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peopleofthedas2011-05-30 05:10 pm
As Girls Go (Menage 7)
Title: As Girls Go (Menage 7)
Words: 2837
Rating: T for suggestive content
Characters: Alistair/f!Surana (Philoméne) and Zevran, featuring Varel and a bucket of minor Amaranthine nobles
Summary: Two words: Arlessa Zevran.
<- Previous: Eye for an Eye
Cutting directly from Redcliffe to Amaranthine wasn’t going to save them any time at all, it turned out. Yes, it spared them the annoyance of passing through Denerim, and thus the possibility that Anora could further delay them, but Alistair hadn’t really considered how much he would miss roads. The recent months of not being hunted by both darkspawn and Loghain’s soldiers had spoiled him, he supposed.
The change in sleeping arrangements crept up on him as they went. He and Zev naturally shared rooms in Haven and then in Redcliffe, to save space. The night Zev had seemed so lonesome after they’d killed the dragon, Alistair had just gone ahead and slept next to him on the same bed. They hadn’t spoken about it in the morning, but Zev’s disposition certainly seemed the better for it – and so, Alistair thought, did his own. It dulled the unpleasantness of not having Philoméne beside him. So they made a habit of it, even when they’d sent the soldiers back to their queen and were traveling alone and sleeping in a tent. Alistair pretended that it was for Zev’s benefit, but even he knew there was more to it than that.
He especially knew it the morning before they expected to reach the Keep, as they woke up in a platonic but nonetheless intimate tangle of limbs. It felt perfectly natural, but that was exactly what brought the problem to mind. “Zev,” he murmured.
“Hmm?”
Sodding – with Alistair’s defenses down all of the little affectations Zev used to be more seductive, like the low hum and the bare trace of a smile, actually worked on him. “We should, ah, get to the Keep today.”
“Yes,” Zev agreed, his head propped casually on Alistair’s arm. When their eyes met, he caught the awkwardness in Alistair’s look. “Ah, yes, I see. You have not spoken to our Warden yet, and you worry.”
“I always worry,” Alistair responded by way of apology. “It’s what I do.”
“And you think she might say no to even this much?” The near-smile was gone, and Zev sat up quickly. “Then we will not offend her.”
Blast. “I’m not saying it would offend her – ”
“I know.” He was pulling on his boots. “I have waited this long, Alistair. I had resigned myself to spending the rest of my life waiting. What I have is too precious to risk losing it for what I want.”
“I... what?”
Zev looked over his shoulder at him. “You and the Warden are everything I have,” he said softly. “I will take no chances with that. Ask her in your own time, when it seems right. Do not rush her.” He picked up his shirt and left the tent with it.
And that was the end of the discussion. They packed up and made their way through the rocky landscape, quiet except for innocuous comments about their direction, or trees, or the weather. If Zev felt any of the awkwardness about the sudden shift that Alistair did, he gave no other sign.
Of course not. Zev had spent the better part of his life learning to smother and conceal all feelings, awkward or otherwise, whereas Alistair had devoted his to raising awkwardness to an art form. At last, a subject where he could teach Zev something! He started planning lessons to pass the time. The first thing to remember is that everyone is watching you. Only not to kill you at the first sign of weakness, so much as to disapprove and make withering remarks.
The Keep was a different sort of construction than he’d seen elsewhere: grey like the coastal rock surrounding it, and built in huge slabs that lay perfectly flat against each other, unmortared. It loomed up against the dismal sky, issuing waves of depression.
It also appeared to be understaffed for its size, especially if the Orlesians were supposed to have arrived. And furthermore, if they had, then it was odd that no one in the courtyard seemed to have an Orlesian accent. The little blonde who hurried them in to meet the seneschal had nothing to say about it, but Varel had plenty. They’d missed Philoméne, who was already off with new recruits to deal with the aftermath of organized attacks on the Keep and arling by darkspawn who talked.
He made Varel explain it three times before he would believe it. “This isn’t supposed to be possible!” he snarled at Zev. “Do you ever wonder if the Maker actually wants us all dead?”
But of course Zev remained calm. “You are being impious, Alistair. Surely the Maker would not fail so many times.”
“Right, fine.” He sighed and collected himself. “I guess tomorrow we can head up to Amaranthine and try to find her there.”
“Your pardon, ser,” Varel interjected, “but I wish you wouldn’t.” He frowned and shifted his weight as they turned to look at him. “I’ve just received word that a party of Amaranthine nobles are coming to meet the Commander. We thought it best not to announce her comings and goings, you see. But nobles are, ah, easily put out, regardless. It’s going to go over badly if someone isn’t here to greet them.”
“And you want it to be me? Really? I’m brilliant with nobles! ‘Hi! You remember me, don’t you? Arl Eamon’s stable boy. Almost a templar, yes, but I dropped out to be a Warden. Oh, and I’m King Maric’s illegitimate son! No, I didn’t turn out to be king myself. No, I don’t know why you’re listening to me either.’”
Varel watched him babble with growing horror until Zev stepped between them, raising one hand to Alistair’s chest. “Ssh, ssh. It will not be as bad as that. I will guide you through it. Making nobles drop their guard happens to be one of the tools of my former trade.”
That calmed Alistair down again, but Varel was still staring. “You... are the Commander’s chosen second,” he said, as if he’d developed doubts.
“Yes,” he sighed. “I’m good at killing things.” Then he returned his focus to Zev. “Aren’t they going to wonder why I need you there telling me what to say?”
“Perhaps.” Zev pondered that for a moment before looking at Varel over his shoulder. “The Keep belonged to the Howes, correct? Did the arlessa happen to leave any personal effects here? Gowns, cosmetics, that sort of thing?”
Varel’s eyes narrowed, and he started to study Zev much more intently. “Yes, some. I hadn’t noticed, but the way you wear your hair is very similar to the Commander. She is much paler, though.”
“Paleness is sometimes fashionable in Orlais. So, therefore, are powders that make one look pale when one is not.”
“Wait,” Alistair objected. “Are you suggesting what I think you are?”
“Blond knife-ears with markings, Alistair! People have mistaken us when I was not impersonating her.”
“Drunk people who’d never seen either of you! The bann of the city proper would have been at Landsmeet. What was her name – ”
“Bann Esmerelle,” Varel answered. “She is coming, and she is a woman not easily pacified. Rendon’s time in power was very kind to her. To be honest, I think that the rush to meet here was intended to catch the Commander underprepared.”
“But she would have seen the Warden from some distance,” Zev countered. “None of them came down from the balconies. It is true she may remember the voice well enough to be troublesome. We will have to work around that.”
Alistair shrugged. It wasn’t as if he had a better idea.
Zev tactfully slept in the room across the hall from the one Alistair took, but that already felt strange, an artificial distance that didn’t belong there. For some reason, having neither Zev nor Philoméne there caused Alistair to lie still in bed for some time after he was awake, staring at the ceiling.
What finally got him to stir was a knock at the door. When he answered, it was Zev – sort of. He’d painted himself several shades lighter, though he could not get as pale as Philoméne and not have it look like paint; his tattoos were traced over in black and extended into something like Philoméne’s markings. His lips and eyelids were also darkened like hers, and the contrast made them sultry and... alluring. Not because they resembled Philoméne’s, since to Alistair’s knowing eye they didn’t really, but because Zev’s lips were full and well-suited to being colored.
“The tattoo isn’t quite right,” Alistair said.
“It had to cover mine. Relax, Alistair. I am sure Bann Esmerelle did not memorize our Warden’s face after seeing her once from a balcony.” He batted his eyelashes in an uncanny imitation of Philoméne when she was maddening, then made a beckoning gesture with his hand. “Now come, I need someone to tie the corset for me.”
That was when Alistair noticed that Zev was wearing a long cream-colored chemise. He followed the elf quietly into the other room and watched him approach the standing mirror, step into the dark blue cincher, and pull it up into place. On a chair beside them he’d draped a green gown. “I know our Warden prefers violet,” he said idly, “but sadly the previous Arlessa did not have such refined taste. Green will do, I think.”
“Do you think it will fit?”
“Yes. Apparently she had strong shoulders.” Again he beckoned with his hands. “Lace it tightly. This is what will give me the right shape.”
It was not as straightforward as Zev made it sound. For several minutes Alistair struggled to figure out which way he needed to pull which strands of ribbon: more than once he found himself loosening rather than tightening, with no idea as to why. At last, however, the fabric was gathered tightly enough that Alistair found it hard to imagine breathing in it, and only at that point did Zev nod for him to tie it into place. As Alistair contemplated the cruelty of women’s clothing, Zev casually plucked up the gown and worked it over the other layers.
“This isn’t the first time you’ve had to do something like this, is it?”
“No.”
With the gown in place, the outfit did give the appearance of a girlish waist and hips, and when Zev turned to face him, the effect from the front was no less striking. With everything in place, the angles of his face became statuesque and lovely, and the way his hair brushed against his collarbone seemed to whisper enticement. He did not quite have Philoméne’s doll-like charm, but he was surprisingly pretty. Confusingly pretty, in fact, and Alistair froze, at a loss as to how to respond.
“Your... eyes are the wrong color,” he said at last.
Zev smiled and touched his cheek. “Only you will know that.” He leaned in close, grinning wider at Alistair’s furious blushing, and whispered, “Keep reacting just this way. It will add to the effect.”
With that, Zev took his hand and led him, still feeling bewildered, down to the meeting hall. Varel was much more prosaic about the costume. “Yes,” he mused, “that’s actually not bad. I hope it works.”
The nobles were already gathered, a gaggle of well-dressed onlookers clustered in the center of the room. They turned to face the new arrivals with polite smiles and nods, even as their eyes pored over them searching for flaws to attack.
Not that Alistair had any lingering bad feelings about nobility.
He identified Bann Esmerelle as much by instinct as by memory: she was among the oldest, and her face was irredeemably sour. She crossed her arms at him even before he waved for their attention.
“Good people,” Alistair began stiffly. “My lady the Arlessa thanks you all for coming to meet her here. She, ah, regrets that she is unable to address you directly. It’s her voice, you see. Illness.” He glanced over his shoulder at Zevran, who gave him a nod of encouragement. “So she has asked me to speak on her behalf. In fact, because she is... aware that it is awkward for some people that the Arlessa is an elf and a mage, she hopes that you will all feel more comfortable addressing your problems to me or to Seneschal Varel in general. She does not want to, ah, intrude on you too much.”
“Hmph,” Bann Esmerelle frowned. “She was perfectly willing to intrude at the Landsmeet.”
Alistair stammered, but Varel intervened. “That was a Blight, my lady. As a Warden, she was bound by duty to do all she could to defeat the archdemon, including exposing the crimes of Teyrn Loghain and Arl Howe against Ferelden.” She winced at that – confirmation that she had been allied to them. “As an Arlessa, our Commander’s desire is only to help Amaranthine prosper.”
Much better than Alistair would have done. He nodded mutely in agreement.
She was still looking harshly at Zevran, though, and her eyes narrowed. She can tell something’s off, Alistair thought, and was already fighting back the panic when she spoke. “Of course. Only she does not know Amaranthine, does she? She has never set eyes on most of it, I would imagine.”
Oh. That wasn’t nearly as bad. Just what they’d already expected. Alistair was equipped to answer that kind of comment himself. “That is precisely the reason the Commander is eager to collect your thoughts on what is needed. We expect to do a lot of travel in the region in the near future as well, to learn the territory.”
“Another reason to address your concerns to me,” Varel added. “When she is absent, I will collect and prioritize cases that require her personal attention.”
The bann nodded curtly, and commented in a voice that implied mumbling to herself but carried nonetheless. “One starts to wonder if there is a need for her at all.”
“Are you implying something, my lady?” Varel drawled, and the whole assembled court looked at her.
“No,” she said at last. “My apologies. I hope my lady the Arlessa has a quick recovery from her illness.”
Zev responded with a kindly smile such as he had never worn before in Alistair’s memory; then he tugged on Alistair’s sleeve and whispered an answer for him to repeat. “The Commander thanks you with all her heart. She remembers the respect you commanded at the Landsmeet and hopes that you will take as strong a role now in securing the arling’s future.”
There, he thought, that wasn’t too unlike what Philoméne would have said. Especially considering that as far as Alistair could remember, Bann Esmerelle had barely so much as opened her mouth at the Landsmeet. Zev punctuated the thought by entwining an arm with Alistair’s as he demurely dropped his chin and swayed a hip toward Alistair’s.
Everyone knew they were lovers, after all. Blasted Zev.
At any rate, baseless flattery seemed to be the right course to take with Bann Esmerelle, who promptly demurred and swore allegiance. That started a tedious process in which one minor noble after another introduced themselves and offered their pledges, and Zev whispered answers to give them in increasingly seductive tones, occasionally making it worse by brushing his lips gently against Alistair’s ear or the side of his neck.
After what felt like days, that part was over, and Zev purred closing comments for him to repeat: “Thank you all for this kind welcome. Please enjoy the humble meal we have prepared before you return to your own estates. The Commander promises better when she has had time to secure our land’s resources. In the meantime there is much for us to do, so we must sadly take our leave.”
And then he grazed Alistair’s earlobe with his teeth.
He stammered over “much for us to do,” and Zev chuckled softly, as did several of the male nobles. Zev’s little joke apparently played well with them, especially the younger ones, although there were also a few prudish frowns – Bann Esmerelle’s among them – and one or two blushes that might have been equal to Alistair’s. He was glad he was leaving with Zev, if only to avoid any questions the gesture might have provoked about lusty knife-ears and their comparative merits.
Zev turned to grin at him as soon as they were safely out of range. “I thought it went rather well! What did you think?”
Alistair grabbed him by the shoulders. “Maker’s breath, Zev!” Having taken hold of him, he wasn’t sure what to do with him. “What happened to not taking any risks?”
Zev looked supremely unconcerned. “Tsk! I had to be the woman they expected, did I not? The forbidden but irresistible elven lover? And even as myself I have kissed you before. She knows as much. What did I risk?”
Well. There was no good response to that, he supposed. But there was still all this pent up – frustration –
He yanked Zev forward and dug his teeth into the elf’s throat, provoking a gasp that made him grin a little. Zev rolled his head back and lifted his hands to Alistair’s hips, sighing as Alistair left a line of rough kisses and bites down the side of his neck, and then back up again.
Then he looked sternly into Zev’s eyes. “Don’t play tricks like that again,” he growled.
Zev was practically beaming. “You cannot think I will take this as discouragement.”
“Behave.”
“Oh, you think you are going to dominate me by size, do you? A mabari pup is still a pup, you know.”
“I said stop,” Alistair snarled against Zev’s neck, “before you get us both in trouble.”
“Ah,” Zev said softly, pulling back. “Your point is well taken. In that case I will get someone else to untie me. I will see you later, bambino.”
...Maker. Already trouble enough.
Next: I Want You to Show Me (coming soon) ->
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...and can't wait for the next chapter. Really can't wait.
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Thanks for reading!