Chapter Eleven: Playing Our Parts

Previously: I Can Do Blood

"You look ridiculous."

Elissa Cousland tugged at her collar. It was high and tight around her neck. Her gown was black and flowing, the bodice taut with long sleeves.

 

She grumbled, "These are Antivan mourning clothes. What's your excuse? You look like a goblet."

 

Alistair glanced down at his robes. For some reason, Isolde insisted in dressing him primarily in gold. Coupled with burgundy accents, the ensembled echoed his brother's armor. And despite understanding the homage, he still felt ridiculous.

 

"Why are you wearing mourning clothes?" he asked softly. "The mourning period for our loved ones has long passed."

 

"I'm playing my part, remember?" she growled, now tugging at her bodice. "Isolde says the clothes serve to remind the public of those we lost. We didn't get to mourn them properly before." She paused, bitterly glancing down. "Most of them didn't even get proper funerals."

 

Alistair nodded understandingly, not wanting to dwell on the topic, otherwise they'd eventually have to admit the world felt empty now without their enemies. 

 

The past few days had been a blur. Arlessa Isolde came to the Royal Palace, just as her husband promised. She immediately set about civilizing the betrothed couple, summoning numerous tailors to court. Alistair and Elissa scowled the whole time, but they begrudgingly complied with the Orlesian noblewoman's tutelage.

 

Now they barely recognized themselves. After months of starving and freezing, they seemed to keep moving up in the world, first Redcliffe Castle, and now the Royal Palace at Denerim. They now awkwardly dined on gold plates while a dozen servants attended them. For now they slept in separate rooms, each chamber massive and opulently furnished with Antivan rugs, velvet curtains from Tevinter, and tapestries from Nevarra allegedly woven by the dead.

 

As congratulations for his enthronement and impending nuptials, the First Warden at Weisshaupt Fortress sent a silver chalice, from which many famous Wardens had drunk during their Joining.

 

Neither Alistair nor Elissa knew how to feel about their new lives. None of it felt real. There were times when they even longed for the days of trekking through the wilds and sleeping in the cold. At least they knew what to feel back then. 

 

"I have a present for you," Alistair announced suddenly, handing Elissa a scroll. She accepted and unfurled it. They were in their shared sitting room, enjoying a rare moment alone.

 

"A royal decree?" she asked, brow furrowed.

 

Alistair beamed. "My very first official one. You are now the Arlessa of Amaranthine. The Howe family has been evicted, and you are the sole owner of their manor and their lands."

 

Elissa blinked rapidly, as though struggling with this information. "I'm an Arlessa?"

 

He nodded. "Granted, you'll soon be Queen and that will supersede this, but in case anything happens to me, you'll always have a home, a proper title, and an income to support you." He smiled brightly, obviously proud of himself.

 

"Thank you," Elissa said, unsure of how to feel. She never cared about noble titles before. She didn't care about them now. As far as she was concerned, the only way something could happen to Alistair was if it happened to her first. "What's happened to Nathaniel, Thomas, and Delilah?"

 

Alistair's mood dimmed. "Much like with Anora, I have no proof of their complicity in their father's crimes. The men were neither at Highever nor Ostagar when either betrayal occurred." His eyes narrowed slightly. "But that doesn't mean they didn't know what their father was up to."

 

Elissa was confused. "So you locked them up in the Tower with Anora?"

 

"I sent them into exile in Orlais." He paused. "They wouldn't be safe in Antiva."

 

Elissa looked slightly bewildered. "What makes you think they'll be safe in Orlais?"

 

"The Baron de Boutin has given them refuge at his estate in Jader," he explained. "No one knows them, and everyone will hopefully assume they are simply noble bastards. The Baron will give them work in his household -- stewards, secretaries and the like -- and I have provided Delilah with a small dowry."

 

She nodded, understanding. "You're a kind man, Alistair."

 

He came closer, smiling warmly as he lightly touched her arms. "That's why you wanted me to be King, right? A different King would've wiped the whole family off the face of Thedas."

 

Or a Queen, Elissa didn't say. She had a hard time believing the innocence of the Howe children or Anora. Invasions and battlefield betrayals weren't easy to coordinate. She had trouble accepting there was even the slightest chance they were none the wiser.

 

At the very least, they were out of sight, and no longer her problem.

 

"And now," he said, clasping her hands. "We are to court. Apparently, we have dignitaries to greet."

 

***

 

Elissa didn't like sitting on a throne.

 

Not only was the chair itself uncomfortable, it felt wrong to sit on a dais looking down on nobles, while surrounded by guards. She didn't feel like she belonged up there. It wasn't right that she should be Queen. She didn't fit the role and she didn't even want it. Her gown was suffocating and she loathed the smell of her perfume.

 

She had never paid much attention to the courtly graces, and hadn't the slightest idea what to say to these people.

 

"The Ambassador of Rivain," a herald announced. The double doors at the end of the hall opened and a beautiful young woman entered. She was dark of skin and hair, with intricately embroidered robes, and golden jewelry upon her forehead.

 

"Your Majesty," she greeted with a bow. "My name is Maryam del Mar. Please accept my congratulations on your engagement."

 

"Well met, Ambassador," Alistair said beaming. Elissa said nothing, only offering a stiff nod. "Though," the new King continued, "I am slightly surprised to you braved coming to Ferelden during a Blight."

 

"I didn't come alone, Sire," she assured him in her velvety voice. "The Blight is a threat to us all. The Grey Wardens of Rivain accompanied me. They stand ever at the ready, Your Majesty."

 

Alistair smiled. "My thanks to the great nation of Rivain, may her Queen's reign be long and prosperous." Maryam bowed again, and stepped to the side.

 

Elissa blinked, impressed. He's better at this than I thought he'd be. Sure as shit better than me.

 

"The Ambassador of Antiva," the herald announced.

 

Elissa grimaced before she could stop herself. She could feel Alistair glancing her way before turning back to the double doors.

 

They opened and in strode a formidable woman. She was mature, despite her black hair and smooth brown skin. She wore a dark Antivan gown and swept towards the thrones like a dark cloud. She smiled at no one and when she spoke, her tone was as iron. To her right was a nobleman with brilliant red hair, and to her left was a tall elf, pale and blond.

 

"Your Majesty," she greeted almost coldly, her accent thick and rolling, "I am Margeria of Treviso."

 

Elissa swallowed. "Zia," she greeted tightly. "It's been a long time."

 

Alistair blinked repeatedly before it finally clicked. "She's your aunt?" he murmured.

 

"I am sister to Leonor of Treviso, who was slain by that dog Rendon Howe," Margeria said, her voice tolling like a bell. Her words caused a wave of murmurs from the assembled nobles.

 

Alistair's eyes widened, but he kept it together. "Well met, Madam Ambassador. We are honored to have you with us."

 

"These are my attendants," Margeria introduced, as though ignoring the King, "Orlando of Bastion, whose sister Oriana was also slain." She nodded towards the red-haired man. "And Zevran." She vaguely gestured towards the elf.

 

"You are all welcome," Alistair repeated awkwardly. "My lady, you are most brave to come during a Blight."

 

"Nonsense," Margeria replied, her tone clipped. "My niece is about to be Queen of Ferelden. Her mother and father are gone. I must take their place."

 

Elissa wanted to relax and embrace her kinswoman. But she knew Antivan nobles well enough to know this visit wasn't entirely about her.

 

"You must dine with us... Zia," Alistair invited haltingly, glancing at Elissa. "I know you and my betrothed have a lot of catching up to do."

 

Margeria nodded briskly, and stepped off to the side.

 

"Riordan of the Grey Wardens," the herald intoned.

 

Alistair and Elissa both gasped, looking at each other. The tall, dark-haired warrior walked towards the throne, but before he made it all the way down, Alistair was already off his throne and in his arms. Some nobles gasped and whispered, but some also smiled at the King's youthful disregard for decorum.

 

"My friend!" the young King cheered. "It's been too long. What news from Orlais?"

 

"The Wardens march," Riordan assured him, his accent light and raspy. "I just wanted to report to you myself."

 

"You must certainly dine with us," Alistair said, grinning broadly. "Elissa and I want to hear everything."

 

Next: Anora