Here's the first half of chapter nine! I hope everyone had a restful and fun holiday season and new year! Let's see what's in store for 2016, shall we? :)

- Chapter summary: While wandering around Denerim with Anora, they stumble upon an impending riot taking place outside the Alienage. With recent events in mind, Roselyn takes on Maric head-to-head making known how she disapproves of his treatment towards the elves.

- Credit, as always, to my beta reader, razerthane and bluvixen (both on tumblr) who are always ready with their comments and telling me when I'm being harsh on myself.

- Chapter rating: Teen

Three weeks later.
Month: Late Solace

One freedom Roselyn was afforded in Highever which she was not in Denerim was the freedom to explore the city unaccompanied. In the palace she could only venture to the locations considered ideal for a princess. She was not allowed down in the servants quarters or the kitchens and she was flanked everywhere she went by ladies-in-waiting unless she was with Alistair or Anora. If she wished to go into Denerim for whatever reason, she was to be accompanied by a fully armoured guard.

It was different and unfamiliar to be kept so close and deemed so precious. She knew, of course, that she was a commodity. Maric and the court believed she potentially carried the first royal grandchild, or would soon enough. She was something Maric could not risk being damaged or stolen away - not that Roselyn thought the people of Denerim would attempt that by any means. While she saw little of them, they appeared to be as much like the people of Highever; going about their daily business and too preoccupied by their own lives to have any concern to the goings-on of their ruling monarch and his family.

Leaving the palace and exploring the new city was something Roselyn was desperate to do. Life had returned to normal at the palace and daily council meetings, lessons, and petitions took Alistair from her side for most of the day. Roselyn often found herself alone and had to find someway to amuse herself. Alistair pulled himself away from his duties as Prince when he could, but his breaks were short and never planned. When he found her - if he found her - their intervals were brief before he was off to the next meeting or lesson.

Aside from a daily ride she took with Alistair if he could spare the time, with Anora, or just with guards and her ladies-in-waiting, she spent all her time in the palace. She felt cooped up and caged. She explored the gardens as much as possible while the weather was good with Roo, she knew her way through the palace now and did not get turned around. In Highever she was given responsibilities, opportunities to help her father with business and resolve disagreements. Here she was expected to languish away, a woman of leisure until she was pregnant and then her freedoms would be restricted even more.

She broached the subject once with Alistair, suggesting she could sit in on the council meetings. He agreed this was a good idea but would be unlikely to happen. Maric kept the council very closed and restricted to the closest men in his company. When she explained Anora once told her Queen Rowan used to sit in on the meetings, he went very quiet and the discussion was nipped in the bud by uncomfortable tension.

Roselyn put much of the restlessness down to her parents leaving. They were gone, returned to Highever and with them any protection their presence may have afforded her. She was a lone Cousland in a den of Theirins, a court of fanged smiles and phrases with double meanings. She would now have to walk more carefully than she had been before. If she said something or put a foot wrong, if she angered Maric and turned his ire on her, her parents would no longer be there to step in. Of course, she was grateful she was not totally alone. Alistair was on her side and she had Anora too, who would both stand up for her if need be.

To avoid any situation where she might induce Maric's unpredictable anger, Roselyn chose to keep her head down. She kept quiet and answered any questions he asked her as vaguely and politely as possible. She asked nothing of him and chose not to quarrel if he said something she disagreed with. She did not enjoy holding back her true thoughts for fear of the King, but her fear of him was greater now that she was alone in his domain. Until she learned the rules of the game better, she knew the safest and easiest option was to hold her tongue and appear meek and submissive.

She was lucky Anora knew her way around Maric. She knew when to ask him for something and what kind of mood he was in or would be in, even before Maric knew it himself. Her shrewd, perceptive eye caught everything and it was for that reason Roselyn was allowed into the city with Anora for an afternoon. Guards were to accompany them of course, but there was no announcement given, no fanfare, no troupe led out before them to clear the way. They left the palace on horseback with their guard, dismounting outside the main gates of the city so they could walk around on foot. They blended in as much as possible with the people going about their day.

Denerim was a bigger, busier place than Highever. There were more people and they were always moving, bustling and shouting over each other to he heard. There weren't just humans either. There were surface dwarves selling their wares from Orzammar and elven servants bargained with merchants on behalf of their employers. The city itself was built big and tall, as if the builders were in competition with each other when it came to the structures. Signs hung from door lintels denoting what shop was what. Black smoke billowed out of the chimney of the local blacksmith and armourer. Children ran and shouted, chasing a dogs around the streets, crowing and braying back and forth as they played. Over all the noise was the regular toll of the Chantry bells at every quarter past the hour; a low rumbling chime which somehow brought the din together.

Together, flanked by the guards, Roselyn and Anora visited various merchant stalls in the market place, picking out fabrics for dresses and sampling different foods they were offered. The people stopped and bowed or curtsied to them as they walked past, stopping their own business to be polite and show respect. Roselyn watched Anora in her element. She spoke to various men and women who stopped to greet them. She asked about their businesses, their lives, and if they were happy. Her questions were genuine, asked out of sincere interest and concern, but they were the questions a ruler would ask to gauge the happiness of their people.

Those she spoke to responded in kind. They respected Anora enough to be honest and explained their grievances and difficulties. Anora listened with an attentive and sympathetic ear and had one of the guards write down each complaint and issue raised, promising to take them to Maric when she had the chance. People expressed their gratitude, showering blessings of the Maker upon Anora before letting her carry on her way.

"They love you," Roselyn remarked, looping her arm through Anora's as they walked through the market place. "You can hear it when they talk to you."

"They know I'm Loghain's daughter," Anora replied, smiling. "They understand my father came from humble roots and that he knows the difficulties of life as much as they do. I understand them, too. He never spoiled me."

"Your father doesn't come to court much, does he?"

"Hardly ever," Anora swept a straying tendril of blonde hair back behind her ear. "He despises the politics of it all. How people fall and fawn over the King and do his bidding and agree to his every whim. The reason my father and Maric are friends is because he never kowtowed to Maric's attitude. If Maric wants an honest opinion, he can get it from my father and no one else. My father isn't afraid of him as so many others are."

"Honestly, it sounds like the court could do with him being there," Roselyn snorted softly. She enjoyed being out of the palace with Anora. The guards kept at a safe enough distance that they could talk more freely and the threat of being over heard was not as great. "I think Maric has grown lazy and complacent with people telling him how wonderful he is."

"I happen to agree with you," Anora agreed, mouth quirking wryly to one side. "I've written to my father several times suggesting he come to court for an extended visit. But he is happy in Gwaren and has expressed to me a certain... frustration with Maric extending a hand of civility to the Orlesians."

"He doesn't like Orlesians?"

"Not at all," laughed Anora, eyes crinkling at the corners. "He finds them abhorrent and their way of life, the Grand Game as they call it, frivolous and underhanded. He would much prefer things settled outright. A duel, something with some honour to it."

"Just punch an Orlesian in the face and be done with it?" Roselyn suggested, grinning.

Anora nodded. "Exactly. No mess, no gossip. Just one swift whack," she mimicked, "and issues settled."

They continued through the streets, talking and stopping occasionally to peruse the wares of one merchant or another. Anora took the lead, guiding them down a side street past the local tavern towards a shop tucked away into the buildings, marked only by a small sign on the door denoting it was open.

"You'll like this place," Anora told Roselyn pushing the door open. "It's called 'The Wonders of Thedas'. It's like a treasure trove in here." She signalled for the guards to wait outside and closed the door behind the two of them.

The shop was like a place time did not touch. It smelled musty and old. Dust motes caught the meager light which sifted through small windows caked with dirt and grime. There were two floors: the ground floor was the largest and the second floor was accesible via steps near the cellar at the back of the shop. The walls were lined with bookshelves all stuffed to the brim, spines facing out wards and unmarked by finger prints or the brush of clothing. There were a few tables dotted around, piled up with knick-knacks: stone figures of Andraste, knights in battle stance, and men on horseback. Behind the counter at the far end was a lone man, balding and dressed in mage robes. It became clear to Roselyn that he was Tranquil when she approached him; the sunburst emblazoned on his forehead an unmistakable sign.

"Anora, what are we doing in here?" she asked in a low whisper, gripping to her arm.

"Don't be so worried, we're perfectly safe. I inquired about a remedy weeks ago, I just need to know if they have it in," she unlooped Roselyn's arm from hers.

"A remedy?" Roselyn repeated. "Are you sick?"

Anora offered a small cryptic smile as her response and waved Roselyn off. "Go and have a look around, there may be something here you find interesting."

As Anora approached the counter, she left Roselyn in the middle of the shop, inhaling the dusty old smells. Investigating a nearby, Roselyn wound a finger along the spines attempting to read the titles. Some were so old and worn they were impossible to make out. Several of the spines were loose, hanging on by threads left unread and ignored for years. Between bookshelves were mage staffs, all of them humming with quiet, sleepy magic where they had been abandoned.

She listened to Anora and the merchant talk in hushed voices as she wandered along the edges of the shop, going over different books and stopping once or twice to remove one and skim the pages, sending dust clouds up into the air. She eventually came across a book which stood out against the rest. The cover was a deep scarlet with the title and author printed on the spine, now faded. Vaguely, Roselyn could make out the name 'Capria' but nothing else. Unlike the other books on the shelves, this one looked as though it was handled often and the pages were regularly examined. Pulling it from one of the top shelves, Roselyn opened at a random page glanced down and barely concealed a yelp of surprise as she slammed the covers closed again, dropping the book to the floor.

"Something wrong?" Anora called from the far end of the shop.

"Please do not drop the books," murmured the shop keep, looking across at Roselyn from a ledger open before him.

"Sorry," Roselyn squeaked, "I'm fine. It was a..." she glanced around grasping blind for an excuse, "a spider."

"Alright," Anora smiled. "Almost done."

Retrieving the book from the ground, Roselyn brushed away the dust and dirt which now clung to the cover and gingerly turned it over in her hands. Putting it back on the shelf was the sensible thing to do if what she glimpsed on the open page was what the book contained. Yet her curiosity tugged and, almost wincing, she opened the book in her hands to a random page, flushing at the drawings.

Across the top of each page was the title and the author's name. "The Art of Passionate Love" by Brother Capria, a book Roselyn never heard of. Yet she understood why: it was page after page of graphic drawings, men with women, men with men, women with women, and groups of people containing both genders. All compromised, all naked with explanations and diagrams pointing out what each position did, who sat where or who did what. Each drawing was almost a step-by-step and Roselyn found herself turning the pages, drawn into the images and explanations both her mind and body growing hotter from what she saw.

She and Alistair had not moved on from their... whatever it was. Roselyn dubbed it clothed rutting. It was an almost daily occurrence, something which either happened in the morning as they were waking up and before Alistair disappeared for the day, or in the evening before either of them fell asleep. While it was still enjoyable, pleasurable, and something Roselyn was growing bolder at instigating there was more she wanted to do but was not certain how to approach.

Alistair took things at her speed and that was fine to begin with when they were both shy and were getting to know each other. Now it was different. They were now married for almost two months and while Roselyn still wasn't certain she was ready for sex, she still craved more. She craved him. His kisses, his fingers digging into her thighs and her backside. She desired him more than she thought possible and often found her mind wandering when left to her own devices. She would hear Alistair's groans and ragged breathing in her mind, feel the sensation of his skin, his calloused fingers clinging to her hips and she would find herself short of breath, blushing and in desperate need of him. A need which was going ignored given how his normal duties took him away from her during the day.

Skimming the pages, her interest and thirst growing, she tried to memorise different gestures, different positions, and different things she could do which Alistair might enjoy. She nibbled her bottom lip, brushing her thighs against each other under her gown in an attempt to dull the ache which pooled at her core and between her legs.

"Good book?" Anora inquired, chuckling.

Roselyn slammed the page shut and shoved it onto the shelf. "NO!" She shouted, not meeting Anora's face, knowing she would be grinning. "Are you done?! Let's go!" She marched towards the door, head down, hands in small fists pretending not to hear Anora's failed attempts to muffle her laughter.

The cool air outside was welcome against Roselyn's burning cheeks and neck. One of the guards looked at her flushed face as she walked past them and she ducked her head lower, willing the warmth to go away. Anora joined her, sliding one arm around her waist.

"There's a copy of that in the palace," she murmured into Roselyn's ear, glee alighting her tone.

"Maker's breath..." groaned Roselyn mimicking Alistair's familiar curse and pushing her face into her hands as they walked.

"In the library. You should ask Ephraim for it, if you're looking for some ... inspiration? Some of the pages are stuck together though so you'll need to be careful if you read it." Anora's laugh was more like a girlish giggle and it caught Roselyn off-guard, causing her to lift her head and stare at the older woman. "Look at you," Anora pressed the back of a cool, pale hand to Roselyn's face. "You look like you've been sitting close to a fire."

"You won't say anything will you?" Roselyn mumbled, eyes briefly glancing to Anora's only able to hold her gaze for a second or two before shame forced her to look away. "To Alistair. Or anyone."

"Of course not," Anora smiled. "Are you and Alistair are getting bored already?"

Roselyn laced her fingers together, winding them around each other. "Not... bored. I don't think." She sighed, watching the cobbles disappear under her dress as she walked. "How can you tell if a man is getting bored?"

"He'll take a mistress," Anora remarked bluntly.

"Oh."

"He hasn't, has he?"

"No," Roselyn shrugged, "I don't think so. It's ... just we haven't..."

"Still?" Anora's blue eyes widened a little. "Is there something wrong? You don't like each other?"

"It's not that!" Roselyn whined. "I do like him! I like him very much. He likes me. I like the things we do together," she explained, frowning and fighting to keep her voice soft so she wouldn't be overheard. "I'm just not sure how to move things forward. Every time I want to, I lose my nerve and I'm worried because Alistair insists at going at a pace I'm comfortable with, we're never going to get beyond... the things we do already."

"You're thinking about it too much," Anora said with a tone of confident experience.

"What am I suppose to do then?"

"Think less," Anora tapped Roselyn's forehead with her finger. "Feel more." A small smirk tugged at the corner of her lips. "Communicate. You and Alistair are good at that, I've seen the way you talk to each other. You're sincere. Use that honesty and explain you're ready to move forward with things. He won't know unless you tell him. The Maker did not furnish men with the ability to read minds, after all."

"A terrible oversight by the Maker," Roselyn chuckled with mock exasperation, tucking her hair behind her ear. She worried at her bottom lip for a few seconds. "You really think just talking to him is the best thing?"

"Yes," nodded Anora, "It may seem a little awkward but it will be worth it."

Roselyn managed a small grateful smile and fell into step with Anora. She was grateful she had Anora to speak to. She was a voice of experience and wisdom in all things, and Roselyn looked up to her in a way she had not expected to. She gave sound advice, not just when it came to matters of navigating Maric's court. She helped her understand and rationalize things, helped her realise when she was making a fuss over nothing. And while moving her and Alistair's physical relationship forward was not a small thing, it was not as big an issue as Roselyn's mind was making it out to be.

They wandered the market square a while longer, checking on merchant stalls which were busy when they first arrived. The guards accompanying them were growing restless, bored of following them around rather than being on their regular duties, so Anora announced their intention to return to the palace and they made a leisurely pace towards the main gates.

There was a braying and cacophony of voices initially lost in the din of the noise of the capital and the market square, but the closer to the main gates they got the louder the cries of outrage became. Soon enough they were drowning out the noise of the merchants selling their wares and the bells of the Chantry when they chimed. It came from the Alienage. A great crowd of people, human and elves, all congregated around the wrought iron gate which divided the Alienage from the main square. As far as Roselyn knew, only two guards were ever stationed outside the Alienage at any one time - a quick count revealed there to be eight of them. Possibly more who were hidden by the throngs of people.

"What's going on?" Roselyn asked, stopping in her tracks and staring at the congregation of simmering anger. Anora and the guards stopped with her. "Are the gates to the Alienage supposed to be down?" She looked at Anora.

Anora shook her head, "I... don't know." Roselyn felt Anora's grip on her waist tighten, attempting to guide her away. Striding out of Anora's arm and pulling her hand away from Anora's when she tried to grasp it, Roselyn crossed the cobbles towards the crowd.

There were at least fifty people crowing and swearing at the guards, brandishing small daggers and make shift weapons. One or two people were bloody and had injured noses and cuts on their faces from weapons or being punched. The guards held the crowd back as best they could, crossing their pole arms in an effort to keep the mob at bay. Roselyn eased in between spaces and people trying to get closer to find out what was happening. When someone stepped on the train of her dress, she heard the fabric rip and grabbed up the skirt to make walking easier.

"Roselyn!" Anora called after her, though her voice was mostly drowned out by the yells. "Roselyn!"

Coming to the front of the crowd, Roselyn was able to see what the cause of the riot was. The gates of the Alienage were down and appeared to be locked tight. A sign was erected over the iron, declaring no person would be allowed in or out until further notice. Someone grabbed Roselyn's hand making her whirl, panic causing her heart to race. A wizened old elven woman had hold of her, using her as an anchor as the crowd swayed and rolled like wild waves. Supporting the woman with one arm around her shoulders, Roselyn shouted to try and get the attention of the one guard not fighting back the crowd.

She was pushed and pulled from each direction, jostled and bumped. The size of the crowd, the noise, and the movement of people made getting attention difficult and the additional weight of the old woman was not helping. Someone grabbed her by the upper arm and shoved her against the shafts of the pole arms. She grabbled for a grip, missed, and fell to the floor. The woman she clutched stumbled with her and a new roar of outrage arose from the crowd, some people pointed at the two of them on the ground, others screamed that the guards were responsible for pushing them.

One guard approached them and guided them out of the mayhem, between the guards to where there were no people. He sat the elven woman down, letting her catch her breath and assisted in helping Roselyn to her feet.

Dusting off her skirts, now torn and marked with grime and dirt, Roselyn tutted at herself, straightened herself out, and examined the scene from the other side. There was a barrage of angry and outraged faces, some with tears streaming from their eyes, and others with expressions contorted in outrage, screaming and cursing the guards.

"What's going on?" Roselyn asked the guard who helped her. He looked at her for a few seconds, then the glimmer of recognition flashed across his face and he dropped to one knee in front of her.

"Your Highness!" he all but yelped. "Your Highness, you shouldn't be- Had I known-!"

"Get up," Roselyn barked, not meaning to be curt and unkind but aware it was the only way she would get answered. "Tell me what's going on!"

The guard remained on one knee as he spoke. "The Alienage has been quarantined, Your Highness. Disease is running rampant and there is fear of it spreading further into the city."

"And these people?" Roselyn indicated to the crowd.

"People who live there or have relatives, Your Highness," explained the guard. "They are not allowed beyond the gate in case of infection. Under any circumstances."

"What of their families?" Roselyn demanded, her own anger rising and making her chest contract with pain. "What of their homes? What of the King's promise to assist with the illness and repairs of the Alienage to Shianni?"

"I don't know anything about that, Your Highness," the guard looked up at her, "but the quarantine was authorised by King Maric. You would need to take your questions to him."

"Oh," Roselyn turned in a flourish, clenching her hands into fists and biting her jaw together so hard it made her teeth hurt. "I intend to." She growled to herself.

On the journey back to the palace Roselyn sat atop her horse, quiet anger bubbling away inside her. It appeared Maric's gesture and kindness towards Shianni in her desperation at the masquerade was as much a farce as the celebration itself. He had no intention of helping. His answer was to shut away the people most in need of his help and pretend they were not there. Wait until diseases and starvation had claimed as many as possible and then, maybe, address the situation. To Roselyn it went beyond barbaric. It was cold and calculated and cruel. Growing up in Highever, she watched her father deal with every complaint brought to him. Every dispute, every unhappiness was dealt with in the same way; it was a function and treatment Roselyn grew accustomed to seeing. Witnessing Maric's dismissive attitude towards the city elves made her feel a fury she was not used to.

Anora followed behind her into the main hall while trying to reason with her, but her voice was muffled by the pounding in Roselyn's ears. She did not stop to change - her torn and dirty dress was more of a statement to what she saw in the market place. People waiting to petition Maric bobbed and bowed as the two of them rushed through towards Maric's council chamber where his it convened daily with Maric, Cailan and Alistair. Two guards, fully armoured and bearing pole arms barred the way, crossing their spears over the heavy oak doors.

"Let me through," Roselyn bit out.

"No one is to disturb the King or his council while it is in session," one guard told her.

"Roselyn..." Anora took her hand. Roselyn snatched it back.

"Let me through," she demanded with a fierce stillness. She found herself unafraid of these two giants in full plate. Her adrenaline and anger pushed any fear or concern for propriety she might have felt so far down into her belly she could no longer feel it. "Or I will scream the palace down." She watched the guards exchange uncertain looks, not sure whether she was bluffing or if they should take the threat of a scream seriously. For effect, Roselyn took a deep inhalation, enough for the guards to be alarmed. One grabbed the handle of the door closest to him and swung it open for her.

Maric's council chamber was one room in the palace Roselyn was not shown on her tours. It was not considered a place a woman needed to go, even though Queen Rowan was a frequent guest while she was alive. It was a small room, sparsely furnished so focus remained on the issues brought to the table by Maric's council. Three floor-to-ceiling windows allowed cold light in, dark navy drapes hanging on either side. The centre piece of the room was a large dark wood table which nearly stretched across the whole chamber. It was carved with decorative heads of lions and dragons, the dragon fire carved to make the legs. Around the table were chairs, fourteen either side with Maric at the head, Alistair to his right, Teagan behind him, and Cailan to his left. There were papers and letters littering the top of the table, ink pots and quills in the hands of several of the men, jotting things down.

At her intrusion, the eyes of every man in the room shot up to stare at Roselyn. Confusion filtered across many of the older faces, as well as irritation at her boldness and her audacity. Her bravado fled under their scrutinising gazes. Her white hot anger turned to freezing fear, her stomach turning to rock and rooting her to the ground unable to flee. Her throat closed, all the things she planned to say disappearing from her mind like smoke rings, impossible to grasp. She glanced around the faces looking for any she knew.

Alistair's was the first she spied, his expression more a mixture of puzzled and fearful. For her or for himself, she suddenly realised this stunt of hers would more likely get Alistair in trouble than herself. Cailan was in quiet shock, Teagan looked a little sick, and Maric was leaning back in his chair, watching her like a predator about to pounce on unsuspecting prey.

"Princess?" Maric spoke with a disarmingly gentle tone. Several people shuffled in their seats, recognising the false kindness and security of Maric's voice; the calm before the storm. "Is there something the matter?"

Her throat closed, cracked and dry; Roselyn clenched her eyes closed, she curled her hands into fists digging her nails into her palm trying to make herself speak, using the sharp pain to push her through her terrified stupor.

"Princess Roselyn?" Maric asked again, rising from his seat. She noticed it was larger than the others. High back, draped in furs, with snarling mabari heads carved into the arm rests. Roselyn felt like an injured deer being stared down by those mabari. Injured by a foolish move of her own making. "I assume you interrupted our council for a reason." Maric continued, speaking so soft he was like a snake hissing in her ear. "Please, explain yourself."

A hot flush crept up her neck, tingeing her cheeks and her forehead scarlet with shame. She felt a painful tingle behind her eyes and her nose. Maric was frightening to her. Cailan was frightening to her. She was alone in the palace, with only two people she could definitely call allies. Standing before Maric on his ground, she was out-matched and a fool for considering she could do anything.

"Are you perhaps lost?" Maric inquired, placing his hands down on the table to lean forward. "I understand how easily the female mind becomes addled. The palace is quite large."

Closing her eyes and taking a long, settling breath Roselyn steeled herself. She squared her shoulders. Her fear of Maric was founded and after this she would not make the mistake of confronting him again – but the way the city elves were being treated went beyond unkind. They had already lost friends and family through Maric's negligence; how much more would they have to suffer?

"Elves," Roselyn said in a small voice, barely audible even to herself.

"What was that?" Maric cupped a hand around his ear dramatically. "You must learn to speak up. I thought you Highever women knew how to be heard." Several men around the table chuckled. Roselyn's lips slid into a dry smile.

"Elves, Your Majesty," she said again, raising both her head and her voice. "Anora and I just came from the market square. The gate to the Alienage is down. The guards told me no one is allowed in or out. On your orders." The more words she said the louder and more resonant her voice became. "Is that something you agreed with Shianni? You remember her, don't you? She pointed an arrow at you and then Cailan – rightfully accusing you of ignoring the city elves."

She could almost hear the councilmen gritting their teeth and holding their breath. Eyes turned away from her, from Maric, to stare at the table. No one wanted to get caught in the cross fire. For several beats the tension of the room grew. Maric's expression remained cool and unreadable, the only movement there was a small muscle twitching beside his mouth.

"There has been an outbreak of illness," he explained. "I must care for my subjects."

"Your human subjects," Roselyn retorted, lifting her chin in a challenge. Maric's eyes widened a tiny bit and Roselyn saw his jaw clench. "It seems the city elves come rather low on your list of priorities. Tell me, how much coin has been going on your attempts to appease the Orlesians when it should have been going on the city elves." She crossed her arms, "Did you even arrange for supplies to be delivered and workers to go? Or was that just a lie you conjured to avoid bloodshed?"

"You would have preferred a massacre?"

"I would have preferred you told her the truth. No aid was ever arranged for them. You wilfully ignore them and their needs." Butterflies fluttered in Roselyn's stomach and chest making her feel sick and giddy. Her body shook under her clothes, an involuntary action she tried to suppress by holding herself still and steady. She hoped her fear was not plain on her face; hoped she at least looked brave while not feeling it.

"What would you know of my mind?" Maric snarled. "You're a woman. More than that, you're young. You know nothing of me."

"I know you cannot continue to treat the elves the way you do!" snapped Roselyn, slamming her hands down on the table. "You mistreat them, you ignore them until they make you pay attention, and then you placate them with honeyed words and empty promises. They are your people as much as the nobles of Denerim, and you let them suffer the cold and die in the streets from preventable illness. Is it any wonder Shianni and her kin threatened you?"

"Alistair," Maric growled his sons name but did not look at him. "Remove your wife. Teach her to know her place."

"Your Majasty," Alistair drew his fingers across his brow. "Roselyn makes a valid point. You sh-"

"Now."

Alistair pushed his chair out, the feet scraping the ground making one or two people wince at the noise. Roselyn stared him and observed his face drawn into a frown with darkened eyes. He walked toward her with his head lowered and shoulders ridged. He grasped Roselyn's hand standing at her side and looking down at her with an expression Roselyn could not read. She could feel the drumming of his heart beat in the palm of his hand. He brushed his thumb over her knuckles closing his eyes briefly before turning to face the table and Maric.

"Your Majesty, closing the gates to the Alienage will not going to win you any favours with your people, low or high born," said Alistair boldly. There was a collectively gasp from those around the table. Alistair's fingers closed around Roselyn's. She reciprocated with a hold just as tight. "City elves may revolt and create riots in the streets. They will find ways to spread illness if just to make themselves heard. We have seen how easily they infiltrated the palace, and if they do so again there may not be a peaceful ending to the conflict."

Maric stared at Alistair coldly, the muscle twitching beside his mouth starting to pulse faster. Roselyn took a step closer to the table bringing the attention back onto her. She took a breath to settle her stomach. "You have options open to you which could save this mess you have created and put you back in the good graces of the elves."

"Why does this matter to you so much?" demanded Maric, his voice still and low. "What are the city elves to you? Kin? Are you the product of an illicit affair? What about them inflames your passions so much you would barge into a council meeting and dictate to me how to run my country and treat my people?"

Roselyn shook her head. "I am kin to no elf, Your Majesty." She bobbed into a polite curtsey. "But I was taught and firmly believe the life blood and foundation of a country begins at the bottom. With the poor and the workers; those who are in need of the most kindness. Those who undertake the menial, thankless tasks and ask only their basic rights be respected. Without them, a city, much less a country, will fall to ruin in a year. Look around this table at these... distinguished gentlemen and tell me honestly; would you treat any of them the way you have treated the city elves?"

A long, silent pause came upon the room as Maric examined the face of each person sitting at the table. They stared at him, like pups waiting for an order from their kennel master, all quiet and obedient, still holding their breath waiting for the outrage to come. After perhaps a minute or maybe an hour of stillness, Maric chuckled through his nose, his mouth curving up at one side.

"You make a fine argument, My Lady." Maric bowed to her from the waist. "This meeting is almost at an end and I feel you have more within you to say which would be wasted on the ears of these ludites." Nervous laughter rippled over those sitting. "You and I will speak more on this later." Returning to his seat, Maric ruffled a hand through his hair, appearing for a moment a younger man. "Alistair, you and your wife may leave."

When Alistair tugged her hand, Roselyn did not fight him guiding her out of the council chamber. She glimpsed Anora standing to one side, using the wall to keep herself steady as Alistair led her down the hallway, almost pulling her along behind him. She fought to keep up with his longer strides, breaking into a run at some points. His grip on her hand was almost crushing. She feared he was angry with her and struggled to concoct a suitable apology for her outburst and behaviour. She was, after all, supposed to be a demure, quiet wife. To grow big with child and express no interest in politics or things outside of her marriage and childbed – at least according to her mother. She broke all those rules in the last ten minutes and knew there would be consequences.

Reaching their room, Roo leapt up from the window seat as they entered and Alistair closed the main door behind them dismissing the guards. They were alone for a few seconds, Roselyn standing in the middle of the room with Alistair's back to her, his head bowed, hands behind his neck.

"I'm sorry," Roselyn blurted out after a minute of silence. "I know I shouldn't ha—" Alistair cut her off, lips crashing to hers, hands winding down her back to her waist as he pulled her against him. Shocked by his actions, Roselyn remained still in his embrace, tentatively returning his kiss and bracing her hands upon his shoulders. Alistair's mouth moulded over hers, hot and insistent, leaving her breathless and dazed when he broke away, grinning.

"Maker's breath, I love you," he exclaimed in a hoarse whisper, beaming and giving Roselyn no time to react to his declaration as he picked her up off the ground. "You were magnificent!" He swung her around. Roselyn shrieked and wrapped her arms across his shoulders while Roo barked, leaping up at Alistair. "I have never seen anyone speak to him like that! It was beautiful!" Alistair plopped her on the floor to kiss her again. "Incredible! It will never be repeated! I am so glad I was there to witness that dressing down!"

"I... I don't understand," Roselyn remarked, confused. "You aren't... angry?"

"Angry?!" Alistair laughed, "Why would I be angry?! You gave him the talking to he's been in dire need of for years. And you did it without prompting and without sweetening your words!" He littered kisses across her forehead, her nose and cheeks which made Roselyn explode into nervous giggles. "It was amazing. I wish I could watch it all over again!"

"Why was it so remarkable?" she asked, still puzzled but unable to fight Alistair's infectious grin. "Surely other people have told him similar things."

"Not to my mind," Alistair smirked and tapped the end of her nose. "And not so eloquently. You did the one thing no one is supposed to tell a King: you told him he can't do something. That he can't treat the elves the way he is. You stood up to him without any thought for yourself." He cupped her face, pressing a long kiss to her mouth while grinning into it. "I am married to the most beautiful, amazing, and noble woman in all Thedas."

"I just did what anyone with a scrap of decency would do..." Roselyn mumbled, blushing under her husband's praise. "You spoke up too."

"And you're modest about it," chuckled Alistair, kissing her forehead. "You watch, he'll come and speak to you about what you said. Maybe tomorrow or even tonight."

"Oh..." Roselyn rubbed the back of her neck, unnerved at the idea. "You'll be with me?"

"Of course," he confirmed with a quick nod of his head. Suddenly he released her and disappeared into one of the other rooms, returning a few moments later with the copper bath. "Quick, bathe and change into something. We're going to celebrate."

"In the palace?" Roselyn tilted a brow.

Alistair treated her to a devilish and mischievous grin, "Outside the palace."

Here concludes the first half of chapter nine! I hope you enjoyed it! Let me know what you think, and the second half will be up soon! :3