Solona Amell really and truly hated these things.
It was the anniversary of the day she'd slain the archdemon on top of Fort Drakon, and she and her Grey Wardens were recalled to Denerim for the celebration. There would be parties, and dressing up, and ceremonies.
And, she had been forewarned, there might well be an engagement announcement as well. Alistair's.
The thought of all of it made her stomach queasy. She couldn't claim that she had not begun to move on, but the hurt of being rejected simply for what she was still hurt. And although clearly they were no longer lovers and could no longer afford to be, Alistair had been her first true love and her first true friend outside of the Circle. That he was nearly a Templar was an irony that escaped neither of them, but the truth was that when all was said and done, no matter how they'd had to move on – he was part of the family Solona had chosen for herself after her blood relatives had been ripped away from her six year old self, forever.
This woman, (a Nevarran, as she'd suggested to him might be politic) would be at the festivities.
The recruits would stay with Varel and the Captain of the Guard to continue training.
Oghren mercifully had little to say when she'd told her little warband that they were going. He'd come by her office with a couple of pints of ale, and the two of them had had a quiet drink together. They'd talked about how the training of a new crop of human recruits was going, discussed timing the Joining for just after they got back.
As he'd gotten up to leave, he'd walked over to her chair, reached up, and squeezed her shoulder. "You're worth more than alla the noblewomen in Thedas," he grumbled, then stood on tiptoe and kissed her cheek before he took his leave.
It had left Solona weeping quietly, her heart surging with a touch of grief over what could have been – but mostly from a renewed realization of how much her companions cared for her and were the next thing to family to her. Maker, I am a lucky woman.
Sigrun's reaction, as ever, was to the point. "Anyone needs killing, point me at them." It was hard to take seriously with a cheeky ear to ear grin – but Solona knew better than to think it was simply a joke.
Nathaniel had sat with her late into the night, working out the logistics of getting them all to the capital, and had simply said quietly, "I doubt this trip will be comfortable for either of us."
"No, I should say not." After the Landsmeet, it had been common knowledge that she and Alistair were a couple; she'd heard rather nastier rumors that painted her either as his whore, or more infamously as the camp whore, fueled by the not-entirely-undeserved rumors about mages being a rather promiscuous bunch. She was not looking forward to the gossip.
Howe had as little reason to look forward to this as she – perhaps less. His father had been the rather abusive Arl of Denerim – a traitor and torturer and murderer – and there was sure to be a lot of gossip about how far he'd fallen.
"We'll make it through," she'd said, and Howe had given her a look heavy with humor. "No frogs, Commander," he warned.
The one she was both most and least surprised about was Anders. She'd found him pacing in the dungeon, of all places, Barkly whining at his heels.
"An apostate mage, in the palace, at Denerim….."
"A Grey Warden," she'd said calmly, "a freed mage of the Circle, with the Hero of Ferelden, Arlessa of Amaranthine, and Commander of the Grey. Besides…. I have it on EXCELLENT authority that your phylactery no longer exists." She'd smiled wolfishly at that.
Anders stopped and looked at her. "Do I need to remind you that this is your ex-Templar ex-boyfriend King we're going to see?"
Solona chuckled humorlessly. "No, I think I remembered that."
"What if he finds out about us? What if he doesn't approve of me?"
Solona shrugged. "What if he does find out? What if he doesn't approve? What does it matter?"
He goggled. "He IS the king."
"He also personally handed me your phylactery," Solona said quietly. She hugged him hard while he digested this. "Do you honestly believe he would have freed you, specifically, if he had it in for you?"
Anders kissed her temple. "So, best robes, then…."
"Wait 'till you see… got some snazzy uniforms for us."
Zevran was the last to come see her. "I take it, my dear Warden Commander, that I am to stay at the Keep?"
"Where would you get that idea?" Solona asked, surprised. "Zev, you were one of our companions – you were with me on the roof when I killed the archdemon. You're going – unless you don't WANT to go."
"And how will it look, Solona, for you to bring an assassin to the palace?"
"Zev, it's not as if you're going to be wearing a sign saying, 'I am an assassin.' Alistair will know, of course, and our friends. Who else?" She looked at him searchingly. "Really… you were with me when it counted – you've always had my back, and I hope you know I've always had yours. I can't imagine being at the celebration without you."
He smiled, a little sadly, she thought. "Best of friends, forever. I'd better pack."
As expected, there was the gossip.
Solona walked into the ballroom as regally as any queen, her Grey Warden robes of silver and blue with a pair of rampant griffons stitched on the front drawing admiring murmurs. Anders swept in beside her in similar style. Oghren, Sigrun, and Howe each had tabards in the same colors over hose, and Zevran had chosen simply to wear a blue outfit.
"The nerve of her coming," Habren Bryland stage whispered as they passed. "You'd think she'd understand that sleeping with the King and being kept by him isn't the same as being wanted at the palace…"
Solona swept by as if she had not heard. A muscle in her jaw began to twitch, though.
"Is it really safe to have so many mages here without Templars?" mock whispered another of her set, Lady Darcy.
"Ugh – look at that dwarf woman – is that a tattoo all over her face? How horrifying!"
She walked right up to the dais to King Alistair, and bent her knee before him, not rising until he murmured to her.
I hate this too, his expression said.
We'll get through this, hers replied, and she nodded slightly.
Habren Bryland was a poisonous little thing, and Solona had had enough. She had been hearing far too much about mage promiscuity, about her supposed relations with the King and with the Blight Companions, and about her new Wardens. She was about to walk out of the ballroom when Anders – Maker watch over him! - swept wordlessly past her and over to Habren and her little coterie with a cheerful smile on his face.
What the….
"My lady," Anders said warmly, turning up the charm. "You're positively radiant." He took both of her hands, looked at her from arm's length, and gushed, "Let me be the first to congratulate you and your lord husband on the happy news!"
"My lord h– you are mistaken, Ser, " Habren stammered. "I am yet unwed."
Anders' expression showed surprise, then became very grave. "I… forgive me, my lady." And with a courteous bow, he backed away and headed off for the punch bowl as the murmurs started rippling through the hall.
Zevran smirked as he led Solona out to the dance floor. "The icing on that particular cake," he said as he began to lead her through a swift Antivan reel, "would indeed be if there were congratulations in order and no lord waiting in the wings to become a husband."
Solana glanced at Anders, who was now deep in discussion with Wynne. "You don't think…"
"I think it at least fortuitous timing. If he is in jest, then he is a Crow at heart – skilled in character assassination."
She had never learned to dance – the social niceties were rather lacking within the Circle – but Zevran was nimble and warned her of each change of direction with a gentle tightening of his fingers, and Solona was a quick study. Then the dance was over, and she, flushing, curtseyed even as Zev bowed to her.
A slower air began to play, a waltz, and when she turned to leave the floor, she got only a tingle of her tainted blood to warn her that a Warden was standing behind her.
It was Alistair, in his royal armor. "May I have this dance?"
"Do you think it wise, Your Majesty? People will talk."
"People are already talking," he pointed out smoothly, "and would probably have far more to say were it to appear that we were avoiding each other out of guilt."
Solona curtseyed, taking his hand and allowing him to place his other hand on her waist.
"I know you're not used to it," he said, with a touch of amusement, "but this time…. follow my lead."
She laughed aloud, and grinning wryly, replied, "No problem. My compliments to your dancing master – you dance divinely."
It both felt good and saddened Solona to be in Alistair's arms again. She felt as if they were flirting with could-have-beens, a bit. More than a bit.
"So, your Nevarran…"
He winced. "Apparently she heard some rumors about Grey Wardens and their profligate ways."
"You should have made sure she heard of Grey Wardens and their incredible stamina," she teased gently. "And horsewhip the gossips, of course."
They glided to a stop although the music still played, and Alistair turned. And there at his shoulder was Anders.
"Your Majesty," Anders said, bowing, "may I cut in?"
She could tell from the slight tightening of the lines around his eyes that Alistair would rather not, but with a smile he handed Solona off. "Of course, Ser Mage." As Anders began to step off with her, Alistair arrested him with a hand to the shoulder.
"Take good care of her," he said quietly, before patting him on the shoulder and letting them go.
"Well, that was fairly horrid," Nathaniel said as they gathered in the royal gardens for their usual "war council". "I'm not sure which was worse – the open hostility of some, or the pretended sympathy of the others."
"Ser Bryland should see to his daughter, and soon," Anders murmured to Solona. "Whether it's to get her a husband or to send her to a maiden aunt in Kirkwall for the duration."
So she actually was expecting. "How deliciously hypocritical of the wench," Solona said. "No wonder she has so much to say about my relationship with you all – she probably can't conceive of being with males and not being with them."
"The problem appears to be that she COULD conceive..." Anders replied dryly.
"At least Alistair had good grub and good drink out," Oghren said cheerfully.
"Well, joy of joys... Zev, Oghren and I are going to have to go make speeches and look pretty tomorrow," Solona said. "I can't wait to get a minute alone with Leliana and Wynne. Really won't seem the same without Sten..."
"And Morrigan," Oghren added.
Solona froze, looking off into the distance, trying to compose herself. Yes, Morrigan too, although with any luck she either had not borne the child or - Maker forbid - it had bee a still birth. Solona had the most horrid feeling that she and Alistair would pay a heavy price for their lives, some day.