Chapter Text
“I hate Orlais,” Naelis whispered under her breath.
“You’ve mentioned.”
She avoided staring down at her feet, instead glancing to Alistair for reassurance. They were outside the gates of Halamshiral with a small royal guard, courtesy of the Empress herself.
They looked straight ahead at one another, identical to the toy soldiers she played with growing up. Unlike fiction, these ones would kill her if she stepped out of line.
This event was already giving her a headache. The First Warden had commissioned her ceremonial armor for the occasion when she mentioned it, saying it would be for the best to look the best. It was loose but appropriate, and it was obvious enough she was the Warden. She had been mistaken twice at face-value since arriving in Orlais for being Alistair’s serving girl before they saw the griffon on her breastplate, in which they huffed half hearted apologies to her.
Now they had to attend the actual ball. Dread weighed down Naelis’ heart as she tapped the tip of her boot against the cobblestone.
“Ready?”
“You know I’m not.”
He shrugged, giving her a lazy grin. “When are you?”
She resorted to shooting him an annoyed glare. She would rather the two of them be back in Denerim, helping him get his bearings on his still new title and improving the new Warden base of operations in Amaranthine. It would be the both of them alone, with no forced formalities between them. Instead, ridiculous flare came first, along with all of the stupid lessons of etiquette and dancing.
She stalked towards the gates ahead of him, and she heard his rushed steps to catch back up to her side. A call sounded to open the gates, and they walked through the courtyard together, led by their honor guard.
It was gilded gold and marble, with several bushes cut out in the shape of birds and lions. It was hard to think that this had once been the place of her ancestor’s last stand before Orlesians burned it to the ground, but it made sense that they took joy in it. She had yet to see an elf since she arrived in Orlais, like they had all been banished.
Nobles stared at her and Alistair through their sleek masks. She tried to keep her shoulders back and head straight, but it felt like they were all darkspawn waiting to pounce. It caused the hair on the back of her neck to stand and her ears to tingle.
They made it into the Winter Palace without being stopped, but the whispers carries inwards and further on as more people saw her. She could make out some words, not many of them flattering, but she ignored them. None of them killed an Archdemon. She had fought tooth and nail to stop the Blight from spreading further than it did. Damn them.
They were stopped from entering the main ballroom by a pompous looking squire. He looked over his short paper down at her, and up at Alistair. She wanted to at least grip his hand for a reassurance, but it would have to wait.
He said something in Orlesian to their honor guard, and they dissolved after bowing to the both of them.
“This way, your Majesty.” He moved forwards, gesturing to Alistair first and then herself to enter the ballroom.
She choked on the saturated, flowery perfume. It was densely packed with people looking to up their social status in the time of the ball - or so Leliana had written to her in a warning.
It was obvious they were being announced when she was led to a set of stairs leading down to the main dance floor.
“Presenting, His Majesty King Alistair Theirin--” He started his walk down, abandoning Naelis at the top of the stairs. “King of Ferelden, Veteran of the Fifth Blight--”
Her eyes followed him across the floor. At the end of it was a woman dressed so highly, she would bet her best fleshing knife it was the Empress herself. Her mask looked like Elgar’nan himself had taken the sun and put it on a stick for her to hold up against her face.
“Accompanying His Majesty--”
She straightened up. Shoulders back. Head high. At least if they pounced she had her armor.
She started down the stairs.
“Naelis Mahariel. Warden-Commander of Ferelden. Slayer of the Archdemon and Veteran of the Fifth Blight.”
Hundreds of eyes bore on her like the darkspawn in the Deep Roads only a few months ago. Part of her wanted to reach for the knife hidden away in her boot, but she stilled the thought. The last thing she wanted was to make the night any longer than it had to be.
Alistair was already talking with the Empress when she arrived up the stairs and at his side. She offered her a short bow, and Celene laughed.
“Wardens have always been so formal, but it is we who should be bowing to you.”
Naelis raised an eyebrow, stiffening her back up once more. “Pardon, your Radiance?”
“You were the one to slay the Archdemon, and in turn have spared countless people,” she gestured a gloved hand to the people of the room, most of who now resumed their tittering. “And we will forever be in your debt.”
That was a lie, she noted. Nothing was forever, that was true enough. “I see.”
“And now, we celebrate and mourn those we lost in Blight.” The glint of her earrings caught Naelis’ attention, and she forced herself to straighten back up. The Empress was looking back at Alistair again. “Your brother was a dear friend of mine - I had offered to send him my chevaliers, but no response.”
“We recovered his letters to you from Ostagar,” his voice was strangely soft, as it usually got when regarding his family. “He never got the chance to respond, due to the battle.”
“I understand.” She tapped his wrist lightly, and part of Naelis wanted to snatch the gloved hand away. It was too close for someone they had just met, and with an empire at her disposal. “Perhaps you and I could discuss continuing the plans Cailan and I shared to bring peace to both of our nations, your Highness.”
There was nothing said further as Empress Celene dipped her head, and the pair of them bowed once more. She left them at the balcony overlooking the people trickling in.
She edged closer to Alistair. He was her beacon in the sea of masks, a marker for home.
“I don’t trust her.” She murmured under her breath, grazing his hand that was resting on the oak bannister.
“Leliana did say Orlesians always had agendas,” he whispered back. “You know what Cailan had planned with her, we both saw the letters.”
She didn’t respond, instead swiftly grabbing his hand and squeezing it before releasing it even faster. Cailan had plans to divorce Anora and rule a joint empire with the Empress.
She knew Alistair to be faithful, that was enough, but Eamon had already begun hounding him on finding a Queen instead of her. He had said no elf could be queen, but she didn’t want the title. She wanted her friend and lover to stay that way and not be shared.
They watched a few dances before Alistair was ceremoniously dragged away to participate in a few. She watched him from afar, twirling away and impressing those who frowned on ’dog lords’.
For not wanting to be king at first, his charm worked well enough in his favor.
“Do you dance, Warden Mahariel?”
Naelis jumped out of her skin at the voice of the Empress, swiftly looking to regard the woman.
“Fighting darkspawn is the only dance I know.”
She laughed at the smarmy comment. It was true, however much of a joke it seemed to her.
“A shame. You are not what Orlais expected for the Warden Hero.”
The sniped implication ground at her. Even though she had been forced to interact with humans away from her clan a mere two years prior, she was a quick learner.
“I am what I need to be.” Her arms folded across her chest almost instinctually. “Regardless of what Orlais expects of me, I am a Grey Warden who saved Thedas before a Blight could kill everyone.”
“I do not doubt you-” her tone switch to the defensive. “On the contrary, I applaud your ability and skill. The Grey Wardens should be proud to have such an esteemed elf as Commander and as a Champion.”
Her honeyed words felt false, just as so many had been before. How could she trust a human who - in any other case - would much rather see her put to death for even wielding a dagger of a certain length?
Even for someone who didn’t play the Game, it was obvious the Empress wanted something from her. Be it the fact she spoke with the Hero of Ferelden or a favor from the Wardens as a faction.
“I’m sure you have other places to be, your Radiance.” If it was disrespectful, she didn’t care. “I need a moment away from the crowds.”
Her eyes glinted behind her mask. “I understand. We will speak later?” It was a warning, but not a threat. A demand.
She bent her neck stiff, hurrying from the Empress but not in a way as to bring attention to herself. It was futile, considering she was already an anomaly. Their eyes were all drawn to the Dalish armored to the teeth with her own heraldry on her chest, walking with no heedance to their social restrictions. Unbound.
Her heart hammered as she escaped from the ballroom, turning down a number of hallways to simply escape. The more she thought, the more she came to realize this place was a cage and that maybe she should have jumped onto that boat with Sten to Par Vollen or stayed in Weisshaupt with the First Warden for the first few months like he recommended.
She stopped in the library. It was barren - save for the silence. It rained over her thoughts in an attempt to wash away the inclimate panic that would sweep her off of her feet.
They had gotten worse since the Blight. Her heart would both start and never stop and her hands would shake and the thoughts wouldn’t stop about the worst that could happen, be it her own death or Alistair’s or any of their friends. It haunted her just as the Archdemon did; at the edge of her mind between dreams and waking.
Fingers dug into the wood of a bookshelf to ground her. Just as Talmen died. Just as Duncan died. Was her clan even still alive, or were they just as dead as the countless that she couldn’t save?
Creators she wanted, needed release. She didn’t want the burden of Commander when she hadn’t even earned her vallaslin. It was a mistake.
A hand on her shoulder ripped her from her trance and instinct had her reaching for the person’s arm to push them back and kick the inside of their knee. Her leg was raised and swinging before the other person caught it and countered it with a block.
“Naelis! It’s me.”
She recognized that voice at least, dropping her knee and hand.
“I’m sorry,” she choked out. “I had to get away.”
“I saw you leave,” Alistair said softly. It was a comfort in the cold confines of the Winter Palace. “I know you don’t like this place.”
She didn’t say anything in response other than crushing her face into his formal wear. His agreement was enough - she didn’t like this place. The former home of her people was no home to her when it was filled with the dark hearts of man.
It was a cage.
“I want to go home.” Her voice was a hoarse whisper on the verge of tears.
“I’d like to - the Orlesians never seem to want to do Ferelden any favors. Not even in the ways of thanks, really.”
He wasn’t wrong. They always spoke in circles.
“We could always run away back to Denerim. Say I stole you,” she murmured. “They’ll believe it anyways.”
“With how good of a dancer I am, they might be offended.”
“Undoubtedly they’re lining up to be your Queen.”
He held her tighter at the remark as the conversation died with it. It was undoubtedly raw and uncomfortable to talk about, considering the truth of it.
He was her home, and she was afraid to lose him to the sea of politics.
Seconds felt like hours in his arms. It was over when he spoke.
“Dance with me.”
“You know I can’t dance right, thanks to the lack of a teacher,” she responded before taking an unsteady step.
“As if I’ve ever judged you for your dancing!”
“A first time for everything, Alistair.”