Bannon & Zevran Bk II: Excursions Chapter 13: At Court, a dragon age fanfic

At Court

CONTENT:
Rating: Mature
Flavor: Adventure/Drama
Language: yes
Violence: no
Nudity: no
Sex: no
Other: none

Author's Notes:

i have no clue about orlais. so i had to brainstorm about what the empress was really up to. and had some innnnteresting insights! most of them made it into the chapter as part of the story ;D

At Court

==#==

Leliana met them at Le Gallu D'oru, a large three storey tavern outside of Val Royeaux. "Ah! The Hero of the Blight!" the bard called out in dramatic fashion. She raised her arms wide, making the golden sun embroidered on her Chantry robes cast its rays wider.

"Sister Leliana!" Bannon echoed her volume and stance.

She closed with him in an embrace, heartfelt for all its pomp. Then a quick kiss-kiss, once on each cheek, a traditional Orlesian greeting.

"And it's 'Heroes,'" he reminded her. "Of which you are one, let us not forget."

She mock-blushed and shooed away such praise. Then, since Zevran was at Bannon's shoulder, she greeted him next, then Alistair, in kind.

"You are looking radiant as ever," the Antivan cooed.

"She kissed me," Alistair said aside to Bannon, with a big grin.

Zevran pounced. "Oh, is that new for you, Alistair? What about your buxom dwarven companion?"

Leliana's sea-storm eyes lit up. "Oh, Alistair, is there a special someone you met?"

"A gentleman doesn't kiss and tell," he said, sticking to his story.

Zevran growled in frustration, and Leliana giggled. "That is true," she said, shushing Zevran with a gesture. "But come, I have everything planned out!"

And so she did. She took them up to the grand suite at the top of the inn, a massive penthouse with its own private balcony overlooking the bay.

"Why is it all the way at the top?" Bannon complained.

"For the lofty view," Leliana explained. "It is only for the richest, most influential guests."

"Shouldn't they pamper their rich influential guests by not making them climb so many stairs? I had more than enough stairs to last a lifetime at Fort Drakon."

"I'm sure your Grey Warden stamina can handle a simple inn."

Leliana's retinue had been busy preparing the suite. There were hothouse flowers, fruits and candy, hot drawn baths.

"And these," Leliana said with a flourish, "are your new uniforms!"

"Uniforms!" said Alistair like a kid on festival day.

These were of the same design as the Orlesian Grey Warden uniforms, with a slash of Ferelden russet. "Try them on, and we can make alterations while you have your bath."

There were only two uniforms; Zevran was left out again. He assuaged his disappointment by complaining about Ferelden and its obsession with brown.

Seamstresses tutted and fussed over Bannon and Alistair, tugging at seams, smoothing creases, checking for fit in some rather risque places.

"You look marvelous!" Lelian asaid, clapping her hands in delight. "So very handsome. And! The best part!" With another grand gesture, she unveiled the shoes.

Bannon and Alistair blinked.

"Oh, hell no."

Alistair quirked a brow. "I thought you were joking about those!"

"No! They are all the rage at court."

The boots were made of fine, dyed leather, trimmed with sable fur, which made them look quite warm and cozy, actually. But the toes! Each curled like a young ram's horn, a silver harness bell dangling perfectly within the curve.

"They are marvelous!" Zevran declared, mostly because he did not have to wear them.

"What!?" his partner demanded.

"Look at them! How long they are! How elegant! How do they keep their shape? How do they stay erect so long without flopping over?"

Alistair said, "You can wear them."

"No no no, my handsome human friend. These are surely for you! I am reminded of the story you told us, of how human women are attracted to festival clowns."

"I didn't say that."

"These are truly clown shoes, taken to the next level. With jester bells!" Zevran waved his arms excitedly. "Women love a good sharp wit, no?"

Bannon added, "Yeah, Alistair can wear them. I'm not wearing-"

"But look at those heels, amore'! How so much taller they will make you!"

"Uhhm..." He looked momentarily tempted, then came to his senses. "But, bells? No self-respecting thie- er- elven Warden would be caught dead wearing them. Oh, well, he would be caught and dead."

Leliana interjected. "Please, you must wear these if you want to impress the courtiers at the parade!"

"How are we even going to be able to walk?" asked Alistair.

"Are we supposed to ride horses? In those?" Bannon goggled.

"No, there is a coach," the bard tried to explain.

"How are we going to get down from there and into the palace?" Alistair wondered.

"Never mind that," said his fellow Warden, "they can't even see into a coach to know if we're wearing them or not!"

"They will see you at the ball," Leliana insisted. "In all your finery."

"If we don't fall down the castle steps."

"You must practice the fine art of mincing."

Zevran cracked up.

"Plus dancing?" Alistair asked. "Orlesians dance at balls too, right?"

"Yes, but the fine courtly dances have very little movement."

"No Rhemigold?"

"It prevents accidents with the gentlemen tripping in their shoes, and the ladies passing out from the corsets."

"Oh, that sounds like a barrel of fun," Alistair complained.

Bannon said, "Look, Leliana, we appreciate this, really. They're very- uh- fine shoes, of impressive design. But we are going to have to go to court as ordinary traditional Fereldan folk. Besides, we don't want them to think we are co-opting their culture, aping their mannerisms just to make fun of them."

Alistair jumped in. "I can attest I am most likely to trip and fall over like an utter buffoon in those thi- er- very nice things, especially with only a few hours practice."

Leliana sighed deeply. "Oh... very well. I suppose you're right."

Zevran said, "You'll at least try them on? So she can see the stunning effect of the entire ensemble?"

"Oh, yes please!"

The Wardens shot each other a look. They were sunk. The Antivan had backed them into a corner with no escape. They donned the belled boots and struck a pose.

"Oh," gasped Leliana. "I may swoon."

Bannon 'minced' around, making sure to do it badly, in case there was any doubt. He bumped into Alistair with a not-too-subtle nudge. Then they both bumbled around and mince-pranced until Zevran was red in the face from holding his breath in an effort not to laugh.

He lost it when Alistair managed to fall over, arms pinwheeling.

Leliana gave another dramatic sigh. "Well, it was worth a shot."

"More than worth it, my dear bard," Zevran said breathlessly. "Much more!"

==#==

The coach was an open affair, carved and painted with fantastic floral designs. The six horses were dapple grey, instead of the transitional white, Leliana explained, to symbolize the Grey Wardens. Orlesians lined the cobbled streets, clapping and waving, rather sedately, Bannon thought, compared to the cheering of the Fereldan crowds. Well, it hadn't been their country half-eaten in a Blight. Oh, and there was that little incident with the slaughtering of the Orlesian Grey Wardens, too. Or maybe the Orlesian people were just more sedate and straight-laced than Fereldans.

Speaking of straight-laced, he couldn't believe the corsetry. Some of the ladies at court looked as if one could encircle their vanishingly small waists with two hands. Maybe it was the effect of the huge skirts that bulged out on each side like saddle bags - or panniers! What was it with shems and their need to exaggerate a person's shape of beauty into something grotesque?

The most puzzling were the women's busts. The tops were left bare, or in revealing lace, and pushed up into plump mounds. That was enticing enough, but the effect was achieved by squeezing the lower breast flat to the ribs. How was that appealing? Were Orlesian men so stupid that they thought the rounded tops promised their desired bigger breasts? Couldn't they see the rest of the supposed boob was non-existent?

Oh well, at least they hadn't stuffed their brassieres with basketloads of padding.

Leliana wasn't joking when she talked about the immobility of Orlesian fashion. The women couldn't possibly sit, unless perhaps they sank down into the center of their tent skirts. And the only reason they could fit through doorways was that every one in the palace seemed to be a double door.

The men fared little better. Where women couldn't move their heads for fear of toppling their huge, intricate coifs, the men wore huge stiff collars. Some flared outward, though some stuck so close as to encase a man's jaw and cheeks, rising to nearly the top of his head at the back.

Sleeves were so wide at the cuff that they nearly dragged on the ground. Or had to be tied up to dangle in a loop from elbow to wrist. Forget plucking food from the buffet or ladling punch from a bowl. Those sleeves would get soaked and knock the fanciful tower of sweetmeats crashing to the floor. Servants had to hand everything to them. Oh well, more for the Wardens.

And the shoes! Each pair tried to outdo the outlandishness of the last. Bannon and Zevran had to avoid side-glancing at each other if they didn't want to break down in hilarity. Bannon had no idea how Alistair managed.

The ball was exhausting. Not the dances - the Fereldans learned the three or four steps easily - but the coutiering. This noble, that noble, one lesser, one greater, in this feud or that rivalry, entangled with that not-so-secret lover, or this secret alliance of five branching connections.

All of them spoke in high formal speech, which sounded quaintly archaic to Fereldan ears. Zevran slipped right in (when didn't he?), but Bannon was caught between being embarrassed at sounding like a lower class country bumpkin, versus sounding like a pompous ass.

He decided to use his natural charms and good looks (though he had declined Leliana's offer to paint his eyelids to enhance the inherent beauty of his eyes). Unfortunately, this courtly 'Game' he'd heard about seemed to involve courtiers saying the nicest things about each other when they meant the complete opposite. As opposed to saying genuinely nice things about people they actually liked. All without sarcasm or sincerity.

Bannon just laid it on thick at every opportunity, especially with the ladies. They seemed particularly attracted to him. Later, he realized it was because he was an elf. It seemed the height of fashion for the Orlesian ladies to have an elven lover - or more than one, if they could manage. He, also being a Grey Warden, would be a huge prize.

The end of the ball was dedicated to an awards ceremony, presided over by the Empress Celene herself. She was... smaller than Bannon had expected. From the vilification of the Orlesian Empire in Ferelden, it had grown in his mind into a vast monster, with an equally draconic leader, a powerful crone, like Flemeth perhaps.

Then he had to remember that there had been plans for her to wed King Cailen, and while a political match didn't preclude a vast age differential, she was, in fact, quite young. Aside from the reams of expensive brocade and the king's ransom of jewels she wore, the only hint at her station of power was a tightness around her eyes.

With grand ceremony, she awarded him and Alistair medals of honor, strung on ribbons. As she was so petite, in order for her to drape them over their necks, they had to take a knee. Clever, that.

"The Empire of Orlais recognizes the service of the Grey Wardens of Ferelden, in their part to protect the nations of Thedas from the Blight."

They rose to applause. Bannon stepped forward to address Celene and the crowd. "And the Grey Wardens acknowledge the disservice done to the Orlesian Grey Wardens, by renegades in Ferelden. The perpetrators of this traitorous act have been duly executed."

This was met with greater applause.

"In recognition of their heroic deeds, we hereby grant the Grey Wardens an Imperial Boon." Celene tipped her head, careful not to topple her jeweled coif. "What favor would you ask?"

"You are most gracious, Your Highness," Bannon said with a slight bow, thinking quickly. "The Grey Wardens stand neutral, defenders of all life, all nations. Yet also as Fereldens, we hope to see an era of peace and cooperation between our countries." He kept his voice pitched for the crowd to hear. "Ferelden has suffered the brunt of the darkspawn Blight, her citizens slain, her armies decimated from brutal fighting, her lands Blighted by Taint. Thus, for our Imperial Boon, we ask the great Empress of Orlais to grant trade easements to Ferelden, without taxing and charging tariffs on imports, and fairly lowering food prices, so that Ferelden and Orlais may become strong partners in trade."

This was met by a cheer, mainly from the mercantile nobles. The military officers merely clapped politely.

Celene narrowed her eyes at Bannon, those minute wrinkles appearing at the corners. "We are curious if Ferelden can grant the same duty-free status to Orlesian goods."

"I cannot speak for the queen, Your Majesty. Ferelden will need all the help it can muster to get back on its feet again." He lowered his voice. "I know you wished for an alliance, moving forward."

Her eyes flashed momentarily in surprise. Bannon had heard that the Orlesian court favored wearing masks, which seemed a disservice to them in giving them the skill to hide their reactions. "You know about that," she said, less a question than a confirmation. "Alas, it was never brought to the table."

"I do know it was seriously considered, and approved by certain of the Ferelden nobility."

"Oh?"

"And considered a serious threat to the anti-Orlesian nobles. Hence, the unfortunate incident at our mutual border."

"You expect me to overlook that act of war?"

He spread his hands. "Is war what you want? Would not peace be more profitable?"

"It seems to me, a weakened country would be easily taken to heel."

"To what end?" Bannon countered. "It won't produce abundant crops, nor have an abundance of labor. Not for years to come."

"Hmm."

"Strong friends make better allies than weak subjects, Your Majesty." Bannon swept another bow and turned back to the gathered audience. "Let us raise a toast to the valiant Grey Warden Riordan! While we struck the final blow to the Archdemon, it was he who struck the first! The telling blow that crippled the beast, so that we might slay it." He launched once again into an expanded and aggrandized tale of Riordan's dramatic leap onto the Archdemon's back. The fight atop Fort Drakon was downplayed as an inevitable conclusion afterwards.

Later, back in their suite where they could relax once more, Alistair asked him about that.

"It's what they want to hear, Alistair," Bannon said, unbuttoning his tunic. "How their countryman was a hero, not how their idiot neighbors slaughtered them, and then didn't really need their help."

"We did need Riordan's help."

"Yes, we did."

"I dunno. I thought they might like us better if they knew what a struggle we went through, how difficult it was to slay the Archdemon. To know how, well, heroic we really are. People admire heroes."

Bannon thought a moment. "Somehow, I don't think they'd believe half of it."

"Which part?" Zevran put in. "Activating a working golem? Finding Andraste's ashes? Defeating an entire tower full of demons? Werewolves? Ghost armies?"

Bannon chuckled. "Maybe the part where we handed the almighty Antivan Crows their asses."

"Surely, that is the most unbelievable of all," Zevran scoffed.

"Oh, surely."

"Oh, by the way, here's your butt," Alistair jabbed.

"Must we hear that, every time?" Zevran pulled a long face.

"Hey, tomorrow I'm heading out on the journey to Weisshaupt. Who knows when I'll ever get another chance?"

"Is it that dangerous?" Bannon asked in concern. He couldn't imagine never seeing Alistair again.

"Well, it's through the Tevinter Imperium."

"You're not going to sail around?"

Alistair shrugged. "This way is faster. And the Grey Wardens are respected, even in Tevinter."

"Well... just watch yourself," Bannon warned. He could imagine the Templar trying to interfere in Tevinter rituals, and getting himself and the Wardens into all kinds of trouble.

A knock came at their door, and Zevran hopped up to get it. Leliana came in, with a pair of servants who laid several wrapped packages on the table. They bowed and left, and the bard moved to sit. "Gifts from your admirers," she explained as the boys looked at the packages with eyes aglow. "Mostly sweets, so be careful."

"I shall endeavor to test every morsel that passes my patrone's lips!" said Zevran with glee.

"Hey, half of that is mine," Alistair insisted. Then he thought for a moment. "They are, right?"

"Your gifts are mainly jars of pickled oysters. From the highly eligible ladies," Leliana said with a wink.

"Mmm," deadpanned Zevran. "Rubbery deflated testicles. I'll pass."

"I thought they were your favorite," the Templar riposted, hardened to the testicular reference and determined not to surrender.

"No, actually, I like my testi-"

"LA LA LA NO! Forget I asked!"

Leliana turned to Bannon. "You handled the Empress well. Trade concessions were a good choice."

"Better than a military invasion."

"What?" said Alistair. "I thought we were allies now."

"Maybe, if King Cailen had lived and wed Celene." Bannon shrugged. "Or maybe that had been her way to take over Ferelden bloodlessly."

Alistair frowned.

Zevran said, "Surely you noticed the full garrisons in the border towns."

"Celene is ready to fend off darkspawn incursions. Or to invade," Bannon added.

"I think you dissuaded her from that course of action," Leliana reassured them.

"Let's hope so." Bannon looked at the bard. "So... whose side are you on?"

"Moi? I am here to do the Maker's bidding."

"Uh huh. As a Ferelden Sister, or as an Orlesian bard?"

"Bannon, you should know me by now. I want what is best for the people of Thedas. Surely another war would benefit no one."

Alistair said, "I can't believe the empress would try to conquer Ferelden again, after all it's been through, fighting the Blight."

"'Tis the best time to strike," said Zevran. "When your enemy is weakened."

"But the whole alliance with Cailen thing!"

"Died with Cailen."

Bannon said, "I hate to say it, but Loghain was right."

"Don't say it," Alistair growled.

Bannon shrugged, not conceding the point.

"If Loghain hadn't killed Cailen, and the Wardens then we wouldn't be in this mess."

"At any rate," Zevran said to Leliana, "What news of Morrigan?"

The Wardens' ears perked up. "Morrigan?"

Leliana leaned in conspiratorially. "There is talk of a new advisor to the Empress in the Secret Court. A dark-haired beauty."

"Never mind dark-haired," Bannon said. "What about yellow-eyed?"

"Si, anyone could be a dark-haired beauty." Zevran made eyes at Bannon.

Leliana waved that off with a little flick of her wrist. "The Secret Court is just that: secret. They go masked to conceal their true identities. The dark-haired beauty wears a veil. No one has seen her eyes. Not anyone who is speaking of it," she added with a thoughtful frown.

"If she's wearing a veil," Alistair put in, "how do they know she's a 'beauty'?"

Bannon slapped his face. Zevran said, "Alistair, have you not been paying attention all this time? Have you seen Morrigan's attributes?"

"Well, they were kinda hard to miss."

"Just so."

Bannon said to Leliana, "Can you find out anything more?"

"I am not a part of the Secret Court. Though perhaps I can become so, as a valuable advisor to Celene. Or one of the other courtiers."

"Do so," Zevran said. "I still have a contract out on her."

Bannon shook his head. "We don't even know it's her. Flemeth is going to be after her, and what Flemeth wants..."

Zevran shuddered.

"Either way," said Leliana, "I can do much good if I gain influence in the Secret Court. Or if not, perhaps with the Chantry. They wield great power in Orlais." She tapped a finger upon her chin.

Bannon leaned forward and selected a small parcel at random. "Let's have a treat, and some fine drink. Tomorrow, we say farewell to Alistair."

"And when is your ship coming in?" Leliana asked the elves.

"Soon," said Zevran. "Mas o menos." He waggled a hand. "We will get word."

"Good." Leliana smiled. "You will get to enjoy some of the Orlesian high life while you wait."

==X==

End Notes:

Oh well, at least they hadn't stuffed their brassieres with basketloads of padding.
-hello, second life! :X

Bannon said, "I hate to say it, but Loghain was right."
-um... i don't think i got that part in at the landsmeet. the orlesian grey wardens showing up with the chevaliers. perhaps i should retcon that... :X