Chapter 1
It had been about two weeks since the destruction of the Archdemon at the top of Fort Drakon. Theron Mahariel, a Dalish elf who had found himself a member of the Grey Wardens after the death of one of his dearest friends, had been chosen by King Alistair to serve as his Military Commander, just as Alistair had requested right after the Landsmeet.
While Theron was more than happy to continue assisting his friend, and he did feel duty-charged to aid in Ferelden's defense, the process of actually taking the position had proven less hospitable than even the most darkspawn-filled wilds. The process of vetting anyone who served the people in such a significant way meant that Theron had spent the greater majority of the last seven days buried in committees and meetings, talking to nobles from the furthest reaches of Ferelden, and even some from Orlais, all seeking to verify his ability.
Many, if not all, of the people knew what Theron was capable of, however. He had slaughtered the Archdemon and had survived – thanks to Morrigan's ritual. That horrible, disgusting ritual. While Theron had despised both the act and the woman herself – Morrigan had long ago proven that her lack of scruples was far more significant than her physical beauty – what upset the small-framed elf the most was that he had been forced to be with someone other than his beloved – Zevran – in order that they might be able to spend their lives together in happiness.
It weighed on Theron heavily, as he sat on a small dais that had been erected in the stone courtyard in front of the palace on this day, so that the public could ask questions of their new military commander. He was barely listening to the questions they asked him, and was answering as briefly as etiquette allowed. Nobody seemed to notice, however, that he was snubbing them in favor of his own thoughts.
"You may proceed, milady," Theron heard the guard standing at the entry to the dais, which had been roped off except for one spot, wide enough for one person to pass.
The women had been the worst. While his companions were aware of the intimacies that Theron shared with his fellow elf, the public was not, and he had no inclination to tell them either. He sighed and lifted his head a bit, deciding he would at least try to pretend to be civil – until the woman dropped on her knees before him, her hands raking at the armor covering his knees.
"Oh, my lord! I am so honored to speak with you," the woman, probably in her mid-20's, with long flaxen hair and a deep, almost amber complexion, stated. "You have saved us all from the horde, from the Blight, and we owe you our lives."
Theron was about to wave his hand to dismiss the woman, when suddenly her hands began wandering up his legs. The look of alarm on his face, as bright as it was, didn't get anyone's attention. "I want to thank you, my lord, however, I can, for your service," she proclaimed.
"I am not interested, milady," the elf said, his voice tense but polite, civil. "You need to remove your hands from me at once."
There was no stopping the woman, however, and she blatantly pressed her palm and fingers against the cod-piece covering Theron's groin. The roar of frustration he released was audible, as he kicked his weight back; knocking aside the chair he was sitting on and nearly stumbling to the dais himself, except for a last-minute kick of his feet, boots clicking firmly against the wood.
"I asked you to keep your hands from me," Theron repeated, all politeness gone from his voice, nearly growling in his tone. With a wave of his hands that dismissed not just the woman, but the entire assembled crowd waiting to speak to him, the elf turned rapidly and vaulted himself over the dais' border, onto the ground behind it, and stalked back toward the castle.
Several minutes later, the frustrated Grey Warden found himself slamming shut the door to his guest quarters inside the castle, angrily storming to the window to glare at the crowd below, as if his vision alone might be their undoing. Alas, he failed, eventually shutting the shutter on the window, dropping rather unceremoniously onto the desk beneath it.
"You know, I realize you're pretty light, but with all that armor, you could still break the desk," Alistair said as he warily opened the door, unsure what was going on and not wanting to have something thrown at him.
Theron's response to the normally welcome joke was to simply glare at Alistair angrily. He remained silent for several long seconds, before his shoulders slumped and he looked away, slightly chagrined. "I didn't expect all this, when you asked me to serve as your Commander. These people…," Theron trailed off, motioning out the window. "They hated us for so long, when Loghain was in power…and now it's like I'm supposed to forget all that."
Alistair simply nodded. He took a few steps into the room, closing the door much more softly than it had been previously. "I know it's hard. But, I also know how compassionate you are. I saw it, when you helped that little boy in Lothering, and many other times on our journey," Alistair responded, his voice taking on that softness that it often did when speaking of Duncan.
The elf just shook his head, sighing, as he dropped his chin into his hands. "I try to be, but I was rather heartily molested just a few minutes ago, by a young woman who, while beautiful, is hardly what I'm after," he said, his voice quiet as he turned back to meet his friend's eyes.
"Ah…," Alistair trailed off, a lack of surety seeping into his tone which made it clear he wasn't quite sure what to say. Theron steeled himself for the inevitable joke to follow, and was not disappointed. "Well, you know, it could be worse. Zevran could have succeeded and killed you instead of falling in love with you," the blonde-haired king said.
Despite his mood, Theron couldn't help but chuckle. "You wouldn't have let that happen," the elf joked back, one corner of his mouth lifting in an almost imperceptible smirk. "But, I do really need to spend time with Zevran. I tried…," and then the dark-haired elf trailed off, blushing slightly. "I'm sorry; you don't want to hear about this, I'm sure."
"And why not?" Alistair responded, incredulous, "I had to listen to you two romping around in your tent enough when we were under constant threat by the darkspawn. How is talking about it like this any different?"
Theron laughed, though there was a cold edge to it that seemed almost forced. "Maybe you're right, Alistair. I just…I don't know if Zevran can deal with this. He's cut me off now. I don't know why. He doesn't want to be intimate, but at the same time, he gave me this…," the elf said, holding open his palm, in which laid an intricate earring, a gift from his lover.
Alistair's surprise was written on his face. "Well, that seems like a token of affection to me, you would think….wouldn't you?"
The elf shrugged, pulling himself up to his feet and walking slowly over toward his bed. He gripped the armor that was clinging to his chest, hooking his fingers under the plate, and slowly began to lift it off over his head, revealing the very simply cloth shirt underneath, protecting his pale skin from its harshness. He sighed, happy to be relieved of the weight, before reaching down to begin removing the lower part of the armor.
"I thought so, but Zevran seems confused. Maybe he's just feeling things he hasn't felt before. That's what I'm hoping for, anyway," Theron said, his gaze detached and focusing on the fire in the fireplace as he continued disrobing, left in just his shorts and the cloth shirt now.
"I don't imagine he's had much opportunity to be forthright with his feelings, Theron. You really ought to give him a chance," the king responded, his voice wavering just slightly, in a tone that implied he might have responded with something more humorous, if it were his first choice.
Wandering toward the small chest at the foot of his bed, the elf pulled it open slowly, gazing over the formal garments that had been placed within. The uniform of a military commander was almost stuffier than the armor that he wore, but it was what was required of his new title. It almost made him wish to be back amongst his people, in the lands they'd been awarded by King Alistair…but alas, that was not his fate. He had to be here, to be there for his friend, Alistair, and for his lover, Zevran, as he had promised.
As Theron began to dress, pulling on the velvet and silk outfit of a deep crimson shade, mixed with an ebony the darkness of which he'd rarely seen in fabrics, he finally turned back to face Alistair. "I'm trying, Alistair. Maybe I'm just a bit too much a romantic for him," the elf offered, chuckling weakly.
"Truer words were never spoken," Alistair responded, laughing back toward his friend. "Though, I think he is coming around a bit. That gift and his new-found hesitation would seem to make it obvious."
"Unless, of course," Theron said, pausing for effect, "he's decided he'd rather spend his life with women instead of with me." Though the comment had been intended as sarcasm, it brought a frown to the elf's handsome features, and he lolled his head on his shoulders, slumping again. "I shouldn't have said that."
Alistair still smirked – the type of smirk that sometimes pissed Theron off, because it felt so wrong – as he responded to Theron's self-deprecation. "That attitude doesn't suit you. You know you're worthy of any man or woman in all of Ferelden. I have no doubt of that, and neither should you."
Though he was very nearly tempted to stick out his tongue, Theron didn't. "I am not saying I'm not. I'm just saying, we all have preferences. Maybe Zevran has determined his lie elsewhere," he replied.
"I doubt that very much," Alistair said. Before his elven friend could contemplate that any further, however, he turned and began walking for the door. "I will leave you to dress for dinner, and I will see you there. I thought it would be nice if we could all sit and catch up over the last couple of weeks, so I asked everyone to join us. I hope that's alright?"
Theron nodded and smiled. He had not seen Wynne for over a week, since she'd been helping with the recovery of the elves in the Alienage, many of whom were planning to exodus south to the new Dales. Sten had chosen to remain in Denerim as well, serving as a local qunari representative, choosing to encourage other qunari to interact more with humans, and to learn from them as he had. Needless to say, that choice had shocked the hell out of everyone else in the group.
"I will see you there, then," Theron responded, turning from the door as Alistair departed, leaving Theron to dress and prepare for dinner.
