Disclaimer: I don't own Dragon Age or any of its related characters. This is just for my own enjoyment and the potential enjoyment of other fans like me, and no monetary gain was expected or received.
Rating: T
Spoilers: May contain spoilers for Origins, Awakening, Origins DL content, and Dragon Age II as well as the novels The Stolen Throne and The Calling.
A/N: "The Men of Elilia" calendar. I might have to do this, the thought is simply…stunning. This chapter is kind of like a badly-played game of Operation, I kept buzzing the sides with my goony sense of humor. I guess I was in a good mood last night. I certainly was by the time I was done.
Chapter Fifty-Seven: Wine, Women, and Song
"So you see, Cara Mia, when I heard that the Empress of Orlais was causing mischief for the homeland of my beloved Warden, I felt it behooved me to see what sort of mischief I could cause for her. I briefly toyed with the notion of killing her in her bed, a dagger in the heart stuck through a concisely-worded note to the effect that these are the wages one can expect when one plays a game one has no mastery of, but I discarded that idea when it occurred to me that killing Celene would most likely only encourage animosity toward Ferelden. Though Celene was quite adept at killing off her own relatives in order to secure the throne, there is no shortage of Orlesian highborn who would be quite happy and honored to step into her place, and all of them have designs on Ferelden's ports and agriculture, many moreso even than she. So I had to come up with another plan.
"It was easy enough to see which way the wind was blowing in the Empire once the peasant classes began to rise against the Chevaliers. So I sneaked across the Orlais-Nevarra border - no easy task, that, and a story I should be most glad to relate to you sometime, but in private - and, with the help of a sheaf of warrants in my possession naming me a Ferelden ambassador in the service of the great Warden Cousland herself, it was simple enough to insinuate myself into the good graces of His Majesty. Forgery is such a useful skill, my dear, I do suggest you take it up when you have the opportunity. When I told him the rumors of revolution in Orlais were indeed true, he was quite amenable to the suggestion that it would be of tremendous benefit to Nevarra and Ferelden were he to render assistance to the revolutionists. He began sneaking shipments of arms to them at once, and I have no doubt by this time he has managed to get a significant force of men into the country as well. He is a surprisingly resourceful man, considering he labors under the unfortunate disadvantage of not being Antivan."
Zevran paused to make inroads on the great feast laid out before him, and to refresh himself with mead. He was not finished relating his adventures, however.
"I decided to take the shortcut back to Ferelden, overland, in hopes of getting back before the snows began to fall in earnest. I failed spectacularly, but managed to make it through regardless. Crossing the border from Orlais was at the same time easier…and far, far more difficult than crossing into Nevarra had been. Burrowing my way through what must have been, at times, eighty feet of snow was one of the more unpleasant experiences in my life to date."
"You exaggerate, Zevran," Elilia said, with a tolerant smile. "It never snows more than twelve or thirteen feet a year in Ferelden."
"I may have been exaggerating somewhat, mia bella, but the places to which I refer were drifts, and I would be prepared to swear to Beloved Andraste that some were that deep. I tried, at first, to walk upon it, but discovered that I simply could not do so without sinking in up to my tender sweetmeats, and I did not wish for them to freeze off, so I took the only other route that was open to me - or rather, that I could open for myself. I confess, my previous winter spent in this charming land ill-prepared me for what I found here now. There was scarcely any snow at all that year."
"The darkspawn had something to do with that, I think," Elilia said. "As the black clouds built around the places they corrupted, it seemed nothing could penetrate - not snow nor rain nor sunlight. And it was very much colder than usual."
"I will take that as some comfort to the memory of my recent weeks as a snowbound tunnel rat," Zevran said politely. "When I finally reached Denerim I considered myself lucky to be in possession still of most of my most important extremities. I did lose two toes to frostbite, however. The utter lack of cleared paths through the bannorn meant I had to tunnel almost all the way. And then I got lost, and found myself halfway to Gwaren before I realized I was headed in the wrong direction. I knew I shouldn't have taken that left turn at Amaranthine. Do you know, cara mia, that I now have a strong aversion to white? I once so enjoyed a peek of white here and there - a fluttery white nightgown, a smooth, white breast…alas, those days have gone, possibly forever."
"Zev, you know as well as I do that your aversion to white will mysteriously vanish the next time you have a chance to get a peek at a woman's breast."
Zevran considered this. "Ah, mia bella, this may indeed be true. I would ask if I might not peek at yours, just to see if you were correct, but I fear Lord Loghain would string me up by one or more of those parts I was most glad survived the long cold."
"He would," Loghain grunted, without looking up from his bowl of potato soup.
"So then you see it is not worth making the experiment. A pity, but I shall find someone safer with whom to test the theorem."
He turned reproachful eyes upon Elilia then, taking her somewhat by surprise. "This morning I saw you accompanied by a handsome young elf with blond hair who, I was fairly certain, was not myself. Cara mia, have I been eclipsed in your affections?"
Elilia smiled. "Never fear, Zev. That was Chatterly. Loghain is Chatterly's lover."
"I suggest you retract that statement, Harpy," Loghain said.
Now Zevran turned his best puppy dog eyes upon Loghain. "Lord Loghain, I am, if anything, even more hurt than before. In all the time of our association you evinced not the slightest such interest in me."
"I have no such interest in you, Elf, nor have I ever, nor shall I ever. I have no such interest in any creature on this earth other than the wicked witch sitting beside me."
"Ah, yes," Zevran said, with a blissful smile. "Beside, and undoubtedly occasionally astride, no? My friend, you are an incredibly fortunate man."
"I suppose no life is cheaper to an assassin than his own," Loghain said in clear threat.
"On the contrary, I hold my life to be very dear. But there is no greater thrill than dancing on the blade of a knife, is there?"
"You'll be dancing at the end of a rope if I have anything to say about it," Loghain retorted, but any venom in it was tinged with mitigating humor.
"You should have nothing to say about it, my friend, for no matter what I say you have won. The lady's heart is yours, and soon so too shall be her hand." Zevran sighed. "Oh, the things I could do with such a lovely hand."
Elilia put down her spoon and snapped her fingers. "All this innuendo has given me an epiphany. I should paint suggestive portraits of you, Zev, and you, Loghain, and all the other men in my life, and have them printed in a booklet for sale. Or no, wait - print them large over a page of a month of days, one plate per month. Fereldens will finally know what day of the month it is, and I'll make a veritable fortune!"
Zevran and Loghain both raised eyebrows, for slightly different reasons. "Cara mia, this is brilliant. And I, Zevran Arainai, will be famous throughout Thedas, no? Well, I already am, but all women who have only heard of my magnificence will come to know of it firsthand!"
"All your other men?" was Loghain's pithy remark.
"Well, darling, you would be the only one who was featured on two months. Wintermarch and Haring. Because of course you are my first, last, and always."
"Nice save, my lovely," Zevran said, chuckling.
"Mm hm," Loghain said. He stood up from the banquet table then and kissed her upon the brow. "I know I'm not your first and I hope I'll not be your last, but I shall ever be yours always. I'd better not see any 'suggestive' paintings of me anywhere, let alone in print."
"Can you see why I'm marrying him? The juxtaposition of honeyed romance and gentlemanly threats was irresistible."
He held out a hand to her. "Come."
"My friend, I realize that you are a man used to having your commands obeyed, but I do hope you do not think it is so easy as that, or I predict grave difficulties for your marriage," Zevran said. "Perhaps I could give you a few pointers? I have found that placing your two fingers just so, and with your tongue making - "
Without ever taking his eyes off Elilia's face, Loghain reached out, grasped Zevran's cup of mead, and dumped it over his head. "Cool off, Elf, your imagination has carried you away." To Elilia he said again, "Come."
She placed her hand in his but looked at him with a laugh and a wrinkle of concern in her eyes. "If I come, where will I go?"
"This is our engagement party, with a few side-issues to celebrate as well. I want to dance with you."
"You. Want to dance?"
"With you. Only with you. Although I suppose I shall have to offer a turn to Cauthrien, though if she's half as smart as I think she is she'll politely decline the honor. Anyone who will willingly dance with Old Wulffe, however, is clearly certifiable, and I have no pity nor mercy for such as she." He pulled her onto the floor and they revolved in time with the music and the other dancers.
"What about Anora?"
"Anora would never dance with Wulffe, she has too much respect for her feet."
"You know what I meant."
"If you insist, I will dance with Anora. Though I fear the offer will give the poor girl a brain storm."
"Surely you've danced with your daughter before."
"Once, at her wedding. Her first wedding, that is to say. And when the dance was over I walked out the front door of the palace and boarded the Fighting Ferelden, to go look for Maric, so I can't say my attention was wholly upon the steps, and I doubt hers was, either."
"You can't mean to tell me that you never once danced with her when she was little. How did she learn to dance without standing on your shoes like any other girl?"
"Anora was not any other girl, Elilia Cousland, she was the daughter of a Teyrn. Rather like yourself, in fact. So tell me, Teyrn's daughter - how did you learn to dance?"
"Well I, uh…I had a dance teacher."
"Uh huh, you had a dance teacher."
"But my father still danced with me."
"Your father liked to dance, and was good at it."
"Are you trying to tell me you don't like to dance? Because you're doing a fairly good imitation of someone who does, right now."
He twirled her gracefully and brought her back in close to his body. "I like having you in my arms. That's slightly different, you know."
"Damn, when did you become so good at the romantic thing?" Elilia asked, and hoped she didn't look as flushed with heat as she felt. A lot of eyes were watching.
"I don't know. Sometime after you asked me to, what was it? 'Buck the midnight horse' with you in your tent? With tutoring like that, how could I fail to become romantic?"
"I suppose we can't sneak away from this party early, can we?"
"Not as early as I'd like. At least not if you are going to make me dance with my daughter."
"I am. But everybody is going to be watching for us to sneak away, so they'll have gossip for the next week about how we couldn't wait for our wedding night."
"Darling, they're already gossiping about that. And if you're truly fearful of their eyes watching us then I shall have to put blinders on you at our wedding dance. That is when they'll really be watching for us to leave early. You are fortunate that the old tradition of escorting the bride and groom to their bridal chamber - and staying grouped around the closed bed curtains for the show - has died out."
She cocked her head to one side and considered momentarily. "Actually I wouldn't mind that. Do the bed curtains have to be closed?"
"If you're trying to make me blush, evil child, I should have you to know you're wasting your breath. My mind is at least as filthy as yours, and has had considerably longer to wallow in it."
"Oh. So then you wouldn't blush if I told you about the wedding present Zevran gave me?"
He eyed her suspiciously. "What wedding present did the Elf give you?"
"Well at first I thought it was a harness for a carriage horse, but apparently it's for me."
He stopped stock still, a strange look transfixed to his face, and then he strode over to the table where Zevran still sat, dripping merrily in the wake of his dousing with a fresh cup of mead in front of him. Loghain grabbed it, and dumped it over his own head.
"Your imagination carried me away," he explained.
Zevran chuckled. "I am glad these drinks are not on my tab, my friend."
Loghain returned to Elilia and drew her away from the main dance floor. "You were dead serious, weren't you? The Elf gave you some sort of…harness. I won't ask for a description, nor to I wish to know its purpose. I prefer to bask in the multitude of possibilities suggested. I suppose we'll have to get the fool a thank-you present."
"What do you have in mind?"
"I was thinking he might appreciate a pair of snowshoes."
"Why Loghain, how very thoughtful - assuming you thought to add insult to injury," Elilia said, laughing.
"I did."