"How do I look?" Zevran asked.

Fenris smiled. "Magnificent," he said, winning a pleased grin from the other elf. "What are you meant to be?"

Zevran shrugged, and smiled in amusement. "Nothing, really – an allegory for winter, perhaps," he said, and dusted with one hand at the white velvet leggings he was wearing with an equally white shirt of the same material. It had soft falls of pointed lace at wrists and throat, and was sewn with a scattering of tiny silver spangles from neck to hem, densest near the bottom, as were the leggings, which ended in low boots of white suede. His mask, a little domino of stiffened white suede, was also dusted with spangles. He'd done his hair in a different fashion than usual, caught back behind his ear in a multitude of braids on the left side, some with white satin ribbon or tufts of white down worked in, and hanging mostly loose on the right side, except for the forelock which was done in two long braids hanging straight down, each tipped with a large white feather. All the pristine white made his golden skin seem even darker than usual in contrast, his blond hair and gold eyes all the brighter.

Fenris frowned slightly, tilting his head a little to one side. "That will be hard to keep clean at a party," he pointed out.

Zevran shrugged again, and grinned. "It is really only meant to be worn once. And it is the effect at the beginning of the evening that is the most important," he said as he drew on a pair of white suede gloves, the cuffs edged in soft white fur. That done, he reached up to set one hand lightly to Fenris' cheek. "Do not wait up for me; it will likely not be until well after midnight before I return. And you must be well-rested for the ball tomorrow night."

"And you don't need to be?" Fenris asked dryly, before leaning down to kiss the other man.

"I will be rested enough," Zevran said lightly, after the kiss, and trailed the backs of his fingers along Fenris' chin and then down his neck. Fenris shivered at the slight drag of the soft suede against his skin, which drew another smile from the elf. "And I had better go, or I will be ruining this outfit before I am even out the door," Zevran said, giving Fenris a smouldering look before he turned and left.

Fenris sighed softly after the door had closed behind him. Perhaps he should have asked Zevran to obtain an invitation to tonight's party for him after all... but he disliked large social occasions, they made him tense, and he was already facing having to attend the Satinalia Ball here at the palace tomorrow night. That would be stressful enough on its own without bracketing it with the additional festivities that Zevran was attending. No; better a quiet evening in. Though not a quiet evening without entertainment, he decided, and went off in search of the palace library, in hopes of finding something interesting to read.

He was mildly startled, once he'd found the library, to find it already occupied; King Alistair was sprawled on a couch near the windows, absorbed in reading a book in the light of a large branch of candles on a small table nearby. He looked up, and smiled warmly when he saw who it was, sitting up and closing his book. "Good evening, Fenris."

"Good evening, your majesty. I'm sorry, I did not mean to interrupt..."

Alistair waved his hand dismissively, cutting him off. "You're not interrupting. And you don't have to call me 'your majesty' apart from on formal occasions; anyone that Zevran vouches for is welcome to call me by name."

Fenris smiled slightly and bowed. "All right. Thank you, Alistair."

Alistair flashed him a brief grin, and settled back more comfortably in his seat. "Not going out partying with Zevran this evening?" he asked curiously.

"No. I do not particularly enjoy large social gatherings; though I will of course be attending your party tomorrow night," he said, as he made his way over to a bookshelf and began examining titles, a little ill at ease at partially ignoring Alistair's presence, yet knowing that Alistair usually preferred to be treated as informally as possible. It made him miss Sebastian, whom he was comfortable enough with to do so.

"Of course," Alistair said, and sighed. "One of the few social gathering I actually enjoy, really. You know, even after all these years on the throne I keep expecting someone to tap me on the arm and tell me they've made a mistake, and I should clear off the premises. It's especially bad when I'm having to act the part on formal occasions. But Satinalia... that's just fun," he said. "Though the best Satinalia celebrations I ever attended were when I was just a stable boy back in Redcliffe. The whole village would gather for it; everyone from the castle, too, which is why I was allowed to attend. Arl Eamon would donate a bull and a couple of sheep to be roasted for it, and all the villagers would make special dishes. The food was always so good; I was too young to care about things, like the dancing afterwards, of course," he said, a note of fond reminiscence in his voice. "Did you enjoy the Satinalia celebrations when you were a child?" he asked curiously.

"I don't know," Fenris said, and found himself moved to answer honestly. "I was a slave then; I don't believe slaves were allowed to participate, other than as servants or perhaps as part of the entertainment. And I remember very little of my childhood; almost nothing, before these marks were made in my skin."

"They're lyrium, aren't they?" Alistair asked.

Fenris turned to give him a surprised look; few people other than mages every recognized the marks for what they were; most thought them only some form of scarification or branding, until he lit up anyway. Yet Alistair was frowning thoughtfully at him, clearly having figured it out without ever having seen Fenris' more startling abilities.

"Yes. How did you guess? Most people don't, unless I tell them."

Alistair smiled crookedly. "Before I became a Grey Warden I was in training to be a Templar. I only ever had lyrium once – just enough so I could begin learning the templar abilities, not enough to addict me."

"Ah. You would recognize it fairly easily then."

"Yes, you can never really forget the feeling of lyrium nearby, after that. What is it for? I'm certain that can't have been done be for purely decorative reasons."

Fenris nodded, and pulled a large book off the shelf. "It gives me extra strength and stamina, a high resistance to magic... and the ability to do this," he said, then lit up and, holding the book up with one hand, reached through it with the other, wiggling his fingers at Alistair before withdrawing the hand again. He let the glow fade, and walked over to hand the book to Alistair, who was looking open-mouthed with astonishment.

"Maker! That was impressive!" Alistair stared at the book, turning it over and over in his hands, then riffling through the pages for a moment as if checking for some sign of how the trick had been done.

Fenris found a slight smile tugging at his lips. "Even more so when I chose to interact with the material I've reached into. Useful if I feel a sudden overwhelming desire to rip someone's heart from their chest."

That drew a grin to Alistair's face. "I can imagine it would," he said, and put the book aside. "So you're able to be selective about what you do or don't touch, when you're lit up like that? How does that work?"

Fenris shrugged. "I don't know. I just... decide what I want to do, and the brands work in accordance with my thoughts. My master used me as his bodyguard; my magic resistance and the fact that I didn't require a weapon to be dangerous suited him."

"Master?" Alistair said, sounding interested. "Wait... I suspect this is going to be a long conversation. Why don't you have a seat, and I'll send for some wine, and we can make a proper evening of this. Or no, I'm assuming things again – do you want to talk about this at all? Or would you rather just get a book and go, as was obviously your original plan?"

Fenris found himself smiling. Random curiosity usually bothered him, but somehow Alistair's open friendliness made it less off-putting. And that the man was a good friend of Zevran's, and that Zevran had spoken of Alistair as being a good man... well, he trusted Zevran's judgement. "All right," he agreed. "I don't mind talking about it with you, I suppose."

Alistair grinned. "Excellent. Would you prefer tea, or wine? Or there's always ale," he asked, rising and walking over to a bell-pull near the fireplace.

"Wine, by preference. Thank you."

Alistair gave a couple of yanks of the bell-pull, then returned to his seat, and waved for Fenris to seat himself as well. A servant came in as he was settling into a chair close to Alistair.

"Do you prefer red, or white?"

"Red."

"A bottle of red. And something to snack on, I think," Alistair instructed the servant, who bowed and hurried off again. "Sorry, where were we... ah, yes. You'd mentioned a master – I take it that's not just an extremely polite way of referring to a past employer?"

Fenris smiled grimly. "Indeed not. I grew up as a slave in Tevinter. The only monetary side to our relationship was whatever monies Danarius paid to my original owner in order to acquire me. I am told I actually competed in a gladiatorial event for the privilege of his ownership and these markings, though I have no memory of it."

"Andraste's sacred arse... why!?" Alistair asked, sounding appalled.

"There was also a boon involved. I used it to have my mother and sister freed; little good as it apparently did them," Fenris said. And found himself telling Alistair the whole story, over the next few hours; waking up in pain with no memories of his past, the years spent serving Danarius, the war on Seheron and being left behind. The Fog Warriors. Killing the Fog Warriors, under the lash of Danarius' blood magic. They were on their second bottle of wine by then, the tray of snacks – fruit, bread, crackers, cheese, and cold meats – already demolished. Alistair swore, and summoned the servant to fetch a third bottle.

"Better make it tea," Fenris said. "Or we'll regret it in the morning."

Alistair nodded agreement. "Right. Tea. And more snacks," he added, gesturing for the servant to remove the tray, littered with apple and pear cores, a curl of cheese rind, and a scattering of crumbs.

It was after midnight by the time Fenris had finished. Alistair, he'd realized, was a very good listener; surprisingly good, asking just enough questions to keep the conversation going, and otherwise merely listening intently. It helped that he let his emotions show so very clearly on his face while listening; his honest interest was apparent, as was his anger on Fenris' behalf, his distress, his sympathy... but no pity, Fenris was relieved to see. And smiles, several times, at the happier parts. Amusement, when the long tale deserved it. Thoughtfulness.

"Thank you," Alistair said when he was done, and then smiled warmly. "It's rare that I get to know one of Zevran's friends so well. But then it's also rare that he actually brings one into my presence; almost unheard of, in fact. He obviously thinks highly of you."

Fenris flushed. "I think highly of him, as well."

"He trusts you," Alistair said softly, leaning forward to set his long-empty cup down on the tray between them. "Which is very rare. Given his background... he is not a very trusting sort. That he trusts you enough to bring you here, to give you free access to his rooms here in the castle, to introduce you to me, that all tells me much about just how highly he thinks of you."

Fenris shifted uncomfortably, flush deepening. "I trust him equally deeply," he said, unable to think of anything else to say.

Alistair smiled crookedly, looking faintly amused. "As do I. Not that I did at first; he'd just been attempting to kill Soria and myself, after all. I distrusted him for the first couple of months he travelled with us, while I think Soria trusted him from the moment he woke up. I never knew why she did; but she's better at reading people than I am. But I'm not entirely thick-skulled; around about the third or fourth time he saved one or the other of us from horrible death I realized that maybe she'd been right to spare him, after all," he said, and grinned.

Fenris snorted, finding his own lips twitch in a slight smile. "And now you trust him."

"Yes. With my life, with my honour, with anything he asked for. So since he's the one that has brought you here and introduced you to me, I trust you by extension. Not as much, of course – I have yet to see you in action, after all – but at least provisionally, trusting his judgement of you as being someone trustworthy and worth knowing."

Fenris flushed again, knowing he was being complimented and being uncomfortable with it. And challenged, too – challenged to proved himself worthy of Zevran's trust. "I would never knowingly fail him," he said softly.

Alistair's smile broadened. "And neither would I. Which may sound reversed from what it should be, but... his trust in me means I have to be worthy of him too. There was a time, early in my reign, when that was very important to me. That I had his trust, and Soria's, among others; that these two people whose opinions had come to mean so much to me both believed I had it in me to be the king that Ferelden needed. Not a figurehead for Soria, or a puppet for Eamon, or a placeholder until my own child comes of age, but a king. It has not been easy; very little in my life has been. But I have learned to put aside self-doubt, and judge myself by the people who trust me. I think that's a better benchmark to use than anything I could come up with for myself; whether or not I've met the expectations of those whose judgement I trust better than my own."

Fenris found himself smiling now, thinking of Sebastian, Hawke, Varric... "I think that's a good yardstick to use," he agreed. "At least some of the time. You wouldn't want to judge yourself by the opinion of someone who proved to be untrustworthy; nor would you want to become a weathercock, turning to the winds of other's opinions without thought for your own."

Alistair grinned again, looking very pleased. "Yes. It is a balancing act; in the end all decisions I make must be mine, and ones I am willing to defend. Which some times has meant having to disappoint people whose opinions matter to me, but I cannot be all things to all people. Being king does not mean getting to snap my fingers and instantly reorder the world in the way I want it to be; it means doing what I can do to guide it in that direction, over time, and sometimes with painful compromise now in order to work toward greater gains later."

Fenris nodded. "Sebastian has spoken to me once or twice about the difference between rulers who see ruling as a right, and those who see it as a responsibility. He strives to be one of the latter, and thinks poorly of the former."

Alistair nodded. "A man after my own heart; I shall look forward to opening correspondence with Prince Sebastian, now that the two of you have carried his letter to me. But now it is very late, and we're likely to have a long night tomorrow as well – later today, in fact – so I suppose we should retire. I have enjoyed our talk; thank you for trusting me with your past."

"Thank you for listening," Fenris said, rising to his own feet as Alistair did. "It is rare that I find someone I trust enough to share it with, but Zevran's trust in you also leads me to trust you."

Alistair grinned. "Good. I hope we both prove worthy of his trust," he said, nodded his head, and left.

Fenris let out a deep breath, relieved to have got through the evening without incident, then returned to Zevran's rooms. The elf was not back yet, but then he'd indicated he wouldn't be. Fenris changed, and went to bed alone.

Some time before dawn – though not much before, the windows were that dark grey of no-longer-quite-night that meant actual dawn was not all that far off – he woke briefly as Zevran crawled into bed with him. He sighed in contentment as he wrapped himself around the smaller elf, smiling as he breathed in the freshly-washed scent of his hair, and returned to sleep.