"That Qunari bastard stole my dog!"

There was the sound of a door loudly slamming, followed by angry footsteps treading through his quarters. Alistair let out a wholly dignified and very manful sound of protest – which was most certainly not a squeak – and attempted to reverse his efforts and pull on the clothing he'd been struggling out of. He'd only just gotten his pants on, holding the fastenings in one hand before his friend barged in, looking absolutely livid.

"Um, what?" he said, stumbling a little bit awkwardly back behind the room's opulent furnishings. He was starting to regret sending all of those servants away, if only because they might have provided something of a buffer between himself and a woman who apparently had no sense of gender-bound modesty. There was a changing screen, but it was way over on the other side of the room and he hadn't even thought to use it.

She didn't so much as bat an eyelash at him, as if having him crouching half-naked in the royal palace was par for the course. "Sten! Sten took my dog!"

"Sten took your dog… where?" he asked, glancing down and trying to figure out if there would be a way for him to fasten his pants without revealing anything untoward in the process.

Probably not.

"Seheron, I think," she replied, waving a hand angrily through the air. "That cookie-loving fiend! This is the thanks I get for giving him back his sword. He just goes off and steals my dog."

Alistair wondered if very many new kings had to deal with situations like this one. What was the royal policy on dog-theft? "Er. Did you want me to send someone after them?" he offered. That was something he could do, right? Although it seemed an odd assignment to give to the royal guard. 'Go and retrieve the Hero of Ferelden's stolen mabari from that terrifying man with the gigantic sword and the physical inability to smile'. Maker, he'd probably lose more men than they had during the siege.

To his relief, she just snorted and waved off the thought. "Of course not. Dog would never leave with them willingly," she replied. "He likes Sten too much. He'd probably just think they were trying to kidnap him."

"Ah. Yes. Well, we wouldn't want that," he awkwardly replied.

Finally, then, she seemed to notice that he wasn't exactly strutting around in his royal armour anymore. "What happened to your clothes?" she asked, not perturbed so much as rather perplexed, looking him over. He felt himself blushing to the roots of his hair.

"I was changing!"

She opened her mouth to reply, but then there was the soft 'bang' of the chamber door being opened and closed again, and Zevran was marching in as pleased as you like.

"Did you tell him about the dog yet?" the Antivan asked.

Alistair scowled. Hey. He'd told the guards not to let Zevran into places like this! He made a sound of protest, which he almost immediately regretted as it seemed to serve as a signal for the elf in question to look over, realize his disadvantage, and then grin in a very predatory fashion.

"Well, well, well. I hope I'm not interrupting?" he asked with an absolutely ludicrous wink.

"Oh, no. I interrupted Alistair first," their mutual friend assured him.

Zevran's eyes momentarily widened. Then he tossed his head back and laughed, and it took Alistair almost a full minute to figure out why. When he did his skin managed to do the impossible and turn an even brighter shade of red.

"I was changing! CHANGING!" he protested. "Not that anyone seems to care. Oh no. Let's all just barge in on Alistair, it's not like he might want a little thing called privacy."

"Now, now. There is no need to become defensive. I understand such things," Zevran assured him. "But you are a handsome man, and a powerful one as well what with this business of being king. In future, you should have no trouble finding yourself some companion to help assuage these urges, no?" He winked again, damn him. "It is a good deal more fun with a partner, I assure you."

Cursing, he grabbed the nearest object at hand – which happened to be his shirt – and chucked it at the assassin, who nimbly dodged aside. "Out!" Alistair barked.

"I don't believe you have quite grasped the concept, my friend. What you want to do is not send people away, so that they might-"

"La-la-la! I'm not listening to you! Get out of my rooms!"

Unthinkingly, he raised his hands to cover his ears – which had the unfortunate side-effect of causing him to drop his pants. He fumbled to catch them again as they slipped down.

"But Sten-"

"Out!" he snapped, trying to put as much kingly authority as he could into the tone. It probably didn't work too well, as Zevran just shrugged and the Hero of Ferelden sort of rolled her eyes, but they both left, too, so he supposed it didn't much matter.

"Did you get a chance to tell him about the plan?" Zevran asked, once they were out in the corridor again.

She shook her head. "No. He got all flustered and then you turned up. I suppose I'll tell him where you've gone after dinner or something," she reasoned.

He grinned, his eyes lighting up briefly as a something apparently occurred to him. "Better yet, don't," he suggested. "Let him think I am still around and wonder why he has not seen me. It will be good for him – a monarch should develop a healthy sense of paranoia."

It was her turn to laugh, then. "Cruel, Zev," she chided.

"Sometimes one must be cruel to be kind," he insisted. Then took a step back from her, surprising her as he pressed one fist to his chest and gave her a little half-bow. "Either way, I must embark quickly if I am to catch up with our wayward, dog-thieving friend."

"Be careful," she cautioned.

He straightened back up again, gracing her with one of his lady-killer smiles. "Have no fear. I will be back before you even have time to get into another interesting mess."

At that assertion, she could only reply with a skeptical snort.

"Somehow, I doubt that."