Chapter Three: Family

Previously: Lady of Roses

 

Mireille felt a sudden pain in her chest. "Computer... you're driving up my blood pressure, which is exactly what I didn't want."

 

The computer remained unyielding. "This game is designed to last a player decades. As such, there are multiple programmed conflicts over land and title. For players not focused on romance and relaxation, successfully navigating those conflicts is the goal."

 

Mireille blinked. She was fairly certain she'd just been insulted, but decided to let it slide.

 

"I am the wealthiest woman in Westervale. I am probably the wealthiest woman in this world."

 

"Correct."

 

"And yet I cannot simply cross this room right now to speak to a guest of my own choosing—at least, not without consequences."

 

"Correct."

 

"That is fucked, computer."

Chapter Two: Lady of Roses

Previously: Roseward Manor

 

The rose silk felt cool upon her skin. She decided she preferred to wear lighter colors moving forward. After all, as Edith said, it was about to be summer soon.

 

It was evening now; the servants had lit candles and fireplaces throughout the manor. Mireille was excited, then suddenly nervous. As she wandered through her home she asked herself if it was wise to skip ahead. She had never met her guests. She had no idea what to expect.

 

In previous games, she hadn't gotten to host a party, not like this. Medieval RPGs typically centered on adventure. Before now, Mireille usually found herself covered in mud and carrying a crossbow on some repetitive quest in the wilds. Until now, programmers insisted on forcing players to earn their way to the cities, and then still live poorly once they got there. Plenty of gamers complained about this trope, and now it seemed that with Westervale, someone had finally listened.

Chapter One: Roseward Manor

Previously: Mireille

 

"Mireille du Maurier" turned around, taking in her new surroundings. This wasn't medieval England, of course; it was idealized, sanitized even. The rusticity was present, but everything was a little too clean. There were no foul smells, and everything was either perfectly washed, polished, or brand new.

 

Not that Mireille was complaining.

 

"My lady," a newcomer greeted, her accent delightfully archaic, yet somehow still posh. She was red-haired and freckled. She wore a pink dress embroidered with roses. "Godwin wants to see you before you break your fast."

 

Edith, Mireille quickly remembered. "Oh?" she asked. The computer had failed to mention a Godwin.

 

Luckily, Edith was programmed to be a guide. "Your seneschal has some concerns about that party you wanted to host?"

 

Mireille perked up immediately. "Yes? What about my party?"

Prologue: Mireille

Previously: La Vicomtesse

 

"The Barony of Westervale: Explore a richly imagined medieval kingdom. Forge alliances. Build your legacy. Find adventure—or romance."

 

"Hell no."

 

Almost a thousand years after the first computer role-playing game launched, people were still fascinated with medieval Europe, which she never understood. It was even less tempting with these next-gen simulation chambers. The programmers always took things too far. The roads would be too muddy, the air always too cold. And the smell... for some reason, gamers obsessively insisted that the programmers replicate actual smells, like horse manure or unwashed bodies.

 

Absolutely no medieval slop, she told herself, scrolling through the touchpad next to the door.

La Vicomtesse

La Vicomtesse is original fiction. A bored gamer enters a simulation chamber were she takes on the role of a viscountess in a generic medieval role-playing game. Armed with cheat codes, she has no intention of undertaking any quests or doing anything that isn't fun and frivolous.

 

But while the codes work perfectly as intended, the gamer begins to wonder if they're actually making things worse.

 

Next: Mireille

Chapter Nineteen: Eyes and Heirs

Previously: So Do Those Who Owe Them a Debt

 

"So they were just talking?"

 

Leliana nodded. "Anora and the Rivaini Ambassador chatted for some time. The Ambassador did most of the talking. She mentioned her home, and the Rivaini Queen, and the like."

 

Elissa Cousland mulled it over. "Anora's made a friend?"

 

Leliana raised an eyebrow. "Is that a problem, my lady?"

 

Elissa shook her head. "We have to make concessions somewhere. If we completely isolate her, she'll likely go crazy and do something stupid."

 

The Arlessa looked about herself. The statues were polished, the pews were dusted, and the floors were scrubbed to the point of gleaming. Sunlight streamed through the stained glass windows, and she noted that not a single pane was smudged.

 

"This has to be the cleanest Chantry I've ever visited," she mumbled. "No rubble, no broken bookshelves..."

 

Leliana chuckled softly. "I'd have to concur. Though I must say, what it boasts in perfection, it lacks in character."

Chapter Eighteen: So Do Those Who Owe Them a Debt

Previously: As the Crow Flies

 

The key was to use a very sharp dagger, preferably laced with a paralytic.

 

Bann Ceorlic coughed and gargled. If he was trying to speak, there was no point, as Zevran covered the nobleman's mouth with his free hand.

 

The shock of being stabbed, coupled with the poison, kept the old man from wriggling too much.

 

Contrary to the bard's songs, death was not immediate. But Zevran had time; it was a few hours until morning. The alley behind the brothel was empty, and it was a moonless night.

 

"Do not fear, signore," Zevran mused in his deep voice, his accent thick and rolling. "We have the place all to ourselves."

Chapter Seventeen: As the Crow Flies

Previously: World's End

 

Court was packed today, as the King prepared to announce the end of the Blight. Nobles that had hid in their castles were now in Denerim, proudly flaunting their finest velvets. Margeria listened to their excited gossip, about their plans for summer and if the King had already betrothed his eldest heir.

 

Margeria and Orlando exchanged looks. Zevran, as always, was like a statue.

 

"By my right as King," Alistair intoned, smiling broadly at Riordan, "I hereby name Warden Riordan the Hero of Ferelden, He Who slayed the Archdemon, and ended the Blight."

 

The nobles erupted into fervent applause. Margeria and her companions clapped slowly, smirking. The Fereldans by and large still didn't like the new King, nor cared at all for Grey Wardens. The Antivans knew what their newfound enthusiasm really meant. The nobles could get back to their lives now. Borders would open, and trade could resume across Thedas. The widowed could remarry and the survivors could finally inherit.

Chapter Sixteen: World's End

Previously: Blight

 

In the distance, Margeria could hear the drums of war.

 

The rapid beating pounded in time with her thudding heart. She was in her chambers with her servants, her assistant Orlando, and the fully armed elf Zevran. The mood was hushed, and tense.

Chapter Fifteen: Blight

Previously: Game of Heirs

 

There was a new mood at court between the soon-to-be royal couple. King Alistair Theirin and Elissa Cousland appeared to be their old selves, sitting on their thrones and smiling like they used to. It warmed Margeria's heart to see her niece so, and saddened her when she remembered Leonor wasn't here to see this.

 

I must protect the girl, the noblewoman told herself. By any means necessary. 

 

Fergus was absent from court, no doubt wooing the latest object of his affections. Though, "affections" were a bit of an exaggeration; Margeria doubted the young Teyrn would ever love again. 

 

The double doors opened, and there was brief silence in the throne room as the first guests arrived. They were Dalish elves, three of them, and they were led by a tall fierce woman with a scarred face and partially shaved head. She had long blond hair and her face was painted. She looked neither left nor right as she walked towards the throne, her confidence unflinching.

Chapter Fourteen: Game of Heirs

Previously: Blood

 

Fergus Cousland paced the royal sitting room in dismay. The King was thankfully absent, no doubt off drinking with Riordan to recover from the day's excitement. Elissa calmly sat by her fireplace, watching her brother explode.

 

"Our King has a sister," he said.

 

"Yes," Elissa replied coolly.

 

"The King has a sister," Fergus repeated, as he couldn't fathom the words coming out of his own mouth.

 

"Yes."

 

"The King of Ferelden has a blood sister, Elissa, and you failed to mention that for months!" the Teyrn finally roared.