A/N: This idea has been kicking around my head for some time (yes, it is a tad crowded in there. So much so that I'm beginning to experience leakage…). As a bit of background, Magnus has been raised by Ferelden's version of Mr and Mrs Brady, so he is a bit scarred…He's also a bit standalone, poor thing. Personally, he'd like his nug back…

-oo

Warden Dining

Magnus Cousland stared into two, beetle black eyes above a twitching, liver coloured nose. The creature stared back at him vacuously, lower jaw rotating rhythmically. It was possibly the ugliest thing he had seen in his relatively short life; and this in comparison to the darkspawn they had fought across the length and breadth of Ferelden. He'd thought at first that the thing had no fur, but found at closer range that it possessed such flat-lying, coarse hair that it might as well have been skin. It had no redeeming feature except that he'd heard they made good stew and considering Prince Pouty insisted on dinner duty the entire week, this might actually turn out to be a better idea than he'd first thought.

Glad he didn't have to touch the thing with his bare hands, Magnus lowered the beast level with his hound's muzzle.

"Well Pookie," Magnus said. "What do you think?"

The Mabari made a canine retching noise, dropped to the ground, rolled over and curled his feet up in the air. The tongue hanging out of slackened jaws was the final, comedic touch.

Magnus sighed. "It's for dinner…" he explained. "I know it looks like an overgrown, undead rat, but at least we'll know what kind of meat we're eating for a change." Lamb? None of Alistair's 'traditional' lamb and pea stew had ever been near a sheep and he suspected that there was more animal protein in the peas than in the actual meat.

Pookie stood, cocking his head, considering this interesting idea. The huge battle hound even went so far as to sniff the thing. Really, if it moved faster than it actually did, he'd imagine it was the sort of thing he and Fergus would have hunted in Highever. Except that it moved slightly less speedily than a snail. In order for the hunt to work, they would have to release the nug a week before the actual hunt.

"Well…" Magnus turned to the Dwarf merchant. "I'll take this one, I guess."

Money passed from the Grey Warden to the nug seller. Hands were shaken and the nug tucked under his arm, Magnus made his way back to the others. He thought he'd done rather well, considering, thinking back to his camping days with his brother and father. His late father had done things with the insides of ducks that had to be experienced to be believed. Of course, his father had always been the one who had slaughtered and shoved whatever he needed to shove up the duck's bottom – what did he use? Grains? Bread? Herbs? He could obtain herbs well enough from Morrigan. Ones that were even edible.

As for the other stuff…He spied a familiar red head in the distance and quickened his pace.

As he approached, he couldn't help grinning from ear to ear. The Orlesian Chantry wench knew all about grains and vegetable-like things. She was also used to killing things normal people weren't used to killing so he'd get her to slaughter the pig rabbit rat beast.

"Ah, Leliana!" He held the nug towards her like a trophy. "Look what I bought for you guys!"

The Bard's eyes went soft, her hands flew to her face and she exclaimed, "Oh! I adore these little pig bunny things! Aren't they just the sweetest?"

Magnus nodded happily. "So I hear," he admitted. The merchant had described the flavour of a properly prepared nug as like a cross between chicken and fish. He liked that idea. It was like killing two birds with one stone – seafood and landfood all at once, in one delicious, sweet meal!

He shoved the animal into her arms. "So you'll take care of it for me?" he asked eagerly. Slaughtering and dressing meat was woman's work anyway. Not that he'd ever seen his mother or sister-in-law do it, but they were different kind of women. They weren't women like Leliana.

The Bard lifted shining eyes towards him. Clearly she was thinking the same thing as he. "Oh…yes! Thank you! Thank you!"

Well, that was odd...He didn't think she'd be that enthusiastic about killing and gutting a live animal, but oh well, as long as he didn't get to do it, he was happy. Now…he thought. What would be the perfect accompaniment to roast nug? Back in Highever whenever Nan did a great big, special roast, there were things like root vegetables, buckets of sweet green peas and pumpkin from the home garden. There were also those dumpling things with seeds in it, steamed in meaty broth. He was getting incredibly hungry and nostalgic just thinking about it.

He was also glad to be rid of the hideous creature. It truly was a disgusting thing to behold. Hopefully, Leliana would dress the thing so it no longer looked like a four-legged, goofy-eared blancmange.

Rubbing his hands in expectation, Magnus left the Bard to her women's work and went in search of dumplings. He avoided Alistair – the man had no idea what good food tasted like if it hadn't been made of soured milk – and went straight to Zevran. Now there was a man who enjoyed the simple pleasures of life. Good food, good wine, a good bit of dumpling…

"Hey, Zev!" Magnus hailed the Elf cheerfully.

The Assassin inclined his head on the approach of the young Grey Warden. "Yes, my muscle-bound, handsome Warden?"

As always, Magnus smacked the Elf across the shoulder. "You're a pal, Zev," Magnus told him, deep green eyes crinkling in good humour. "You're also from Antiva, right?"

"This has been stated previously, yes" Zevran replied, folding his arms across his chest.

"Yep, so being from Antiva, you'd know all about dumplings, right?"

Zevran took a while to respond. When he did, he was quite sure that the boy from Highever really had no idea what he had said. Oh, the words had sounded simple enough, but asking such a question to a man who had been brought up by whores was likely to produce an answer that was not going to be understood by a lad brought up by women in lace caps.

"I know…a great deal about dumplings," Zevran said slowly. "What style of dumplings did you have in mind?"

Well…Deep in thought, Magnus did not realise he was making an unmanly moue with his mouth that the Elf was finding it difficult to resist. Nan did put something in her dumplings that made them a bit bitey…mustard, was it? "I guess…" Magnus raised his eyes to the roof of the Orzammar cavern, so high above their heads that they could no longer see the patterns in the rock. "The spicier the better, huh?"

"Oh?" Zevran's eyebrows shot up. "You like a bit of spice?"

"Do I ever!" Magnus thumped Zevran's shoulder again. "So you'll take care of it?"

"I…guess I can do that…"

"Looking forward to it!" He began to turn away, then stopped. "How long do you think it will take?" he asked.

"Oh," Zevran told him with glittering eyes. "For you, hours."

"Hours!" Magnus groaned. "Can't we be quick about it? I don't think I'm willing to wait for hours…"

Zevran coughed politely behind his hand. "Well, my airheaded young warrior, if you insist, we can be done in minutes if you so wish."

"That would be excellent." Another punch – this time to the other side that made the elf rock on his feet slightly. "This is going to be excellent! I can't wait! Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to see a witch about some non-poisonous herbs."

All this negotiating for the evening meal was beginning to make Magnus hungry. Excited by the thought of the feast ahead, he hunted down Morrigan next. She was to be found in the marketplace, haranguing a seller of Dwarven-made jewellery in that adorably sharp-tongued way he found so appealing.

"Hey beautiful!" he shouted, causing her eyebrows to join together in an angry line across her exquisite, pale face.

"Must you address me in that sickening fashion?" she snapped at him when he was close enough to hear.

"Oh certainly," Magnus said cheerfully. "You're so cute when you're about to hit me with some weird, body-part-changing spell." He leant in close. "I come over all unnecessary when you do…"

Morrigan sighed. The man could be clever and well-observed when he chose to. Alas, ninety-five percent of the time, he chose to be completely clueless.

"I am glad that you are here," she addressed him sharply. "There is a matter that I wish to speak to you about."

"Uh-huh, my little spider-changeling? Oh by the way, I gave Leliana a pig thing to cook tonight. I thought we'd give our bowels a break from agony eating Alistair's cooking. Zevran's making dumplings!"

"It is Zevran, that I wish to speak about," Morrigan interrupted before the man ran on.

"Mm-hm, oh acidic-tongued one?" Magnus nodded, schooling his features into keen attentiveness.

"It comes to this," Morrigan's lips thinned. "I have seen the way the elf looks at you and I know what it is he wants. The situation as it stands: you must make a decision. Either the elf goes, or I do. I do not intend to be made a fool of over a vapid, clueless oaf."

Magnus mulled this over. "Alistair's not that clueless," he pointed out helpfully. "He can be insightful you know…when he isn't falling over feeling sorry for himself. Why?" Magnus added. "What's Zevran got to do with Alis…Holy Smoking Andraste! Is Prince Pouty and the Assassin an item? I didn't even know Ali-pants was bent that way! Well," he murmured reasonably. "I guess it takes all kinds. Who am I to judge? To each his own and all of that. I just knew all that talk about massage and tattoos was some kind of…"

"You truly are clueless!" Morrigan exclaimed, slapping her forehead with the palm of her hand. "You have absolutely no idea to what I refer to?"

Magnus thought this statement over carefully. "…mm," he said slowly. "Alistair and Zevran living happily ever after?" he suggested.

"No." She gazed up at him in exasperation. She shook her head. "Why do I even bother?"

"I don't know my poison-tongued apple tart…Oh…it was a rhetorical question…"

"Yes. It was." Then she sighed. "And do I even want to ask about Leliana?"

"When you come back to camp, bring your best appetite!" Magnus told her cheerfully. "A dinner of roast nug with all the trimmings! Just like nan used to make – and dumplings too! Did I tell you we're going to have dumplings?"

"Yes," Morrigan replied in a flat, unenthusiastic voice. "You did mention the dumplings."

"Great. So I'll see you later? Oh, if you can supply Leliana with some tasty herbs to cook with, that would be really helpful. You know the kind." Before he left, he leant over to place a kiss on the top of her bun-spiked head. It really was an adorable head, especially when it was fuming as it was doing now. The threat of imminent death was so thrilling…"Don't be late for dinner!"

Magnus spent the rest of the evening wandering about Orzammar. He found Wynne in the Shaperate, reading of all things. Maybe it was a Mage thing…reading. Personally he didn't care for it much. Brother Aldous always told him he had a yawning chasm between his ears, and mucking around with the written word always bored him to tears. Unless it had lots of heroes killing other heroes in it, he wasn't interested. Fergus would tell him that he would regret not learning to enjoy a good book, but then as this advice came from a person who spent most of his time pretending to be ill so he could skive off lessons for a turn about the practice field, or chasing about the chamber maids, it held no weight whatsoever.

By the time he arrived back at camp, he was ravenous and looking forward to dinner. He hoped both cooks had remembered to make gravy. Nug, the merchant had told him, just wasn't the same without lashings of gravy.

At camp however, he found not Leliana by the fire, but Alistair, stirring the contents of the large iron pot. It smelled horribly familiar.

"What are you doing?" Magnus asked the other Grey Warden.

Alistair looked up briefly. "What does it look like? I'm making dinner."

"But…but…what happened to the roast nug?"

A soft snuffling by his boot made Magnus jump. "Whoa! Quick Alistair, grab him. Put him in the pot!

"I'm not putting that thing in my traditional Ferelden lamb and pea stew!" Alistair exclaimed indignantly. "It's unhygienic – it'll completely spoil the taste!"

"How could actual flavour spoil the taste of your runny cardboard?" Magnus demanded, bending down to scoop the lumpen, rodentlike creature to dangle him over the cooking pot.

"Heyy!" Alistair held the ladle like a sword, making threatening motions with it. "I will not allow you to despoil my cuisine!"

"It'll make it taste better, I promise."

"Don't believe you. Now put that hideous rat-monkey down and walk away from my cooking pot slowly." Alistair suggested, jabbing his fellow Grey Warden with the ladle as warning.

"No," Magnus pouted. "Can't make me. I bought this rat-rabbit thing to eat. Roast, broil, fricassee, I don't care. We're going to eat it." Magnus attempted to hurl the squirming nug into the stew pot. Alistair attempted to stop him by grabbing the nug himself. The beast began squealing in distress, bringing Leliana out of her tent. Seeing the two Wardens treating the nug like a lucky wishbone, she screeched at them, snatching the beast from their collective grasp and cradling it protectively to her chest.

"What are you doing to my Schmooples?" she demanded angrily.

Magnus' jaw dropped. "Schmooples?" he asked. "You gave a name to our dinner?"

"Dinner?" Leliana repeated. "Schmooples is not for eating!"

"Yes it is. That's why I bought the thing. Bloody tasty, so the Dwarves tell me. Bit fatty about the ears, but I was going to cut…"

"Touch a single hair on Schmooples' head and I will make you very sorry!"

"Why should I be sorry?" Magnus asked, outraged. "I gave the rabbit-hedgehog to you to prepare for dinner. I'm sure I made that quite clear!"

Leliana's mouth gaped like a newly landed fish. "You…You told me it was a gift!"

"I did no such thing," Magnus stated matter-of-factly. "If I recall correctly, I said I'd bought it for us – all of us – and you said you'd take care of it."

"Take care of it meaning keep it as a pet," Leliana snapped at him.

"Take care of it meaning, kill it, strip it bare and roast it slowly over a nice hot flame." Magnus elaborated.

"Ooh, that does sound nice," Alistair agreed. "With roast spud and dumplings? The spicy kind? I like those."

"See?" Magnus pointed to his fellow Warden. "Alistair understands what I'm saying straight away."

"And why couldn't you do it yourself?" Leliana demanded.

"Because…" Magnus stated obviously. "That sort of thing is women's work. You're a woman right? Isn't that the sort of thing you've been trained to do?"

"Trained to do?" Leliana repeated hoarsely, blue eyes flashing. "Trained to do? Trained to kill men such as yourself in interesting and agonising ways perhaps, for making sexist, pig-headed comments such as those. What is next, I wonder? You wish me to remain bare-footed and pregnant in the kitchens I suppose?"

Magnus held up his hands, taking a step backwards. "Now, Leliana. You're very attractive and all of that…I suppose, but I have to tell you that I'm really not interested. I have a witch already and I'm perfectly happy with her."

For some reason, the Bard began advancing on him, holding the horrible nug thing in front of her like a deadly weapon. It probably would be quite effective as a weapon if she could make it flatulate on demand or something novel. He didn't quite understand the woman, quite frankly. If he'd given her a chicken or a trout, there would have been absolutely no question as to what he expected her to do with it. Give her a smelly lump of hair and ears and it was suddenly Oh, I can't possibly do anything awful to that, I'm a delicate female…Excuse me while I bat my eyelids coyly at you…

Throwing his hands in the air, Magnus exclaimed, "Oh very well, keep the creature as a pet. What do I care? Next we'll probably be recruiting kittens or small fluffy lapdogs or something. Oh look Ser Archdemon, care to take your goldfish for a walk in the park with me?" He turned abruptly, almost colliding with the pot of stew and knocking it over.

"Where are you going?" Alistair asked him, "The stew will go cold!"

"I'm going back into Dust Town for some proper dinner," Magnus threw over his shoulder, bumping into Zevran as he did so.

"Ah, I was just about to fetch you," Zevran purred. "I have those spicy dumplings all ready to go. Just as you wanted."

Magnus' face lit up. Perhaps dinner wasn't a complete bust after all. He turned back to Alistair. "Hey mate! Zev's said he's got some of those spicy dumplings you like!"

Alistair obediently trotted over to the two men. "Really?" he asked, brown eyes lighting up. "I love those."

Zevran looked up at both men; one with dark hair hanging below his shoulders in chestnut waves around the most compelling pair of deep green eyes he'd seen on any human, much less a man; the other blond with an uncanny resemblance to Ferelden's late, handsome king. Of course, there was a reason for that but…both men had a habit of turning heads wherever they went and both men were completely oblivious to the rest of the world doing so.

"Both of you?" Zevran queried. "Together?"

Magnus looked at Alistair. "Sure? Why not?"

"Well…" Zevran sighed. "I was never one to look a gift horse in the mouth."

"Excellent!" Magnus exclaimed. "Let's go now! We'll head on down to Dust Town and hit that seedy bar at the end. Ale's better than Tapsters, so I hear anyway. Alistair'll have a light wine, or something girly like that."

"Heyy!"

"Sorry…a shandy." He stopped suddenly, looking around. "Hey! Sten, care to join us? We're having an impromptu night out with the boys for some ale and roast nug – with dumplings!"

The Qunari giant approached the trio suspiciously. "These dumplings of which you speak. Are they confections of some kind?"

"They're savoury, Sten. But we could probably find something sweet for you to suck on, right Zev?"

"Oh, I'm sure I can deliver."

"See?" Shooting a last, dirty look over his shoulder at Leliana and her stupid pet, Magnus looped one arm around Prince Petulant and the other around Zevran. "Come on Pookie," he called to his Mabari, who trotted by the Qunari's side. Giant and hound exchanged a look that clearly said, this should be most interesting…They passed Morrigan on their way through.

"He has absolutely no idea what he's in for, does he?" she growled, thoroughly irritated at the man as all five of them passed out of view.

Behind the witch, the Tower Mage sighed. "You feel sorry for him?" Wynne asked the younger woman. "It is gratifying to see you show compassion for the lad."

"I do not mean our intrepid yet brainless young Warden," Morrigan said with a roll of her eye. "The person I feel sorry for is Zevran…"

"Zevran?" Wynne asked, scepticism colouring her tone.

"Yes. Zevran." Morrigan shook her head. Her hand went automatically to the spot on her forehead that throbbed painfully whenever she thought of the handsome, yet completely idiotic Warden. The elf truly had no clue how much like hitting one's head on a brick wall it would be, but she was not one to interfere. Short of zapping the elf with a good dose of electricity, it was probably best to find out for himself what it had been like, travelling with a couple of walking cheese blocks…Even dumplings, spicy or not, would be no compensation…