Dinner with the Empress
In Palais Royeaux, luxury was beyond vitality, as soon as Aldanon left the Empress's company, an elven servant introduced himself and offered to lead him to his bedroom and to his friends who had already made themselves comfortable, to which Aldanon accepted willingly. As he saw more of the palace, he became more astonished and impressed similar designs and portraits, motifs and murals and to what he saw on the first level were as plentiful upstairs as well as downstairs. There were a few differences, though; there were more desks laden with candles of numerous shapes and varieties, antiques such as pots and sculptures and miniature statues, antiquities such as family swords which hung on the wall, in addition to portraits of the family. Soon it became certain that he did not need his palace guide, he could hear the boisterous, tongue-in-cheek banter of Oghren and Zevran from a mile off. He made his way to one of their rooms and leaned in the doorway, casually watching their witty repartee from a safe distance.
"I warn you, you bleedin' Antivan! Keep your sodding perversions out of my things, or I'll fart in your room." Oghren's rowdy, gruff voice boomed out, but the elf remained poised an undaunted by the dwarf's threat, knowing he had the upper hand with the incense in Oghren's beard, which he had washed out with a jug of water and his head was dripping readily, and seeping into his black Legion armour.
"You and what army, stumpy?" challenged Zevran, smugly, but his adversary was not backing down, by this moment he would have grabbed his axe and cleaved him in two, but his weapons had been taken to the smith.
"Ha! That's a nickname, not an insult. Branka always used to call me that, you skinny bisexual!" he scoffed.
"When you two are done with the lovers' quarrel, perhaps we could talk" Aldanon interjected, the two opposites quickly spun their heads to face him, their challenging faces becoming casual. "That's better," he resumed "The empress will be seeing us at dinner, 7 o'clock, so that leaves us two hours, which means I will need to dress appropriately for the event. This is something new to me after all; dressing in Orlesian style."
"Well, why the sod have you come to us for?! You interrupted my finishing off the elf." Oghren boomed.
"You would have to be three feet taller before you could finish me for anything, stocky." The elf retorted and turned to Aldanon, "It just so happens I might be able to help you there." Aldanon's face shot up in surprise "Indeed," Zevran continued "There was this one time when I served the Antivan Crows that I had to pose as a finely dressed squire to an Antivan Count who was on a diplomatic mission to Orlais. The rest of the story is quite long, and you can probably guess it anyway. Nonetheless, I'm your man when it comes to Orlesian finery." Aldanon sighed in relief, "Ah, good," he said, "because I would not want to come down looking to military, the Orlesians will think that's all we are, they always want room for the finer things in life, besides -" He heard footsteps coming towards the room. It was Anora and Marquis Jacques walking side by side in formal discussion. When Jacques met eyes with Aldanon, he bowed respectfully.
"Greetings once again Monsieur Aldanon, I trust you've found Palais Royeaux pleasing?" he asked earnestly.
"To say the least," Aldanon said beaming at the young noble "However, might I ask of the Duke Claude? He gave me the strangest and rudest comment in that drawing room. Like everything I do seems to offend him."
"He's fought long and hard to help cease the darkspawn raids in our lands, his brother's death upset him greatly," Jacques told him with a degree of gloom in his voice "He also lost his father during the Orlesian Occupation of your country, he was the Chevalier commander at the battle of River Dane, Claude was just a young man then, they say that it was your Teyrn Loghain who killed him at the battle." Both Aldanon's and Anora's eyes widened in surprise, Aldanon could now see the striking similarity between the two men now.
"So he distrusts Fereldans on principle?" Anora asked, and Jacques nodded gravely.
"Anyway," Aldanon changed the subject, "Dinner in Orlais is quite reputable, or so we are told, so we'd like to settle down first and then prepare for dinner." He asserted. Jacques smiled
"Very well, Monsieur, perhaps we may speak more later." He said, and turned to leave. Now, to find a decent suit, Aldanon thought, we're going to be here all night.
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When the servants presented the palace's rich collection of dinner suits, Aldanon found himself at a loss for choice. He was surrounded by outfits of many colour and meant for many occasions, but having been at war for many months, and preferring to don his armour, he simply had no method of deciding. He had been studying them for a great deal of time, and his advisor, Zevran was growing impatient, and started pacing to and fro.
"I don't see anything a sensible man would wear to a dinner party." He concluded, but Zevran stared at him in disbelief. "You are joking!" he exclaimed "You have military officer suits, both naval and army, blazers of differing colours and a refined selection of trousers. That's the gentleman's winning card." Aldanon was unconvinced however, all these elaborate styles and designs were unfamiliar to him, due to Ferelden being a bit set back in terms of style, and continued to ponder them confusedly.
"What it is; is an asphyxiating assault on the body, which inhibits breathing, and limits your posture in uncomfortable ways. As of I was trapped in a drakeskin straightjacket. This is why we have clothes that are more practical than showy in Ferelden." He firmly stated; but his case was still not helping Zevran. "Look, Aldanon, if you don't like any of this stuff, we can always ask Jacques to choose for you."
"I've told you before, if I let the man choose a suit, he'll chose the showiest one, which in a practical sense will be the hardest on the body." He resumed studying the line of suits carefully, and singled a possible candidate. It was a dark red, ceremonial style cutaway tailored coat over a waist-length satin waistcoat and dark breeches, coupled with a white shirt has a small turnover collar. "What do you think, Zev?" he asked, the elf made a relieved expression and said teasingly; "I think you'd better put it on before the Empress disinvites you."
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Aldanon met Anora at the end of the staircase, and was relieved that he had opted her radiant orange dress and had adorned her usual hairstyle with an assortment of the Empress's pearls. This was one occasion when he felt his marriage to Anora was not as damning as Alistair believed. When they came down to the banqueting hall, Aldanon had never seen such a fantastic array of cuisine in all his life, even the celebratory feasts he had as the young master of Highever were paltry by comparison, and his victory feast in Denerim only just reached the point of extravagance. He was told that Orlsian dinner was never second-best, that was soon to be proven correct. The table must have been 30 feet long and twice as immaculate, neatly laid with a; napkins freshly pressed and decorated porcelain dishes and silver cutlery. When his tongue embraced the stunning display of tastes, he realised what Leliana meant when she would have to eat Ferelden style meals, this is too good to be eaten so gracefully, he thought, Maker's breath...I love Orleisan food!
The assortment of starters was too many to choose from soup de jour to exotic coastal dishes; the diversity of drinks was unbelievable; from wines to ales and an Orleisan specialty; champagne. The main courses, for there were many, were unfathomable, from perfectly roasted meat joints of many varieties to lobster joined by hearty roast potatoes and succulent vegetables. And for dessert; cakes, puddings, fruits, and a selection of cheeses with bread, joined with tea. Aldanon tried to sample as many of these as he could, but found himself at a loss, for he could only go so far despite his hunger. But was reassured laughingly by Celene that he would have his chance the not night.
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He was invited to sit near the head of the table, where the Empress sat; on Celene's right, his opposite sat Claude d'Aubrac in a similar suit; a black military uniform reserved for commanding officers or nobility, decorated with medals of differing statuses. He still carried his taciturn, reserved, Loghain-esque manner, and would consistently refuse conversation with Aldanon, but Aldanon would still occasionally catch him giving him a studying look, and would defer to Celene and the other nobles for conversation. Fortunately, to counter this character was Marquis Jacques, who was dressed much less extravagantly; for he wore a plain coat with wide revers, a small stand-up collar, and deep cuffs.How I'm supposed to become accustomed to all these styles is beyond me, Aldanon thought.
But as he soon found that while opinions from the nobility varied from honest admiration to conceited disdain, the idea that the Empress would honour and decorate a Fereldan was more disgust than surprise and that it was only a measure of peace. However there was one friend he made with certainty that dinner; Jacques. He believed that the aristocracy should exist to inspire and serve the people as much they served them, and that the Empress could help change that – starting with the poor way in which the Chevaliers treated the peasantry. They were champions of Orlais, not wanton tyrants; at least that's who they were meant to be. Orlais needed to be less imperialistic but remain regal, retaining her individuality. Both Aldanon and Anora agreed on this, but Anora also suggested that Orlais also formed a governmental branch that served the country as the Ferelden Landsmeet did, Jacques protested firmly, stating that Orlais would not abandon traditions in which the aristocracy wields the power; lest the country fall to anarchy. But he did believe that the harsh way in which Orlesian nobles wielded power needed to be remedied.
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When Aldanon finished, he retired to the next level to prepare to rest, but before long he caught Zev and Oggers halfway upstairs in mid-banter, something about breaking a wind in a baroness's room.
"Don't try to blame me, dwarf," the elf retorted blandly, "I didn't ask you to fart in the baroness's room. I was only commenting that it smelt lovely in her bed chamber."
"Well, what did you honestly expect me to do?" Oghren asked with incredulity, "Waltz in and adorn it with roses and ribbons?" he continued sceptically, Zevran rolled his eyes in exasperation, "But it's supposed to smell lovely, and I was getting to know her. How she's going to get that dwarven smell out of her clothes, I really don't know." But Oghren scoffed, disappointed that his banter-buddy did not take to his crude humour.
"Oh, sod off!" he grunted finally. Aldanon smiled fondly, entered his bedchamber and was eager to get out of that tight dinner suit and found a set of regal red pyjamas. Once he was finished washing up for the night, he found Anora waiting in his bed, with a silver revealing nightdress, smiling daringly. He knew what it meant.
