King Alistair emerges! My Mahariel, at least, would take the Landsmeet rejection as a rejection of the Dalish as a whole, rather than a personal one. Add that to inevitable Chantry/Dalish tensions, and it makes for a very volatile situation.
In 9:31 Dragon, the Hero of Ferelden defeated the Archdemon Urthemiel, ended the Fifth Blight, and crowned the bastard son of Maric, Alistair, the King of Ferelden. In honour of the Hero's efforts and the valiant sacrifice of her kind, the newly-crowned King gave the now darkspawn-free lands around Ostagar to the Dalish under the leadership of Keeper Lanaya.
In 9:33 Dragon, two Sisters of the Chantry, on a mission to spread the Chant of Light, attempt to convince the eclectic bands of elves on Dalish territory to become proper Andrastians. As per Dalish custom, as much as recently re-united bands of individuals can have definitive customs, the Sisters are escorted from Ostagar at arrow-point by several of Lanaya's hunters.
In 9:34 Dragon, in light of the offenses against Sisters Clementine and Matilla, the Divine issues demands for immediate reparations from both the Dalish and Ferelden. As the neutral party, it falls to King Alistair to both officiate and mediate the meeting between the two parties.
Alistair sighs and drops the scroll to rub his temples in methodical circles. Official reports of the entire affair are frank but relay none of the emotional drives behind the conflict. Judging by the reports, there would be no reason why the Dalish wouldn't concede to the Divine's requests. The initial sovereign estimate, while large, was not entirely unreasonable (of course, for a people who up until three years ago had little need for currency in any form, reliance upon a monetary value was new and he wasn't even sure the Dalish had that much coin) and to an Andrastian like most Fereldens are in some form or another, the Dalish resistance to the Bride of the Maker was unfathomable. Of course, none of the reports take into account the fall of the Dales and the ensuing centuries of wandering nor the Chantry's own need to set a constant precedent with those who oppose it. The report, scrawled in the heavy hand of someone who clearly had no involvement on either side, is unsurprisingly almost completely useless to him at this point.
To his right sits the Knight Commander of the Orlais and a representative of the Divine, both in ridiculously ornate armour. To his left, clad in leathers and fur, sits Keeper Lanaya and the Hero of Ferelden herself, Ellina Mahariel. No one at the table is smiling.
"This is not an incident that can just be overlooked. Your soldiers attacked two members—"
"The hunters did no such thing," Ellina interrupts with a snarl.
"—and as such, the Divine demands retribution. Under our terms, your... Dalish will build a Chantry and a Revered Mother will be appointed to guide over your people," the envoy finishes smoothly as if Ellina hadn't spoken. Alistair held a sneaking suspicion that the envoy hadn't even heard her.
Ellina's face, already in a snarl, twists into an expression far more sinister than Alistair had seen on her before. There is a subtle shift in the rogue's movements, a tell-tale stillness that warns of an impending attack. Alistair is unable to reach her from the head of the table but Lanaya rests a weathered hand on her companion's shoulder.
"As far as I am aware," the Keeper of the unified Dalish begins, keeping a firm grip on Ellina's shoulder and clutching a wooden staff with her free hand, "Orlais does not cater to other cultures, especially the Dalish. I see no reason why we should."
In any other situation, Alistair would have groaned. He very nearly does, but Eamon's voice pops into his thoughts, as if the man were resting on his shoulder, and he reminded that kings do not groan, Alistair, at least not in public. Then again, in any other situation, he might not have just watched the very thin veil of diplomacy irreparably tear.
As if waiting for a proclamation of doom, Alistair directs his gaze to the envoy for her reply. He might have imagined it, but he could have sworn the grey-haired woman smiled.
"If you do not comply," the woman spoke in a clear tone, "the Divine will be forced to declare an Exalted March."
This time both Lanaya and Ellina rose. "You filthy shemlen!" Ellina hisses, slipping into a decades old prejudice, "You had this planned from the start!"
Face deathly pale, Alistair fought to regain control of his tongue. "Ferelden will not tolerate an Orlesian march on our soil," he said and hoped that the quivering in his voice wasn't overly noticeable.
The envoy, still projecting a veneer of calm, directed her attention to Alistair. "But not two days ago you insisted that as a nomadic people, the actions of the Dalish had no reflection on Ferelden as a whole."
Swearing profusely in his head, Alistair took great pains to keep his face impassive as his words were being thrown back into his face. From the corner of his eye he could see Ellina momentarily direct her scowl to him. Even when the two of them had been close, he'd always tread carefully when it came to the Dalish. He'd been younger and less worldly and hadn't wanted to make more enemies than necessary and to be completely honest, she'd scared him. She was so proud of her people and the entire subject was a sensitive one. Even now. Especially now.
"If the Dalish are not reflective of Ferelden, then surely your people would not take great offense were Orlais to... remove the problem," the envoy presses on, a quirk in her eyebrow.
Ellina growls and her fingers twitch. Were her bow not currently guarded in the next room, Alistair was positive it would already be drawn.
He frowns and attempts one last time to rectify the situation. "Ferelden will not tolerate any Orlesian offensive action," he insists.
The envoy did not look deterred. She and the silent but watchful Knight-Commander stand and begin to walk towards the door. She stops a few feet from the doorway and turns around briefly. "Then we expect to hear from Keeper Lanaya regarding Chantry Regulations within the fortnight. May the Maker bless your steps, King Alistair."
Alistair doesn't bother seeing the Orlesians off. Instead he turns to the Dalish women. Ellina and Lanaya are frozen in nearly identical positions, bodies lurched forward, mouths open in shock and horror, and hands reaching for an absent weapon. Both had lost all colour in their faces. He was at least partly grateful that they both seemed to recognize the gravity of the situation. Talking to Lanaya always left him with the distinct impression that he was nothing more than a lumbering fool in shiny headgear. The sole consolidation was that for once, Eamon usually fared no better in the discourse; his careful machinations became just a different kind of failure from Alistair's usual um, uh, wait a minute, that didn't come out quite right, let me try again.
He takes two steps towards them, uncomfortably aware of the oversized, over-jeweled, overbearing hunk of gold and bronze atop his head. Searching for miraculous words to somehow avert imminent disaster, Alistair waits until both elves' eyes are on him.
"I know your people are strong," he tells them in what he thought of his kingly voice, "but you will not be able to fight against an Exalted March and I cannot guarantee any assistance. I will try, but-"
"Save it," Ellina interrupts briskly, her voice firm but flat, "Orlais has promised to spare Ferelden. This no longer concerns you."
'And there it is,' Alistair thinks grimly. He dislikes that voice, the one he had been introduced to that had gradually disappeared from their conversations sometime during the debacle at the Circle, but suddenly and violently came roaring back after the Landsmeet. "Ellina-"he tries again, but knows immediately his informal address is a mistake.
"Your Queen is waiting," she responds coldly, no longer bothering to hide the icy jealousy in her voice. Her eyes found his for only a fraction of a moment before she broke the connection and the conversation in one silent toss of her head.
With a defeated sigh, the King departed. As he left, he heard Ellina and Lanaya discussing the possibility of dwarven assistance: The Chantry threatened them with a March two years ago – But who would be foolish enough to march into potential darkspawn territory – perhaps Orzammar would be willing to shelter the children? The conversation followed him down the hallway, and Alistair knew this story wouldn't have a happy ending. He knew that no matter how hard the Dalish fought, Orlais would win. He knew that the Dalish weren't going to be fighting for survival—rather to take as many down with them, and he knew that in a couple of months, he would have Arl Eamon at his door, an insincere apologetic look on his face, saying that the latest skirmish had been a Pyrrhic victory and the Hero of Ferelden, the woman he wasn't allowed to love, was confirmed as one of the casualties.