"All of the night was quite barred out except
An owl's cry, a most melancholy cry
Shaken out long and clear upon the hill
No merry note, nor cause of merriment
But one telling me plain what I escaped
And others could not, that night, as in I went "
– excerpt fromThe Owlby Edward Thomas
9:30 Dragon, Halamshiral
The biting colds of Wintermarch had reached Halamshiral as a crowd of Orlesian elites gathered within the Winter Palace in celebration of the First Day. The halls and corridors of the palace were illuminated with hues of blue, both vibrant and withered. The colors were only further enhanced by the fortress' usual gold. Crystal sculptures, almost ice like in texture and look, depicted notable figures and historic events as decoration. The curtains contrasted the blues with an elaborate black and white lace. It had seemed that the palace was made to look as cold as the days had grown.
Even colder still were the nobles that danced and conversed, drinks in hand- but never naïve to their surroundings. As one eye watched the other lords and ladies, the other watched for a knife in the back-a drop of poison in the wine. Today was more than the First Day of Wintermarch- it was also another chance at political upheaval through the Grand Game. The looks of merriment and festivity would fool only the unperceptive. Every move made, every word uttered, every reaction captured was observed and interpreted, exploited for weakness. There were no friends or family at the Winter Palace; only rumors, scandal, and political intrigue.
While most of the guests of the evening tried their hand at the Grand Game, others sought to find enjoyment through other means.
A woman stood, her pale blue gown matched the eyes that stalked the man in front of her. Her frailty and wrinkles hidden beneath a golden mask- decorated in the style of a hawk. She took a sip from her wine as she continued her conversation. "You simply must attend our son's Chevalier celebration." The woman smiled at the man she held her conversation with. He was a baron- lower than the woman in status-but still valuable as an asset. His family's claim to the title of marquis in Val Foret was certainly of some merit.
"Ah yes, I've heard he was accepted into an outfit. His training shan't be too far off then." The man, returned the woman's smile with one of his own. His silver mask, almost jester like in appearance- gave an almost sinister look to his smile. It was enough to unsettle the woman, but that was the point.
"In three months' time," she paused, "We've gathered dishes from nearly every corner of Thedas in preparation," the blue-eyed woman observed her guest- the baron's nephew had nearly been disowned from his family after an incident two years ago with a Dwarven dish at his wedding festival- the catastrophe was one that haunted the family ever since.
Before the baron could speak, a young girl approached the two, her smaller frame allowing her to push through the crowds quite easily. Curled maroon hair and a smaller mask, similar in design to the woman's, were the most noticeable features on the young lady. As her light brown eyes looked up to the woman, the girl let out a smile.
"Mother," the girl questioned. "May I please go and find Sophie?" The young woman, only about thirteen years old wore a dress similar in style to her mother's- though the pale blue was replaced with a periwinkle color, and the girl's neck was hidden by delicate white fur that trimmed the gown.
"Constance," her mother paused, "This is Baron Frey of Val Foret," the woman's tone and glare alluded to the pleasantries that the girl had forgotten.
"My apologies your lordship, I am Constance Fay de Churneau." The young girl curtsied before the older man. "May I please mother?"
"Of course darling," Lady Churneau bent forward to her daughter's eye level, just slightly below her own, before grabbing her hand. "Remember what I told you, keep your mask on, and your dress clean."
"Yes mother, a woman who forgets her mask- forgets her family, and a woman who stains her dress stains her pride. You've told me a thousand times, I won't forget," the girl added to her mother's sentiment with a smirk. Most children of noble birth in Orlais were educated on most of the formalities and pleasantries that came with titles, practically from birth. Constance was no different in this regard.
"No, you won't, now run along dear." Lady Churneau stood back upright smiling at Baron Frey. "Come, let us find my husband, I'm sure his tales are much more interesting than my own."
Constance made her way through the Hall of Heroes her fingers tracing the newly constructed monuments in the hall. The delicate marble, like hardened wax to her fingertips, sent a shiver down her spine. She made her way down the stairs, as her eyes crept forward to the Servants Quarters. Here is where the elves who worked within the Palace called home.
Beside the door Constance saw her friend, a young girl- only a head taller than Constance herself. Her brown hair was twisted into elaborate curls that contoured her face- hidden by a hollow mask. The young girl wore a white dressed, accentuated by hues of grey and black.
Sophie LeClaire was the youngest daughter to the LeClaire house, a devout legacy filled with generations of children promised to serve the Chantry. Sophie's mask had always intimidated Constance, it was an emotionless face, almost marionette like in its design. The dull ebony only made the mask more mysterious to Constance.
"Good, you managed to get away from your Father," Constance learned to choke back any fear of the mask she had- as was necessary for any future player of the Game.
"I'm not sure about this Constance. You know how Mother gets, she will be furious if I disobey her, and..." She paused for a minute, surveying her surroundings as "carefully" as any adolescent might. "I have heard that there are knife-ears who live back here." Her dull horror was nearly enough to make the girl in front of her laugh.
"Of course there are Sophie," Constance said, lifting her mask.
"What if they are like those ones out in the Dales. The scary ones. I don't very much like those ones Constance." The young girl would have lifted her mask as well, but she didn't want to show her fear. She felt foolish for even saying them aloud.
"If they were those elves, they'd be in the Dales," Constance giggled slightly. "Come Sophie, you can't be afraid. I'm here." The girl gave her friend a warm smile. "Besides, I already promised Lambert that we would meet him."
"I don't care, why would you tell me that?!"
"Because I know you fancy him," Constance teased.
"Y-you mustn't say a word," Sophie stomped, though any patrons that might have heard, were too caught up in their own machinations.
"I won't, if you come," before getting her answer, Constance pushed open the door, after unlocking it with a key. Her friend had little choice but to follow suit.
"Finally, I was starting to worry," a young, almost meek voice, called out in a semi-loud whisper. A young elf boy stepped from the shadows. His brown hair was combed over well, and he wore the fanciful apron and garments assigned to all of the servants that worked at these social events.
"Who's this," the boy said in a panic, "I said, only you, Constance."
"It's okay Lambert, she's... an admirer from afar," the girl rested her hand on the boys shoulder, she felt the sting of Sophie's glare on the back of her neck. Lambert gestured for the girls to follow his lead.
The three made their way past the kitchen rather easily. The hustle and bustle of the elven workers trying to prepare meals for the guests kept their attention elsewhere. The group made their way to the gardens. Large portions of the infrastructure were still being built, but it was still quite the site to behold.
"They built this quickly," Constance said, her eyes wondering the courtyard.
"It was the first part of the palace that they worked on. Who is going to feed all of you if there aren't any elves around?" The young boy smiled, though he was hardly joking. Elves were considered inferior to humans, always the servant or the handmaid or the mid-wife. It was a role the young man had quickly become accustomed to.
"Where is your room," Sophie stepped forward bravely, a strange mixture of smugness and wonderment etched onto her face. Her green eyes studied the slim young elf. She marveled at how fragile they looked, but found her eyes constantly shifting to their pointed ears.
Lambert, picking up where the girl was looking, merely shrugged her off. "My families quarters are this way, we must be careful. Some of the elders take turns patrolling the halls." The young man eyed the two before grabbing their hands and crouching down slightly- the typical stealth position- for children with a flare for the dramatic- at least.
The three made their way into the interior of the quarters. The halls were surprisingly lavish, given the intended residents. The rooms remained dimly lit by the occasional candle light, as shadows provided temporary sanctuary for the three children.
Had people actually been in the hallway, or the parlor, or in the rooms, the children surely would have been caught. Neither their attire or their actions were particularly inconspicuous, but it seemed that fate was at work. The three made their way through the corridors.
Finally they reached a room, modest in comparison to most of the Palace, but no different from the other rooms in this section of the manor. The young elf pulled a key from his pocket, before fiddling with the lock.
"Alright, come on, hurry!" The boy said in a hushed voice, pushing his two peers inside.
"Oh, this is...nice," Constance threw the boy a half-hearted compliment before making her way over to a mirror in the room. "Where is the dagger?" The girl made her way back to the male, looking into his eyes.
"Right, it's back here," the boy said sheepishly as he made his way towards a small room. Opening the door, revealed a small closet. The boy reached up to the top compartment before pulling down a small black box, its texture a smooth silk.
"You said your father obtained this from a guard-captain?" Constance gently took the small blade from the young man, handling it with care. She could see the royal embroidery upon the dagger.
Staring at it for a few seconds, the girl suddenly unsheathed the blade. She slightly twitched her wrist, playfully jabbing it at the boy.
"Constance," the boy jumped back, wide-eyed. "That isn't a toy."
"Relax, I've used one before," the girl mocked. A sudden glint sparked in her eye. Her eyes shifted, as she spun around- running out into the hallway.
"Constance!" The boy ran off behind her as Sophie followed suit. Despite her attire, Constance managed to run quickly, and she was quite accustomed to running through royally furnished homes. She twisted back around to face her pursuers, a smile on her face.
"Yield, fiends!" The young woman playfully called out to her two friends as they arrived in front of her. On their face was an uneasiness, they could see that Constance was joking around, but her sudden outburst felt eerie, wrong. They were used to her sudden grabs at attention, but tonight felt different.
"Come Constance, quit this, give him back the stupid dagger," Sophie cried this out in a whispered, whiny tone. She was never one to push things too far, and sneaking back here was already enough for her.
...
The rest of the night was sudden. Too fast. Far too fast. An elven woman rushed forward through the hall, her satchel swinging wildly. Much like Lambert, she was dressed in working attire. Completely unaware of the three in front of her, she continued forward in a panic. The woman's slender frame collided with Sophie's, but that was enough to knock the young girl over.
"Ugh...you stupid knife-eared bitch," the girl yelled out with a scoff. Her comment was met with an almost confused, callous look from Lambert.
"What's going on? Come on," Constance commanded before either of her friends could react. She started off after the woman; lifting her dress with her hands as to not trip. Lambert quickly caught up to the girl, with Sophie trailing behind them.
The woman ran out into the courtyard. Unlike earlier, many elves seemed to be out now, all in a frenzy. The three almost got lost in the chaos that seemed to engulf the servants' quarters. The woman ran quickly towards the kitchen.
"Everyone is headed into the Hall of Heroes," Lambert called out to the other two, as they continued to follow the crowd that was now forming.
Everything began to quicken again. Frenzy. Chaos. Yelling. Blood. Why was there blood? Pools of it clung to the stairs and splattered remnants to the walls contrasting with the golden hues. A crowd of dignitaries and guards huddled around it- like nomads to a campfire.
The elven woman, it seemed had arrived at her destination. She pulled a large sheet from the satchel she carried. As the sheet expanded out of her hands, she gently laid it down over top of the body. Immediately, it's white coloring, tainted by a deep red.
Constance, felt her world stop, if just for a moment. Her heart burned, her legs ached from carrying her. She felt dizzy. Her mouth laid open, and her hands crumbled. She felt tears rush to her eyes, a sickness forming in her gut. Andraste, she called out- but nothing came- no voice- for her mind, in an instant, became her prison. Her screams fell silent-dormant- within it. She felt her breath leave her mouth, and in that moment, it felt permanent.
Before she could do anything, she felt a warmth leave her hand. A small sharpness tickled the small of her back. The dagger.
"Don't scream, take my hand, and don't scream," a gruff voice whispered to her.
As more elven workers came to collect the body of the woman who laid slain. The sheet failed to cover her face, as they lifted her onto a makeshift stretcher. Her pale blue gown, stained with blood, matched an empty pair of eyes. Her frailty and wrinkles hidden beneath her golden mask- decorated in the style of a hawk.