually was, but surely he wasn't that much older than Alistair's own twenty years.
He allowed his eyes to roam over the almost naked form of his fellow-warden and felt a flicker of desire. When Alistair had undressed he'd become aware of Fearghal watching him, not bothering to hide his interest. Alistair had felt flustered and embarrassed, unused to being so openly ogled. He'd panicked and wrapped the towel around his hips, hovering nervously by the door of Fearghal's room. Not just Fearghal's room... our room. Watching Fearghal dozing on the bench, Alistair was bitterly regretting his lack of confidence. Alistair felt himself grow hard as he imagined exploring Fearghal's muscular body with his hands, with his mouth.
"You look like Bane." Fearghal's head had turned and he was looking at Alistair, grinning slightly.
"I look like your dog?" Alistair was startled at the comparison.
"Mmhm. He looks just like that when there's a tasty bone just out of reach."
"Oh... I... " Alistair cursed inwardly, feeling the heat in his face. He felt foolish. Was he so obvious?
"I'm not complaining." Fearghal smiled, his eyes wandering over Alistair. "You look good enough to eat, yourself. Except I feel like I've melted into the bench; I'm not sure I'll ever get up off it."
Alistair didn't know what to say to that. He desperately wanted to cross the room; it was only a few feet, but it might as well have been miles. He didn't understand why he felt so paralysed.
"Alistair, please don't make me come over there." Fearghal had turned on to his side and was watching Alistair through half-closed eyes, his head propped on his hand.
Swallowing nervously, Alistair pushed himself up from the bench and, in a few swift steps, crossed the room. He saw Fearghal's eyes drop to his groin, darkening slightly at the sight of his erection straining against the thin cloth of the towel. As Alistair crouched down on one knee, Fearghal rolled onto his back, the hand that had been propping his head up rising to brush against Alistair's face.
Alistair felt his eyes close and he raised his own hand to capture Fearghal's, turning his face to kiss the palm. He felt almost as if he was in a dream, as his tongue darted between the thick, strong fingers. He was rewarded with a hum of pleasure as his tongue explored the hand he held, running over tough calluses one moment, soft skin the next. Alistair's mouth wandered over Fearghal's hand, then wrist, kissing and sucking as his other hand began its own exploration of Fearghal's body. Was it possible to be drunk on sensation? Alistair was beginning to suspect it was. He nuzzled against Fearghal's chest, inhaling the faint musky scent, aware of soft fuzz against his face. He felt a harder nub against his mouth and his teeth grazed over a nipple.
His eyes still closed, Alistair was acutely aware of Fearghal's response. He felt the deep moan reverberate through Fearghal's chest, as much as heard it; he could feel the tension in the muscles under his hands, feel the shiver ripple through them. His mouth lingered, tongue swirling around the hard nub, then when he felt Fearghal press upwards, heard him whimper, he closed his mouth around the swollen flesh and sucked hard until Fearghal gasped.
Alistair's hand wandered lazily down Fearghal's body, following the trail of hair under his fingers until it met the towel. Down over the rough fabric, quite different under his hand, until his hand cupped the hard mound beneath it. Alistair felt the vibration of Fearghal's groan through his mouth, still suckling at the nipple. Impatient now, Alistair tugged at the towel, trailing his fingers through the coarse curls. His senses were so heightened, he could smell Fearghal's arousal. He released the nipple from his mouth, licking his lips, then his mouth followed his hand, rushing to catch up.
Alistair buried his face in Fearghal's groin, breathing in the heady masculine scent of musk, arousal, sex. Aching with desire, Alistair was torn between succumbing and drawing the experience out. He slipped a hand between Fearghal's thighs, stroking higher and higher, feeling Fearghal thrust against him. He cupped Fearghal's buttock, pulling him even closer.
"P-please, Alistair. You're killing me!" Fearghal's voice was hoarse, the words choked, as if dragged out.
Alistair felt a flare of triumph and opened his mouth, sucking on the hard flesh that was pressed against it. He felt it leap and twitch against his face and his own erection throbbed in response. He explored every inch of Fearghal and when he took the head into his mouth he wasn't sure whose groan was the loudest. He lapped at the liquid pooling there, dipping his tongue into the small slit, then lowered his mouth over the quivering flesh. His hand meandered over taut buttocks, trembling with tension. He felt Fearghal shift and a heavy leg draped over his shoulder. Alistair opened his eyes and looked up. Fearghal was gazing down at him, his eyes dark, his lips parted as he gulped in harsh, jerky breaths.
Alistair's fingers brushed over the creased ring of muscle between Fearghal's buttocks and Fearghal arched, thrusting deep into Alistair's throat as his head fell back. Taking this as encouragement, Alistair let his fingers drift backwards and forwards over the puckered flesh, revelling in the ecstatic groans that poured from Fearghal.
"Up on the shelf... there's oil, I think."
It took Alistair moment to process the words, so intent was he on what Fearghal's body was telling him; he felt like he'd reached a place beyond language. He lifted his head reluctantly from Fearghal's cock.
"Oil? What for?" Alistair looked up at Fearghal, puzzled. Fearghal was flushed and breathing heavily.
"For your fingers. And... " Fearghal's eyes dropped to Alistair's groin, where his erection made a tent of the towel still wrapped around his hips.
Alistair felt his heart hammering against his chest, a flutter of panic rising in him. Oh, Maker! He wants me to... And Alistair wanted to, but...
"I-I've never... I don't know what to do."
"I know. Oil... on the shelf."
Alistair reluctantly disentangled himself from Fearghal and stood up, his eyes searching the shelf. There were several bottles and jars of assorted unguents and oils. He plucked down a bottle of golden oil and pulled the stopper out, sniffing at the contents.
"On your fingers... coat your fingers with it." Fearghal sounded hoarse and breathless.
Alistair crouched down by Fearghal again and poured some of the oil into his palm, then set the bottle down and spread the oil over his fingers with his other hand.
"Are... are you sure about this? I'm frightened I'll do something wrong... h-hurt you." Alistair felt his ardour rapidly cooling in the face of his nervousness.
Fearghal's hand snaked up, pulling Alistair towards him in a bruising kiss. "If you don't nail me to this bench, I'll never forgive you," Fearghal growled as he released him.
The want in Fearghal's voice re-ignited Alistair's desire. He returned his hand to the cleft between Fearghal's buttocks and he trailed kisses down the thick throat presented to him as Fearghal's head rolled back.
"One finger at a time."
Alistair felt almost as if he heard the words through his mouth. After a moment's hesitation he inserted a finger, feeling the muscle tighten around it momentarily, then relax.
"Move it... more..." gasped Fearghal, thrusting against him.
Alistair felt his breath catch at the note of desperation in Fearghal's voice and eagerly complied. He was rewarded with a shuddering groan. He took a moment to register the silky heat wrapped around his fingers, then realised that Fearghal was murmuring something.
"Forwards.. hook your fingers forwards."
Alistair did, feeling something slightly rougher against his fingers. The effect on Fearghal was instant and immensely gratifying; he arched off the bench, moaning, grinding down on Alistair's fingers. Alistair shuddered, imaging for a moment what it would be like to be buried in Fearghal.
Alistair found himself pulled into a hungry kiss that made his head swim. Unthinkingly, he pushed another finger inside Fearghal, confident now that he wasn't hurting his lover. My lover... my love... The words swirled around in Alistair's mind, making him growl with need.
"F-Fearghal... I want to... I want you." Alistair barely knew how to express what he wanted.
He felt Fearghal shift, then the bottle of oil was in Fearghal's hand and he was tearing away the towel from Alistair's hips. Alistair bucked as Fearghal's hand, slick with oil, grasped his cock, stroking it.
"Um... I'm not sure of the best way to do this," admitted Alistair, withdrawing his fingers from the grasping heat of Fearghal's body.
"Astride the bench," rasped Fearghal.
Alistair rose and sat astride the bench, shuffling closer, until Fearghal's legs wrapped around his waist, pulling him even closer. He shivered with anticipation as the head of his cock bumped against Fearghal's backside.
Biting his lip, frowning in concentration, he reached down and lined himself up, then pushed. He hesitated, feeling the resistance.
"Keep going. If you stop now, I'll kill you." Fearghal's legs tightened around his waist.
Alistair closed his eyes and pushed, hearing himself groan as he felt resistance give way to soft, enveloping heat. He shuddered, trying to shut out the indescribable sensation washing over him. It was almost too much. If he moved, he'd come. After a few moments he felt calmer and opened his eyes to see Fearghal staring up at him, a look of pure bliss on his face. He wondered if his own eyes looked as dark.
Alistair leaned fowards, bracing his hands on the bench, at each side of Fearghal's neck, then kissed him. The gentle kiss soon became fiercer as Alistair's instincts took over and he rolled his hips tentatively. Fearghal groaned and thrust back at him. Trembling to restrain himself, Alistair pulled back and looked down. The sight of his cock buried in Fearghal undid him. Growling, he thrust hard into the body below him. Fearghal bucked beneath him as Alistair felt that rough patch brush over his cock. He adjusted the angle of his hips slightly and thrust again. Fearghal's back arched and his legs gripped Alistair tighter.
Alistair felt something feral and possessive take hold of him as he saw Fearghal grasp his own cock and start pumping. Almost snarling, Alistair braced himself on one hand and with the other, swatted Fearghal's hand away. Alistair's hand was still slick with oil and slid easily over Fearghal's cock in time to the rhythm of his hips as they snapped back and forth, driving into Fearghal again and again. Alistair could hear groaning, but couldn't tell if it was him or Fearghal, then he felt Fearghal pulse in his hand and milky fluid spurted from between his fingers across Fearghal's belly.
Alistair felt Fearghal's whole body shudder and tighten around him and felt the last remnants of his self-control fray out of existence as he pounded into Fearghal, spending himself deep inside of him, groaning, then collapsed on his chest, panting. Strong arms enfolded him and he felt the bristles of Fearghal's beard, then the soft press of lips against his forehead. Smiling into Fearghal's shoulder, Alistair realised that nothing had ever felt so right.
Alistair felt Fearghal shift under him, grunting slightly, and realised he must be getting uncomfortable. Alistair braced his hands against the bench and pushed himself up. He couldn't help smiling at the disappointed noise from Fearghal, who rapidly followed him. He suddenly felt shy, unsure what to do. He watched as strong fingers reached out and stroked down his belly, brushing through the sticky seed drying there.
"I think we need a bath. Those big stone tubs look big enough for two. That's if I can trust you not to molest me; it seems that every time I come in here, you jump me." There was a hint of laughter in Fearghal's voice.
"I did not jump you! Well, not this time, anyway." Alistair knew he was grinning like a fool, but couldn't help it.
Alistair got up from the bench and stooped to retrieve their towels, handing one to Fearghal. He fastened his own towel around his waist and was about to turn towards the door, when he was pulled against Fearghal's chest and kissed tenderly. He melted in Fearghal's arms and time seemed to stand still until the door flew open.
"Thamar said you were... Oh, I beg your pardon, Wardens." Zevran didn't sound at all contrite.
Alistair groaned and buried his face against Fearghal's neck. He felt the heat flare in his face. He couldn't bring himself to turn and bear Zevran's brazen scrutiny, and he just knew it would be brazen.
"It would appear that I am destined to ever interrupt you sampling the pleasures of this delightful steam room. Maybe you should just invite me next time, yes?"
Alistair froze. He hoped Zevran was joking, but suspected he wasn't. He felt Fearghal squeeze him gently.
"Did you need something, Zevran, or did you just come to ogle?"
"Well, I just came to let you know that Leliana and I were back. She has been busy shopping and wanted to drop off her purchases. The chance to observe two such beautiful men was a bonus."
"Shopping?"
Alistair could hear the astonishment in Fearghal's voice and, his embarrassment forgotten, he turned to look at Zevran. He immediately regretted it when warm brown eyes swept over his body and Zevran licked his lips. Eventually, Zevran dragged his eyes away from Alistair and looked at Fearghal, shrugging.
"It really is quite illuminating just how much information she can wheedle out of merchants whilst exclaiming over ribbons and gee-gaws. Anyway, I just wanted to let you know we'd called in and see if there was anything else you needed."
Fearghal grunted. "We were just about to take a bath."
"Oh? You need some help with this? Would you like me to scrub your backs?"
Alistair felt his face flush afresh as the elf grinned lasciviously at them.
"I think we can manage, Zev," retorted Fearghal drily.
"Ah, well, back to ribbons and doodads for me."
Alistair almost laughed at Zevran's exaggerated disappointment as he sighed and slipped out of the door.