Back in the camp of Clan Virnehn, the meeting was coming to a close. Despite Felassan urging them to ally with the Coalition, they had decided to move on, to try and lose themselves more thoroughly in the forest. They had absolutely no desire to become swept up in the larger politics of Thedas, and only wished to be left in peace with their researches and their private lives.
When the meeting was concluded, Mihris pulled Felassan away from the others to speak privately.
“Felassan, do you wish to come with us?” Mihris asked. “You are free to do so, you know. You could leave behind all that—involvement with Orlais and the Empress and everything.”
Felassan shook his head. “I have other work that must be done,” he said.
“Are you sure?” her brow was knit in concern. “It would be peaceful. Or we'd try to make it peaceful. No good comes from putting yourself into their wars.”
He looked at her and sighed. “You cannot ignore the larger world forever,” he chided her. “It isn't peace, it's avoidance. The Coalition could help you, I have no doubt. And it is foolish to pay your city cousins such small regard.”
Mihris closed her eyes. “Felassan, can you sing nothing but that old tune?”
“I will sing it until you listen.” he told her.
“All we want is to be left alone,” she told him. “We agreed—all of Thelhen’s grand plans, we didn’t even want to complete those, not really. We just want to be left in peace.”
“You can’t hide forever,” Felassan urged her, eyes brimming with a strange pain that Mihris couldn’t place. “The world will find you.”
“Felassan, I know,” Mihris told him, her tone gentle. “I know what you believe. I know you want us to move on, and I know you think that what we want and what we believe is foolish.”
“I don’t--”
“Felassan.”
He quieted at her tone.
She put her hand on his shoulder. “I know you think you’re smarter than us—ah, ah, don’t deny it, it’s the truth!” she cut him off when he opened his mouth. “And I know we don’t see eye to eye on, well, a lot of things. I know you’d drag us out into that dratted world if you could.”
“I would,” he admitted. “Why do you insist on staying?”
“You say you want our people to have the freedom to choose, Felassan,” she told him. “That’s why you go to the cities, isn’t it? You want to try and force people to see other paths.”
“That isn’t quite what I do,” he said.
“But it’s the choosing that’s important, isn’t it?”
“Yes. Absolutely.”
“Then, Felassan, listen to me when I say, that this is what the Clan chooses. We just want to be left alone, in peace.”
“I--” he looked at her, and she stared back at him. Her hand had not moved from his shoulder. “Oh, da’len,” he said, and for a moment he looked utterly heartbroken, before he regained his composure. “Alright,” he said. “Do as you will.”
“I’m so glad we have your approval,” Mihris said, her tone dry.
Felassan chuckled. “I shall leave you with some parting advice, then; don’t summon any more demons, and pay more mind to your city cousins. They are stronger than you think.”
“If you say so,” she said, her tone doubtful. “Dareth shiral, Felassan. May we meet again under better circumstances.”
“Dareth shiral,” he said. “Sule sal harthir.”
Just before they left, Andoriel went to speak to Mihris.
“Are you sure you will be alright here?” Andoriel asked her.
Mihris nodded. “I will be fine,” she said. “We will be fine,” she added. “Ambassador...know that when you have need of Clan Virnehn, we will be here. We will not be part of your alliance, but if you call for our aid, we will do what we can to answer.”
Andoriel smiled. “That pleases me greatly to hear, Keeper.”
Mihris gave a tiny smile of her own. “Just don’t call for our help unless you are in dire need of it.”
Andoriel chuckled. “I think I can manage that, da’len.” she told her.
Andoriel and Felassan returned to Andoriel’s camp, where Mala, Ovra and Varras were breaking it down and unwinding their spells.
“So,” Celene said. “What did they decide?”
“It is as I predicted,” Andoriel said. “Clan Virnehn will have to part of any alliance with Orlais, or with the Coalition.”
“Not with you, either?” Briala asked.
Andoriel shook her head. “No. It is a shame, but not unexpected. They want to be left alone.”
Felassan looked somewhat sour at this, but did not say anything.
“What do we do now?” Briala asked, scowling. “If they will not help--”
“Your problem requires a wider solution than the western Clans,” Andoriel said. “I need to return to Orzammar in any case, so we will go to Queen Aeducan. The Queen is more likely to give you assistance than any one Dalish Clan, especially the western ones. Besides which, the Coalition is meeting in Orzammar in a few months’ time, and I need to return there.”
“You meet in Orzammar?” Felassan raised his eyebrows. “I never knew that.”
“What you don’t know could fill quite a few books, I wager,” Andoriel said, and Felassan smirked.
“What about Gaspard?” Michel asked. “What do we do about him? He may not have found us yet, but surely he will soon--”
“Queen Aeducan will give you temporary sanctuary,” Andoriel said. “If we get to Orzammar, she can protect you. At least for a little while.”
Celene narrowed her eyes.
“Queen Aeducan can protect us from the Orlesian army?” she asked, her tone doubtful.
“Yes,” Andoriel said. “She can.” she paused. “Do you not have military support of your own?”
Celene gave a heavy sigh. “After so long out of contact, there is a good chance they are running wild,” she said. “It's possible that Gaspard has even recruited them to his own. I would not be able to corral them without the support of other nobles.”
Andoriel raised her eyebrows. “It seems you're certainly in a fix, Your Majesty.”
“Yes,” Celene agreed. “I suppose so.”
Andoriel turned her attention to Briala and Felassan. “Briala, da’len, you and Felassan should come with me at any rate,”
Briala looked surprised. “Why us specifically?”
“Why, to meet the Coalition, of course,” Andoriel said. “We don’t have any representatives from any Orlesian Alienages, and we could definitely use one.”
“And what need have you for me?” Felassan asked.
“You’re her friend, aren’t you? And it’s hardly as if you were planning on going anywhere with Clan Virnehn.”
“Wait,” Celene said. “Why should you have need of someone to represent the interests of the Orlesian Alienages? I am already here. I represent the needs of all aspects of the Empire.”
Andoriel took a deep, calming breath, but her tone was steady and expression pleasant as she said “Having someone to speak for the Alienages is rather akin to, oh, having someone to speak for a bann or an arling. It simply promotes improved communication.”
“And how has this come about? I have heard nothing of it.”
“You wouldn’t have,” Andoriel smiled. “Outside of Ferelden, Alienage representatives only have power in the Coalition. The practice came about in Denerim after an incident during the Blight, where the Denerim Alienage was attacked by Tevinter slavers. The Queen, who would never have allowed Tevinters in her city, hadn’t known about it, because there was no official representative who could tell her and the Guard actively suppressed the knowledge.”
“Why would they do that?” Michel asked. “That does not make sense.”
“It was a gambit by Teryn Loghain,” Andoriel said. “The Denerim Alienage was in uproar after several of their own had been killed by a noble, and Teryn Loghain felt the best way to deal with the uprising was to set slavers on them rather than simply talk with them.”
Briala gave Celene a hard stare. Celene, for her part, said nothing.
“In any case, now we have representatives from many Alienages come to speak with the Dalish Coalition and with Orzammar,” Andoriel said. “But we have no one from the western Alienages.”
“I have heard nothing from any nation about this practice,” Celene said.
“No one would have told you,” Andoriel explained. “It isn’t something frequently spoken of.”
“And yet, you speak of it now.” Felassan said.
“Only in measures,” Andoriel smirked at him a little bit. “And we can hardly hide the Coalition’s existence, can we?”
Felassan raised his eyebrows. “And your Coalition willingly speaks with Alienage elves?”
“Of course. Should we not?”
“I—that is simply good to hear,”
Andoriel smiled. “I’m glad. Now, shall we be off?”
“We haven’t even said if we’re going with you,” Michel growled.
Andoriel put her hands on her hips. “Well, are you or not? Decide now, my lad, because I'm not waiting around forever.”
“We will come with you,” Celene decided. “I will speak with Queen Aeducan, and see if she can be of assistance.”
“Good,” Andoriel said. “Then let’s go.”
They headed east, towards the mountains, at a brisk pace. The terrain became rocky and uphill, harder and harder to traverse. Briala, Celene and even Michel soon had difficulty in hiking, as they were more used to the lowlands of Orlais, not the foothills of the mountains. It did not help that the three of them were not well-equipped.
Briala soon sported terrible blisters, the rocky ground hard on her feet. She winced every time she took her boots off.
Felassan, fortunately, had a solution for this problem, and healed her sore feet every time they stopped.
“You really don't have to--” she started, when he healed her foot for the third time in as many nights.
“There are many things I do not have to do, but I choose to,” Felassan informed her. “In any case, it wouldn't do for you to have come all this way only to be felled by something as minor as an infected blister.”
“My feet are not infected.”
“Well, not now they aren't.”
Briala pulled her foot from his grasp and rubbed her heel. She shook her head. “I don't understand it,” she said. “I've never had blisters like this before. I walk barefoot all the time and I've never had anything this bad.”
“Walking in the mountains is quite different than cities or lowland forests,” Felassan said. “Even an elf will have trouble if they've never been in mountains before.” Felassan chuckled. “You're simply lucky you have boots.”
Briala made a face at the thought of traversing the mountains barefoot. Her habit in the palace was to wear footwraps or flimsy palace slippers, like the other elvhen servants. It had been a stroke of luck that she'd been wearing her boots before getting arrested.
“Yes,” she agreed. “I suppose it is.”
If Celene's hobbling made Briala smile, no one commented on it.
“You are quite different from other elvhen I have known,” Felassan said one morning, falling into step with Andoriel.
“All elvhen are different, lad.”
“You do not have...quite the same attitude of my kinsmen. You accept Briala and those of the Alienages without a second thought.”
Andoriel snorted. “This attitude about other elvhen the western Clans have—it's ridiculous.”
“So your Clan truly does not feel the same way about Alienage elves?” Felassan asked, raising a skeptical eyebrow.
“How about this, my lad,” Andoriel said. “My wife is Irren Talvi of Orzammar.”
Felassan paused. “...a dwarf.”
Andoriel nodded.
Briala, who had been listening to the conversation with some interest, stared at her. “You're married to a dwarf?”
“Oh, yes,” Andoriel said. “We even had two weddings—one with my Clan, and one in Orzammar with Irren's family.”
“And your Clan is...perfectly alright with that?” Felassan said, sounding a little strained.
“My Keeper married us,” Andoriel said with a wistful little sigh. “My mother was so pleased—she'd been banging on about me needing to get married for ages, I've already had three children, she was convinced I needed a good woman too.”
“Children?” Briala asked.
“Yes, three—all grown by now, and in different Clans. So,” she said, rolling her shoulders back. “You can just put Thelhen’s nonsense about Alienage elves not being true elvhen out of your mind. We’re just fine with elves, half-elves, dwarves, Vashothari—even a human or two.” she laughed. “Why, one of Clan Tualsalis is half-human!”
“Truly?” Felassan was surprised.
“Oh, yes, Feynriel, a very skilled young man. We of the Coalition have found that we succeed if we stand together with others. We may keep our heritage, our language, our gods and our history, but we may also stand with others.”
“A refreshing attitude,” Felassan said.
“Well, many attitudes would be refreshing when compared with Thelhen’s, I am sure.”
“I had one question about that,” Michel butted in.
Andoriel sighed. “What is it, lad?’
“I was under the impression that Dalish Clans cast out mages if they had too many of them,” Michel said. “But the Keeper was a mage, and the woman who took his place. And you are, as well,” he nodded at Felassan and Andoriel. “As well as them.” he gestured towards Mala, Ovra and Varras. “I had been wondering for some time—where did you all come from?”
Andoriel’s back stiffened, and she glared at Michel. Mala, Varras and Ovra were also glaring, though the three of them had only been listening with half an ear.
“Magic is sacred to us,” Andoriel hissed. “We do not care for Templars, for Circles, or for anything that may cage or bind magic. Do you understand?”
“That does not answer the question.”
“Does it not?”
“She does not wish to answer you, Michel,” Felassan said. “Because your question is quite an offensive and personal one.”
“How so?”
“You just asked her if her family cast her out because of her magic. How is that not offensive?”
“I was simply curious--”
“Take your ‘simply curious’ elsewhere,” Andoriel snapped. “I have known people whose children were taken or killed by Templars. I have known people whose children were made Tranquil by your Circles. I do not wish to tell you about what happens to our mages because of these things.”
“Very well,” Michel grumbled.
“And do not mention Templars or the like in Orzammar, either,” Andoriel informed him. “The Queen and the Prince-Consort do not approve. Nor does the whole of Orzammar, really.”
“That is quite clear,” Celene interjected. “After Queen Aeducan ceased trade with the Templars of Kirkwall.”
“Templars are protectors,” Michel said. “Why would you scorn them?”
“Do protectors kill innocent children?” Andoriel snapped. “Do they hunt down mothers and fathers, and old men and women? Do they take people away so we can never see them again? No, they do not. Your ‘protectors’ are foul liars, and you would do well to cease your prattling about them.”
Shocked, Michel fell into silence. Celene looked slightly shocked as well, and Briala was not sure how to feel.
In the Alienages and in Halam’shiral, elves distrusted Templars as much as they distrusted every other symbol of human authority. Briala knew many parents whose children had been taken away for magic, wives and husbands whose spouses had been separated from them, and even children orphaned by the Templars taking their parents.
However, Briala also knew the horror stories of demons and wayward mages, and knew many of her kin felt the same. The Templars may have been distrusted, but so were most mages, unless the mage was a healer or enchanter. Most people just knew mages as dangerous and unsafe.
Briala was not sure how she felt about magic. She knew the usefulness of a magical healer, and knew how the Chantry was wary of them. She knew the Circles were rebellious, and of course knew of the troubles in Kirkwall.
Felassan was her friend, and he never seemed frightening or demon-possessed. Mihris had not seemed very frightening either, and Andoriel, Mala, Varras and Ovra were all helpful and the furthest thing from dangerous most of the time.
The vehement hatred of Templars was alien to her, however. They had simply never been a threat to her or those she loved. Felassan, the only mage she was close to, had more of an amused scorn for them than anything.
Briala had no doubt that even if the Templars tried to take Felassan, they would fail.
She walked quietly, sometimes shooting a sidelong glance at Andoriel. She wondered if someone been taken from her, but did not want to ask.
It was a week of travel before they came to the deep Roads entrance that Andoriel had specified. They had hiked a little way into the Frostbacks, and everything was growing much colder. The morning frosts started to persist well into the day, and there was even a light flurry of snow which made Briala, Celene, Michel and Felassan all want for warmer clothes. Their companions, of course, had already come equipped.
Fortunately, they were not in the cold for very long.
At the mouth of the Deep Roads entrance was a little camp, where one dwarrowdam in leather armor sat cooking a meal over a large fire. She sported a black brand on her face.
“Andoriel, Varras, Mala, Ovra, good to see you!” the dwarrowdam spotted them and gave a cheerful wave.
“Lugsha, savhalla,” Andoriel smiled. “We just need to be heading back to Orzammar. Any trouble to watch out for?”
“No, the Legion’s been doing a good job keeping the road clear,” Lugsha said, getting to her feet. “Who are your friends?” she peered at Michel and Celene with particular interest.
“Some people who need to get to Orzammar,” Andoriel said.
“Oh, aye? Well, you best watch yourself—ghosts have been around lately.”
“Mythal’s mercy, that’s hardly a good sign, is it?” Andoriel said, putting a hand to her mouth.
“Ghosts?” Felassan asked, raising his eyebrows.
Lugsha nodded and let out a breath. “Ghosts a’plenty, mostly dwarves, but we think we spotted some elvhen ones too. Very strange.”
“Proper spirits, or just those echo things?” Andoriel asked.
“Not sure, no mages have gotten close enough to get a good look.” Lugsha looked at Andoriel’s companions. “These friends of yours have names?’
“This is Briala, ambassador of Halam’shiral,” she gestured to Briala. “Felassan Virnehn, of one of the Western Clans.” Andoriel took a breath, hesitated, then went on. “Her Majesty Celene Valmont, and her Champion, Michel de Chevin.”
Celene scowled at being introduced second to last, but said nothing.
“Her Majesty?” Lugsha raised an eyebrow. “Not...the Orlesian Empress?”
“The very same.”
“Ancestors,” Lugsha breathed. “Well, you just go straight on through—like I said, the Legion’s cleared it out, but I wouldn’t linger for long.”
“We may have some Orlesian soldiers following us,” Andoriel said. “If a man named Gaspard comes, do not let him in the Roads. Inform Orzammar at once.”
“Absolutely, Ambassador,” Lugsha said.
They went into the entrance, an enormous door set into the side of the mountain. Lugsha had to crank a huge wheel to get it to open, and she waved at them in farewell as they went inside.
“That brand on her face—she was Casteless, was she not?” Felassan asked as soon as they were out of earshot of Lugsha.
“You know what the brands mean?” Andoriel was surprised.
“Yes.”
“Well, yes, she’s Casteless. Queen Aeducan is trying to make headway against the caste system, but right now most of what’s available to them is jobs like guard and soldier and explorer.”
“Better than none at all, I wager?”
“Much better.” Andoriel said. “The Queen—well, I suppose almost dying in the Deep Roads really changes a person. She’s nothing like the Kings and Queens before her. She's changed many rules, even the ones about Orzammar-born dwarves going to the surface.”
“Apparently so,” Felassan said softly. "You are well-informed, I see."
"My Irren wouldn't ever have been able to marry me without the Queen changing the rules," Andoriel pointed out. "I know a thing or two about the dwarven laws."
“What are the Casteless?” Briala asked.
“Dwarves have different Castes, depending on what family they were born to,” Felassan explained. “One who is Casteless was born to a Casteless family. I think it is because they are believed to be descended from traitors or criminals.”
“And what has the brand to do with that?”
“They brand the faces of Casteless at birth, so all can see who they are.”
“And these are the people you entrust the Empress to?” Michel demanded, horrified.
“All empires do things that are regrettable,” Celene said. “You should know that yourself, Michel.” she gave Briala a significant look, but Briala simply turned away from her and put Felassan between herself and Celene.
The Deep Roads were far warmer than the Frostbacks. They had a peculiar smell, like hot metal and lyrium. The road they walked down was paved and flat, a welcome change from the uneven rocks and pathways of the mountains.
It took them quite some time to come to the gates of Orzammar. The gates were absolutely enormous, towering overhead, carved with intricate designs and lovingly polished to a shine. Two guards stood by the gate.
“Ambassador,” one of the gate guards nodded at Andoriel as he saw her approach.
Andoriel smiled. “Ander'an atish'an,” she said. “I bring guests for the Queen and the Prince-Consort.”
The guard raised his eyebrows as he surveyed her companions. “We’ll send a messenger right away,” he assured her.
“Thank you.”
The gates, as huge as they are, took several moments to open. They moved slowly and ponderously, but didn't make a sound. When the gates were open, they stepped through into Orzammar.
Briala stared, her eyes huge. Even the marvels of Val Royeaux hardly compared to all this—immense buildings of carved stone, centuries old, hot magma used as light, jewel-studded statues lining the walls. She saw stories and histories played out in carvings on the walls, likenesses hundreds of feet high.
“Maker,” she breathed.
“Quite something, isn’t it?” Andoriel asked. “Me, I still prefer forests and open sky—but it’s beautiful in it’s own way.”
“I haven’t the faintest idea how all these people cope with all this stone overhead,” Felassan said, staring up at the cave roof, far over their heads.
“I haven't either,” Andoriel said. “It’s nice for a visit, but to live here?” she shook her head. “I’m just lucky Irren likes the surface just as she likes Orzammar.”
“Where to now?” Briala asked.
“The Palace,” Andoriel said. “That messenger should have told them we were coming. Come on—we need to move quickly.”
Mala, Ovra and Varras hurried off their separate ways. Having only been there to help Andoriel with spellwork, they were no longer needed, and could do as they pleased.
They walked through Orzammar, Briala marveling at the sights. She had never seen so many people of different races intermingling happily before.
Most of the people were dwarves, but she saw a rather large number of elves (both Dalish and not), and once she even saw a tall Vashoth woman. The Vashoth woman was arm-in-arm with an elvhen woman who lacked the Dalish tattoos, and they both laughed and smiled easily as anything.
She saw a group of Dalish arguing fervently with a dwarven merchant, a Dalish man accompanied by a large crowd of children (some elvhen, some dwarven), and a pack of teenagers that were mostly dwarves, but with two elves among them. There were even a few mages, Dalish, non-Dalish elvhen, and human, doing many different tasks. One was helping workers move large slabs of stone, another conjured blocks of ice for eager buyers, and still another helped to heat the bellows of a huge, open forge.
It reminded her in some ways of Clan Virnehn, but no one so much as gave her a second glance. Some people waved to Andoriel, but other than that, their little group was considered just as normal as the rest.
That felt...good. No one glared at her, or stared at her, or made rude comments about elves. Plenty of the merchants called out to her with their wares, but none of the guard scowled when they saw her and she didn't hear the words 'rabbit' or 'flat-ear' once.
“Amazing,” Felassan murmured. He had a huge grin on his face, and his eyes were wide as he looked around. “Absolutely amazing.”
Michel and Celene, in contrast, said nothing, and looked mildly uncomfortable.
The Royal Palace was a huge building set into the cliff face, covered in more jewels and carvings than the area surrounding it. There was an enormous set of double-doors that lead inside, and before the doors was a huge statue of a dwarrowdam with a crown and long hair, dressed in full armor.
“This way,” Andoriel said. They went in through the main doors, and came into a large antechamber. The antechamber was decorated with huge stone murals on the walls, and not only was there a likeness of the same dwarrowdam who was carved in stone before the entrance, there was the likeness of an elf, as well. In the mural, the elf and the dwarrowdam faced each other and held each other's hands.
In the antechamber they met an older dwarrowdam with steel-gray hair pulled back into a severe bun.
“Steward Bandelora, hello,” Andoriel said.
“Ambassador, good to see you,” Bandelora gave a weary smile. “I see you’ve brought guests.”
“Yes, and we need to meet with Their Majesties at their earliest convenience.”
The steward raised her eyebrows. “Why? The messenger didn’t say why, only that they had come.”
Celene stepped forward. ‘I am Empress Celene Valmont I, of Orlais, and I have dire need of your Queen’s assistance.”
Bandelora stared up at her for a long moment. “I will inform Their Majesties,” she said. “Please, wait here.”
After about half an hour, Bandelora came back. “Their Majesties will see you,” she said. “All of you.”
They were lead into an enormous audience chamber, where blue lyrium crystals as well as burning braziers illuminated the hall.
At the end of the hall were two thrones. On the right was a dwarrowdam with long dark hair and a full suit of gold-washed ceremonial armor. She bore a crown that was etched with intricate patterns, and when she got to her feet, a long, dark red cape followed her. She was quite clearly the dwarrowdam depicted in the statue before the entrance, and the murals of the antechamber behind them.
On the left was an elvhen man, of medium height, with long blond hair pulled back into elaborate braids. Into the braids was woven precious gems and rings of gold, and on his head was another crown, more delicate than the Queen’s but still very fine. He was dressed in armor as well, steel mail and plating better suited to a rogue than the Queen’s warrior armor. He was obviously the elf whose image decorated the mural in the antechamber.
“Queen Aeducan, Prince-Consort Arainai,” Andoriel bowed low at the waist, then straightened. “Might I introduce Empress Celene Valmont the First of Orlais, her champion Michel de Chevin, Briala, representative of Halam’shiral and the Alienages of the West, and Felassan, representative of the unallied Dalish Clans of the West.”
Queen Aeducan and Prince-Consort Arainai both slightly inclined their heads. Andoriel turned back to the party.
“Might I present Queen Culwydd Aeducan, the True Queen of Orzammar, and her Prince-Consort, Zevran Arainai of Antiva, cousin of the Dalish Coalition of the East.”
“Atrast vala, visitors,” the Queen stepped down from her dais, the Prince-Consort falling in step with her.
“Ander’an atish’an and other greetings to you, cousins,” the Prince-Consort inclined his head towards Andoriel, then smiled at both Briala and Felassan in a way that was vaguely disquieting. “We understand you come to us with a problem?”
“Yes, Your Majesties,” Celene said. “I come to you in desperate need. My throne is in a very great danger.”
“This danger is familiar to us, Empress,” Queen Aeducan’s face softened for a moment. “But we wish to hear the grievances of all those who have come before us.” she looked to Briala, then Felassan. “How fare the Alienages of the West?” she asked.
“I--” Briala stumbled, unused to being addressed directly. “We--” she glanced sidelong at Celene. She took a deep breath. “Your Majesties, We—are threatened, because Empress Celene’s rule is threatened,” she said. “If her throne is taken, we will suffer.”
“We see.” Queen Aeducan and Prince-Consort Arainai glanced at each other, then looked at Felassan. “And how fare the unallied Clans of the West?”
“We are still unallied, Your Majesties,” Felassan said, with a faint sigh. “Disparate, and uncooperative. They wish no part of your alliances, and have no kinship with the Alienages. Some even drive out their own kind.”
“We know of this tragedy,” it was Prince-Consort Arainai who spoke now. “Is there anything we can do, a hand we can reach out, that will bring the western Clans back to us?”
Felassan blinked. “I...could not say,” he said. “I would have to think on it.”
Queen Aeducan inclined her head. “We understand your concerns. However, there is little we can do at this present time. If our guests will permit it, we would meet with them and discuss their problems in greater detail. Ambassador,” she addressed Andoriel, who stood straighter. “Do you plan to bring Ambassador Briala and Ambassador Felassan to the Coalition meeting?”
“Of course, Your Majesty.”
“Good. Ambassador Briala, Ambassador Felassan, we would ask you meet with the Coalition to discuss your concerns. Empress Valmont, we would meet with you privately.”
“Yes, Majesty,” Celene said.
“As you wish, Your Majesty,” Felassan said, a strange smile playing about the corners of his mouth.
“Of course, Majesty,” Briala said.
Michel said nothing, but seemed sullen at not being addressed.
“For now, you should rest, and restore yourselves,” Queen Aeducan declared. “We will speak with you in due time.”
They were ushered into a smaller antechamber, where there was food laid out.
“That went well,” Andoriel said with a smile. “And nothing about your Gaspard yet! He must not have caught up with us. The Queen will know what to do, I’m sure.”
“Your Coalition will meet with us?” Felassan asked her. “You are certain?”
“Of course, haven’t I said enough times? Oh, hush now—Their Majesties are coming, and will definitely want to speak with you.”
Through a door at the far end, the Queen and the Prince-Consort had arrived. The Queen’s hand lay on the Prince-Consort’s arm with delicacy that was at odds with her severe face and plate armor. They split up, the Prince-Consort approaching Briala and Felassan, while Queen Aeducan went to Celene and Michel.
“So, you are the ambassador of the western Clans, yes?” the Prince-Consort asked them. His honey-colored eyes gleamed in the light, and he looked them both over with a critical gaze that missed nothing. He had dark tattoos trailing down one side of his face that accentuated his sharp cheekbones. Every time he tilted his head, the jewels in his braids clicked together quietly.
“I suppose that is what I have become, Your Majesty,” Felassan said.
“Ambassador Andoriel tells us it was more or less an accident,” the Prince-Consort had a smile that was somehow both dangerous and friendly. “Such a strange twist of fate, no?”
“Perhaps, Majesty.”
“Come,” the Prince-Consort lead Briala and Felassan to a more private corner. “While our lady wife speaks with your companions, you can speak with us, yes? We know little of the elvhen of the west.”
“The Alienages of Orlais are part of Orlais, Majesty,” Briala said. “If you had wanted to know us, you need only come and see.”
The Prince-Consort laughed, an airy chuckle with a hard edge. “Ah, dear friend, is that so? And how would the nobles of Orlais react if our ambassadors came to their cities?”
Briala considered that. “Most likely not very well, Majesty.”
“Exactly.”
“You know little of Orlesian elvhen, Majesty?” Felassan cocked an eyebrow.
“Orlesian?” The Prince-Consort waved a hand. “My friend, the Dalish west of the Frostbacks are as Orlesian as we are—and as the Alienages are barely considered Orlesian by the country, they too, are ‘west of the Frostbacks.’” he gave a tiny smirk. “And it amuses us to see Orlesians become so angry when we call their country ‘the west.’ They have called our country ruins, and my mother’s people savages, so we see no reason not to do the same. It is a petty pleasure, but we enjoy it.”
“What is your country, Majesty?” Felassan asked.
“Our country is Orzammar, and the dwarven lands, of course,” the Prince-Consort said. “Oh, I was born in fair Antiva, and lived there for many years, but my heart—and my citizenship—is with my lady wife. But come, we are not here to talk about me, however much I may enjoy it. Tell us of yourselves.”
He slipped from the royal ‘we’ to the singular pronoun with ease, and every movement was graceful. He made the hair on the back of Briala’s neck stand on end.
“I come from Halam’shiral, Your Majesty,” Briala explained, with a sidelong glance at Felassan.
“Ah,” the Prince-Consort inclined his head. “Halam’shiral. A sore point for many of our Dalish friends.”
“A sore point for us, as well,” Briala said.
“Come, tell us of your troubles.”
“There...was a rebellion in the city,” she explained. “The people grew restless.”
The Prince-Consort nodded and clucked his tongue. “Yes, rebellion, we sympathize quite a great deal. The Denerim Alienage had such troubles during the Blight, as well.” he gave a delicate frown. “Are we to understand this did not end well?”
“Not well at all,” Briala shook her head. “The city—all except for the human quarter—was burned to quell the rebellion.” her eyes flicked unwillingly to Celene’s back.
The Prince-Consort’s expression grew somewhat colder as his gaze followed hers. “You would benefit greatly from speaking with a representative of the Denerim Alienage,” he said. “Their rebellion was meant to be stopped by Tevinter slavers.”
“Ambassador Andoriel told us,” Briala said.
“Such a pleasant lady, no?” the Prince-Consort smiled again.
Every word he said put Briala on edge. She knew this man was dangerous, though his danger was not necessarily aimed at her.
She had heard, as had the rest of Orlais, when Queen Aeducan married an elf. She had also learned he was once an Antivan Crow, and he still carried himself like one. She suspected that somewhere on his person was a great variety of weapons, and she had no doubt that if she were in a blade fight with him, she would lose.
She also knew that it was unlikely she would enter a blade fight. The Crows were careful, and royalty even more so. If he wanted to harm her, no one would ever know he had done it.
“The ambassador mentioned we should meet with the Coalition heads,” Felassan said. “And the Queen did so as well.”
The Prince-Consort nodded. “Indeed you should.”
“And what of Empress Celene? Would it not be worthwhile for her to meet them as well?”
The Prince-Consort laughed. “If you were to bring the Empress to meet the Coalition, they would be most displeased.”
“Why?”
“You are Dalish, are you not?” the Prince-Consort eyed Felassan with a penetrating gaze. “Why do you think?”
“They are so short-sighted that they would refuse an alliance with Orlais?” Felassan’s expression was calculating.
“Short-sighted? Perhaps. Perhaps they merely have long memories. If even Andraste’s word could not protect them from Orlais, what use is the word of the Empress?”
Briala recalled the play that had implied Celene’s favoritism of elves. “Her word would not mean much,” she said quietly. “But without her, the elves of Orlais would suffer more than they would otherwise.”
“Then what is what you must tell the Coalition,” the Prince-Consort said. “Otherwise, they will care not.”
“What will they do, if they will not ally with the Empress?” Felassan asked.
“They must decide that. We could not tell you.”
Felassan tilted his head to one side, examining the Prince-Consort. The Prince-Consort, for his part, met Felassan’s violet eyes steadily.
“And when will the Coalition meet?” Felassan asked.
“We will inform you,” The Prince-Consort said. “It would be impolitic to mention it in present company,” his gaze flicked to Celene’s back.
“You don’t wish her to know?” Briala asked.
The Prince-Consort smiled at her, his teeth catching the light. “I see you understand.”
“I’m afraid I don’t, not really.” she had an idea of why, but she wanted to know for certain before she made any guesses.
“Not to worry. I am sure that you will soon enough.”
On the other side of the room, Queen Aeducan approached Celene.
“So, we understand your throne is in danger,” Queen Aeducan said. “Come, while our lord husband speaks with your elvhen companions, we shall talk, one Queen to another.”
“Of course,” Celene inclined her head, and watched out of the corner of her eye while Prince-Consort Arainai lead Felassan and Briala to a more private part of the antechamber.
“Tell us, who threatens your throne?”
“A cousin, Grand-Duke Gaspard,” Celene explained. “He wishes to plunge our empire into civil war.”
Queen Aeducan tutted in a disapproving way. “We understand the problems of family,” she said. “What is it you would have us do?”
"Formally ally with me,” Celene said. “Declare that you back my line, and not his. Your armies will intimidate him into ceasing his attempts at conquest.”
Queen Aeducan gave Celene a long look. “We shall see,” she said. “We must speak with our lord husband, and consider this.”
“As you will,” Celene looked her over, trying to see past her Queenly mask. A veteran of the Game, Celene prided herself on seeing what people really meant.
“What other concerns do you have?”
“That is the one that is the most worrisome at this time.”
Queen Aeducan considered her, and Celene felt rather like a bug under glass. She was a formidable woman, her armor not for show in the slightest. From the way she moved, one could quite clearly see she was a warrior.
Celene would not be able to best this woman in a fight. She knew that immediately, and she knew that the Queen knew.
Celene had no leverage by which to get the Queen to do what she wanted. Queen Aeducan would do as she willed, when she willed it, and nothing Celene did would sway her.
It made Celene feel unsteady, to be suddenly regarded as less than someone.
As Celene had few other concerns, the Queen left her to return to her husband’s side. They spoke with each other softly, and Celene returned to Briala and Felassan.
“What did the two of you speak of?” Celene asked.
“Nothing,” Briala shrugged.
Celene stared at her, expression hard, but they both focused on Queen Aeducan when she spoke again.
“We have no desire to enstrange our Ferelden or Dalish allies,” the Queen said, her face grave. “We will not support any Orlesian monarch. Empress Celene may stay here as long as she wishes, to rest and recover herself, but we will offer no other aid.”
Briala felt the breath leave her.
“Ambassador Briala, Ambassador Felassan, we would still urge you to meet with the Coalition, and we will of course give our support to anyone allied with the Coalition. But we cannot in good conscience support any Orlesian monarch.”
With that, their audience was ended.