Large gatherings of overly puffed up self important humans were notoriously a nightmare for any large estate, and today, the King's household was beside itself. Maids bustled about with handfuls of clean linen for rooms, tripping over themselves and cursing the hounds and cats that were more than keen to wrap themselves up in the fresh cloth warmed from drying in the sun. The kitchens were even worse, with cooks and serving assistants cursing over ingredients, burnt thumbs, and who was going to pick up that bloody cake and why hadn't they left already! Still, things could be worse; it could all be going on during a blight!
Away from the fuss within the main hall of the palace, four of the most powerful men in Ferelden sat at the large oaken table in the centre, their earnest discussions punctuated with occasional bursts of laughter and the clapping of hands across broad backs. The arrangements for the prince and heir's fifth birthday party were to culminate in a scene of magnificence this evening, and the final decisions were being made concerning which guests should be singled out for special attention and who needed to be sent a last minute invitation. Unwilling to leave Ferelden so exposed and vulnerable in Her isolation as She was during the most recent Blight, the King had worked hard to create and maintain key alliances with neighbouring kingdoms in the land. Occasions such as a birthday party in honour of the future ruler were ideal for developing both new and existing friendships in a far less formal setting.
Alistair had taken to his new role very well. The past six years had taught him much, and he was now well renowned throughout the land for being a fair and just King. He had selected an Orlesian noblewoman of high standing for a wife, keen to undo the damage perpetrated by Teyrn Loghain's vicious tongue, and to prove to both peoples that the time for animosity was well and truly over. Despite their differences and contentious past, he believed that a prosperous and peaceful relationship between the two kingdoms could indeed be achieved, and so far it was going rather well.
He sat at the head of the table, running his hand through his closed cropped strawberry blond hair, trying to appear as if he was listening to his dear friend and Chancellor Arl Eamon, as the intricacies of the seating arrangements for dinner were discussed for the umpteenth time. Bann Teagan and Teyrn Fergus Cousland were also beginning to tire, and had turned to reminiscing over the drunken antics that had occurred late at night during the last birthday party. Truthfully, Alistair was far too aware of the red headed archer at his back, clad in close fitting black leather armour that showed off her curves to perfection, to be able to concentrate on anything at the moment.
Leliana was more than aware of her lover's discomfort, and had to work hard to keep a satisfied smile off her lips and maintain the stony gaze that was expected of the King's guard. Zevran, who guarded the main door to the hall opposite her, was having far more success at neutrality, despite having raised a suggestive eyebrow more than once in her direction. The King's marriage was purely political. Both parties were aware of and happy with this, and both had condoned the presence of lovers. The primary reason why the marriage was so successful was that Alistair had welcomed Lady Iona's lover into his household, and the two men had become regular sparring partners. In turn, Iona was also far more eager to be Alistair's friend and do what was right by Ferelden, and so the partnership was a happy if not passionate one.
The irony of Alistair's actions was not lost, particularly on Zevran, who still bitterly remembered the treatment of the only other Grey Warden of Ferelden at the hands of the then very insecure and nervous King. His dismissal of her on the grounds of duty and appearances had cut to the bone, and to go back on such values so quickly in the name of politics had riled Zevran to his core. He had tried to turn his back on Alistair then, but Leliana had persuaded him otherwise, assuring him that his goal would be best achieved by remaining at the King's side.
To be fair to the templar, he hadn't exactly been keen on the idea. Both Eamon and Teagan had had to convince the King that if he wanted successful relations with Orlais, then marriage to Lady Iona would be by far the most lucrative choice. And, as cousin to the Empress, to have her on side would be most beneficial, and so Alistair was persuaded to accede to Iona's every 'reasonable' wish. It wasn't until after the birth of his first child, a child that he was certain that was his own (it was amazing what herbal medicine could achieve nowadays), that Alistair had felt comfortable with seeking genuine physical enjoyment in the arms of another. His Queen, whilst obliging and beautiful, made no secret of the fact that she had sex with her husband purely for reproductive purposes, and so treated the act as a necessary chore. Zevran hadn't been surprised when Alistair eventually turned his attentions to his friend and confidant Leliana, who no doubt fulfilled the King's every desire in body as she had done in mind since joining the household.
The meeting appeared to be coming to a close, for which Zevran was very grateful for as he shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot. They had been talking for near on three hours now, which was plenty of time for stiffness to set in. Although his training insisted on being able to wait for long periods, there was normally enough flexibility within a situation to get comfortable for part of it; unlike when one was a member of the King's guard. He was just thankful he didn't have to wear the ridiculously ornate plate shell that the others wore, and some even had to carry tall standards around with them complete with flags bearing the King's arms. How such an outfit was suitable for men expected to be ready for battle in an instant was beyond him, but he supposed Orlesian fashions would have slipped in sooner or later.
There was a knock on the door. Zevran's eyes widened in surprise; he was unaware of any other guests to this meet today. He caught Leliana's eye, and she nodded in response, her hand shifting slightly so that her bow was in easier reach. Zevran opened the door slightly, moving his body to form a blockade between the corridor outside and the nobles in the room. A guard stood there, biting his lip nervously and looking around.
"Master Zevran, oh I'm glad it's you. Could you....could you step outside a moment"
Zevran narrowed his eyes; he didn't recognise this pup and so could form no judgement as to whether or not foul play was about. He took in the scene before him with a seemingly casual glance. Servants tooing and froing about their business for tonight's proceedings; one of the hounds started barking in the distance but this was not unusual; other guards standing stolidly in position. No unexpected movements in the shadows. Nothing out of place....
"What for man? What's going on?" he asked, peering up at a pale and youthful face. Probably on his first watch, and starting at his own shadow Zevran thought with a sigh. He hoped a higher calibre of man would be on duty this evening; Zevran himself was planning on getting drunk and so would not be on call to assist. The guard looked over his shoulder.
"A l-l- lady, sir, a lady is here to speak to the k-k-King" he stuttered. Great; an idiot as well as a coward. Zevran crossed his arms and tilted his chin haughtily.
"And where is this lady, my good friend?" he asked, pointedly looking about. He could see no one.
"T'would be wise to listen to the lad, I think sir".
Zevran froze. Suddenly, standing just behind the guard was an old woman. She was slightly bent over from age, and lent her weight on a long cane made from unusually dark and intricately lined wood. A cloak of homespun wool was wrapped closely around her shoulders, with the hood pulled over her head so that her face was partially covered in shadow. Zevran could see deep lines within her sagging cheeks, but he could not see her eyes. He wasn't entirely sure that he wanted to. He shivered slightly as the power that radiated from the woman crawled along his skin. No wonder the boy was nervous.
"Wait here a moment" he murmured, keeping his eyes trained on the woman. She bowed slightly in acknowledgement, and rested more heavily on her cane, seemingly at ease.
Zevran ducked back into the hall, closing the door quietly behind him. He paused for a moment, trying to take stock of what had just occurred.
It can't be, can it?!
Leliana instantly noticed the change in her friend, and coughed politely, causing the men at the table to look up at her. Alistair's eyes widened at the concerned expression on her face, and he followed her gaze to the other side of the room. Zevran was leaning against the door, quite heavily, his tanned skin paled to an unhealthy yellow. He looked like he had seen a ghost.
"Zevran, what's wrong?" Alistair asked, pushing his chair back from the table as he rose to go to his friend. Zevran looked at him, his mouth working as he tried to find words...
Suddenly the door behind him started to open. Leliana's arrow whacked into the wood of the panel in warning.
"I do not mean any harm, I come with an important message for the King" called an old and frail voice. Alistair exchanged glances with Eamon and Teagan, resting a hand on Teagan's wrist as the man went for his sword.
"Come in Lady, you are welcome to share your business" he called. They waited with baited breath, Leliana with another arrow trained on the entering figure. Zevran appeared to have been removed of all his senses, and was nudged out of the way by the opening door as if he were no more than a wooden puppet propped against the frame. His wide eyes followed the elderly woman as she moved past him, hands twitching reflexively near the pommels of his daggers. Alistair could find no explanation for the assassin's behaviour; all he could see was an elderly citizen, probably a relative of one of the maids come to offer congratulations. He did his upmost to mingle with the people, and was on first name terms with more than a few of his servants (much to his wife's displeasure). No doubt this was another such case where his attentions had resulted in overt friendliness from a kinsman.
The old woman entered slowly, her arthritic body shuffling her forwards across the hall. She had a stiff smile on her face, as if in pain but attempting to not show it, but her dark eyes were sharp and bright.
"Your majesty, it is a pleasure I must say" she crowed, dipping her body in what Alistair thought to be a curtsey. Alistair bowed in response.
"Greetings to you my good lady, please, tell us your name and what news you bring"
The woman smiled crookedly, raising her head to meet Alistair's gaze.
"Names are pretty but useless. I have come on behalf of my Lady; she wishes to know if her invitation to your son's birthday party was lost in transit perhaps? Or perhaps her presence was not wanted here this evening?"
Alistair frowned. He could think of no women who would have been offended by the lack of an invitation who had not been accounted for on the guest list....
"I apologise" he began cautiously. "Please, do tell me your Lady's name and I shall have her invitation resent with yourself".
"Ah, no need to bother your majesty; I shall simply inform my Lady Sierra that you look forward to seeing her this evening. She will be most pleased that the new gown she has bought for the occasion will not be wasted."
The woman watched her words take effect. Alistair took a step backwards, as if he had been punched squarely in the gut, the colour blanching from his face. Eamon steadied the man, his eyes narrowing dangerously on their visitor who had already turned and was heading back towards the door.
"Leliana, fire!" he commanded.
"I can't.....move......ser"
Eamon turned to see the wide eyed rogue standing stock still, her bow pulled, ready to let the arrow fly. She was quivering with effort, her breathing shallow and irregular, as she tried to gain some sort of control over the movements of her body. Sorcery held her fast; she was unable to twitch even her little finger.
"Zevran!" Eamon hollered.
The elf was also transfixed, his eyes rolling as he tried to force his hands to his daggers. The hag was approaching closer, appearing to glide more than walk, the folds of her cloak and tunic rippling like waves. She paused in front of Zevran, and looked directly at him.
"We will meet again, of that I do not doubt, old friend" she whispered. Despite himself, Zevran let out a small whimper as he looked into the woman's eyes; whose colour had changed from midnight blue to the brightest amber.