Our Ghosts Are The Same

Dragon Age 2

Chapter 7: Orleasians, Darling, You Get Used To It (Part 1)

A/N: And finally we get to the damn banquet! Oh, and this isn't the final chapter, just in case some people thought the banquet was the end of it. Once again, I love getting your feedback and/or questions!

Whatever material the Comtessa had used for his suit was itchy. Aedan waited until no one was watching to scratch vigorously under his collar. His squire, Edith, was having the same issue as the Comtessa had made her an outfit that matched his own. The Comtessa had thought they were adorable. Neither Aedan nor Edith had appreciated the sentiment.

Some servant of the Viscount's Keep had informed Aedan how the night would go. The Champion was first to be seated in the Throne Room where the nobles would go one by one and presented her with their gifts. After everyone had a turn, the party would move into a dining area for the actual banquet. And, of course, because the Orleasians had to come to this, there would be dancing after. Fantastic.

Aedan moved from one foot to the other. He hated all the standing around these events always had. The things he could have accomplished with all this wasted time. Infuriatingly, he had been placed at the back of the line. It had been explained that the most influential nobles are first and last, and Duke Propser's son was the Champion's escort so they had to go first. Couldn't leave the Champion unsupervised.

His squire was at his side, a fierce scowl on her face. As a bastard child, she must have grown to despise the Kirkwall nobles who would not have not treated her kindly. And now she was stuck attending a banquet with them. Her mace had been replaced with a sword as that had seemed more appropriate for such an event. Aedan had bought and paid for the weapon, though she had refused vehemently. Once Aedan explained that she was responsible for watching his back and he didn't want an ill equipped squire for that, she had grudgingly accepted.

His family's guards were distributed around the Keep and were instructed to report first to him, and then to the Guard-Captain Aveline Vallen. His wardens, Cartier and Sienna, were at his side as well. Unlike his guards, his wardens had been invited to dine as well. And while Sienna was excited about the change in plans, Cartier looked sick.

"Is there a problem, Warden Cartier?" Aedan asked with a raised brow.

Sienna made a face. "It's probably all this damn perfume. I can barely breath." A few nobles had turned to glare at her and she gestured for them to face front. "Don't look at me. Turn around."

Cartier didn't seem willing to share. "It is nothing, my Lord."

Aedan inwardly sighed at the "my lord". He was going to be getting that all night. "If you're about to piss off one of these nobles with your presence, I'd like to know about it first."

"You know how I was banished for, uh, deflowering a noble's child?" Aedan simply nodded for him to go on. "That noble's here. With his only child. His son. The son I-"

Aedan stopped him there. "Got it. I got it." His brow furrowed. "Though I was under the impression that affairs of any sort were common in Orleais?"

"His father wasn't like that. Unfortunately."

"Ah." Aedan peered at the head of the line, looking for a noble sending glares their direction. It didn't take Aedan long to find him or his ruffle wearing son. Aedan then spoke words he later regretted. "Cartier, he seems a bit fancy for your tastes. I would have thought you'd go for someone more rugged."

Cartier sneered at him. "Well, I normally go for tall men, but those are in short supply in Orleais. I like tall men, with dark hair, scars, especially facial scars, and cold eyes, and-"

"Okay, now you're just describing me. Stop it." Aedan decided to take Sienna's advice and face front. And never ask about his subordinates' pasts ever again.

Lord Cyril had a bit of a baby face. Hawke tried her damnedest not to notice it, but there it was. She just wanted to reach out and pinch his cheeks, but she was almost certain that was considered rude in polite company. Her fingers still itched with the need, though.

She loved and hated her dress. She loved how pretty it was because there was no denying that. But it was very...unfit for a Champion. It was also hard to sit in. Bran had placed her in the Viscount's old throne, even though Meredith had protested the move with every fiber in her being. Hawke was stuck sitting up straight as one of Sebastian's arrows. Cyril was seated next to her in a smaller chair, attempting to carry on a conversation with her. She had responded by saying that she liked his outfit and had one just like it at home. From his sudden silence it had been the wrong thing to say.

If it got him to shut up I'm not taking it back, Hawke thought as she stood up. For the twelfth time tonight she had been asked to show off the weapon she had used to defeat the Arishok. It made her nervous, letting these slimy nobles touch the only reminder of her father she had left, but Bran had warned her that this would be asked of her. Her father's staff, after this Antivan noble admired all its nicks and scratches, went back to rest along her chair. Her pile of gifts had grown exponentially. There were the boots made of wveryn skin that Cyril's father had given her, about twelve swords she was donating to Aveline's guards as soon as possible, and dresses that she had no idea where she was going to wear them to. If she showed up at the Hanged Man in one of those get ups she'd be laughed out of Kirkwall.

Damn, she was finally good to fight again and she had to spend a whole night with nobles pretending to make nice with her. She had met a lot of their sons. That couldn't bode well.

If Mother was here, she'd know what to do...or she'd have me married off before I could blink twice.

"Do you hunt, Champion?" Cyril was trying to start up the conversation again.

"Like, people?" she asked, confused. She realized her mistake a second later but Bran made an announcement that earned her full attention.

"Introducing, the Hero of Ferelden, ambassador and chancellor for King Alistair Theirin, Commander of the Grey Wardens in Amaranthine..." Bran had to take a breath. Man had a lot of titles. "Brother of Teryn Cousland, Lord Aedan."

Hawke stood up as he approached. It just seemed the right thing to do. Damn, she would have been less nervous if it hadn't been for Isabela's teasing. But, then, what did she have to be nervous for? She had faced worse, much worse, and had come out fine before. Hawke straightened up to her full height and put her hands behind her back. She smoothed out her features and replaced her faltering smile with the grim scowl she had picked up from Carver.

The Warden approached her quickly, his fast steps echoing throughout the throne room. The rest of the nobles had taken their time walking down to her, using the occasion to model their new outfits. Not the Warden, though. He marched down the aisle, not bothering to greet the nobles to his left or right. His grey cloak flew behind him rather majestically and he was followed by a girl nearly two heads shorter than he was. Two wardens, in official warden robes and armor, were tailing him as well. Bodyguards. Even Hawke knew it was impolite to bring personal guards to a public party. But she doubted the Warden wanted to make friends with a bunch of Orleasians.

Maker, he's tall. That thought sparked a recent memory, though Hawke couldn't recall which. His hair was short, very short. It was a military cut she had seen in the troops that had passed through her former home in Lothering. It contrasted greatly with the long, flowing locks the other nobles sported. The Warden had a gaunt, grim face and eyes that were better suited for a corpse.

Hawke held out her hand. She was dreading this. All night these fancy pants lords had grabbed her hand and kissed the back of it. She thought she was getting a rash.

Thankfully the Warden didn't kiss her hand; instead he shook it as firmly as if she was one of his soldiers. "Champion. You have no idea how good it is to see another Ferelden. Your city has no love for our people, though they seem to have made an exception for you."

"Oh, you know how it is," she laughed, rubbing the hand he shook. "Stab a few Qunari, save everyone from certain death, and suddenly you're not so bad."

Aedan nodded and caught a glimpse of a wooden staff sparking with enchantment to the Champion's left. It was nearly buried by the noble's expensive gifts. He indicated it with a quick gesture. "Show me yours and I'll show you mine."

"What?" Hawke didn't notice that Aedan was pointing at her father's staff. She quickly stammered in response, "I didn't say I wanted to see it! Did I? Did I say that out loud? Well, that is something I would do...never mind, man, keep it in your pants!"

Aedan stared at her while Cyril coughed into his fist uncomfortably. The Warden clarified slowly, "I meant if you show me the staff you killed the Arishok with, I'll show you the blade I slayed the Arch-demon with. And I think it would be best for everyone if I kept my pants on."

Ah. Well, this couldn't get any worse. "Right. Right." She quickly grabbed her staff and handed it off to him. In return she received a sword and her hand dipped at the unexpected weight. She recognized the Cousland insignia on the hilt as she traded weapons with him again. She quickly placed her staff back with the rest of her things.

"So, uh," Hawke began pleasantly. "Did you bring me a present?"

"When is this bloody line going to move?" Cartier's patience was the last to break. He grumbled a bit more and then blinked when he noticed Sienna and Aedan were staring at him.

"Cartier, did you just use 'bloody' in a sentence?" Aedan looked smug. "You're becoming more and more Ferelden the longer you stay with us. Imagine that."

"Maker, no," Cartier whispered. "Don't say that so loud!"

Sienna began chanting. "One of us, one of us, one of-"

"Introducing, the Hero of Ferelden, ambassador and chancellor-"

Aedan snapped his fingers at the two of them. "That's us. Let's move out." He drew Edith to his side and made his way quickly down the aisle. There was no time to be wasted. He hadn't eaten anything all day in preparation for the banquet he planned to stuff himself at and his stomach was protesting that not so wise decision.

He made a beeline straight for the Champion. It was strange to see someone look so deadly in a dress. Well, Anora had pulled it off, too. Hawke's head was held high and she was glaring down at him from atop the flight of stairs that separated the throne from the main floor.

After quickly climbing the short steps, Aedan saw her outstretched hand and shook it firmly. "Champion," he greeted her. "You have no idea how good it is to see another Ferelden. Your city has no love for our people, though they seem to have made an exception for you."

The Champion smirked, her laugh lines betraying that this was an often event. She made some kind of joke and later thought he was trying to make some sort of innuendo. Damn, Isabela had not been lying when she had said bad jokes and puns were Hawke's preferred method of communication.

Aedan quickly mended the situation and, hoping to move him along, Hawke outright demanded her gift. Someone else may have considered it rude, but Aedan shared her wish to get things going quickly. The man making all of the announcements, a seneschal, smacked himself in the face when she did that but they all tried to ignore him.

"Right. Squire," Aedan motioned to the girl to step forward. Edith knelt before the Champion, which was unnecessary in Aedan's opinion but he didn't correct her, and presented her with a small wooden jewelry case. Hawke's left eyebrow raised curiously.

"It's small. Is this one of "it's not the size that matters, it's what you do with it" sort of things?"

Aedan sighed. "I would suppose so, my lady." He went on to explain what the box contained but she cut him off. She apparently loved to talk.

"Don't 'milady' me. You haven't seen me dance yet." Hawke reached down and plucked the box from Edith's hands. She opened the box and pulled out the item with a confused expression. "Wait. Is this a tiara?"

Aedan quickly corrected her. He did not want it thought that he had given the Champion a Maker damned crown. "Technically, it's a circlet. It was worn by mages in the Imperium a long time ago."

Hawke turned to Aedan, a frown creasing her face. She held up the frosted silver circlet in the air so the rest of the crowd could see what Aedan had presented her with. "They wear this in Tevinter?" Her hatred for the Imperium was obvious in those five words. Aedan was surprised. Tevinter was an awful place from what he knew, but he would have thought a mage would feel a little bit differently about it.

"They used to wear them. The Magisters wear really ugly hats now." Sienna had stepped in to explain in a voice so quiet that only she, Aedan, and the Champion could hear her. "I found this on a statue in the Circle. I stole it."

Aedan slowly turned to her, all humor gone from his face. "Stole it?" You let me give the Champion stolen property?!

She was indignant. "They were going to kill me! And all it was doing was collecting dust! I took it with us when you recruited me and I've kept it buried outside the Keep. I knew you would take it back if you found out I had it, and it was such a shame to let it rot in the ground..."

Aedan faced Hawke, seething and embarrassed, only to find her grinning maniacally down at him. "This was from the Ferelden Circle? And you stole it? I have stolen Circle property?" She laughed and jammed the circlet down on her short, blue-black hair. "My father would have approved. Thank you."

He blinked. It seemed Isabela had not been exaggerating. The Champion was unpredictable. "Ah, well, that was certainly not my intention, but if you have no objection to being given a stolen gift..." His mind raced, trying to handle the situation as diplomatically as he could.

"Do you have any idea how many bodies I loot in a day?" The Champion had definitely said that too loudly. "I have no problem with it. And you're the bloody Warden. What are you doing apologizing to anybody?"

He couldn't help but smirk back at her. "I don't usually. And here, let me fix that." The way she had put on the tiara-dammit, circlet- had messed up her hair, causing it to stick up in places he suspected weren't meant to. Aedan pulled the circlet off and quickly readjusted it, taking care of the few strands of hair that refused to stay down. "There. It's enchanted so that it won't fall off during battle."

Hawke stared down at him quizzically. "Why in the Void would I wear it into battle?"

"It allows the wearer immunity to certain abilities..." He lowered his voice a bit more. "Abilities known to the templars, if you understand my meaning."

Aedan saw the Champion's eyes flash. She understood. Immunity from templars would be coveted by any mage, even one that was named Champion of a city and should therefore have nothing to fear.

They had taken too long. The Seneschal stepped forward and dismissed the guests to the dining area.

Hawke watched the Warden leave with the others as Bran stepped next to her. He spoke to her quietly, so Cyril would not overhear, "I'm surprised you handled that so well, considering your prior reaction to the mere mention of the man."

He was trying to get a rise out of her. Amateur. Hawke chuckled, shrugging. "Well, I decided if I kick his ass in a bar fight I won't be nearly so starstruck. Sound like a plan?"

Bran turned an unhealthy shade of red. He started sputtering and spitting, but all she heard was something about a 'political maelstrom'. That all sounded like his problem, not hers. Hawke extended her hand to Cyril and nodded towards the dining area. "Be a good escort and lead the way, will you? Or perform a lap dance. It's your choice. You decide what kind of escort you want to be."

Those words did not help Bran's state of mind at all.

The dining room had one of those long rectangular tables that Hawke had fantasied about. Not eating on them with a bunch of nobles around. No, her dreams involved a much different use of the table. A use she decided was best to keep to herself or save for any future partners.

On her left was Duke Prosper, who was seated right next to Cyril, his son. The Warden was on her right (without his guards, they were eating in a different room) and Varric was seated next to him. Hawke knew Varric better than to think that particular seated arrangement had been random happenstance. The dwarf was either there to keep her from making a fool of herself or just to watch what would inevitably happen and then write on it later.

Like his son, Duke Prosper's favorite subject was hunting, but he sounded much more experienced at actually hunting than Cyril. All Cyril had talked about were the banquets that occurred after a hunt. Hawke only interrupted Prosper once.

"What in Thedas is a wveryn?"

"It's similar to a dragon," Varric prompted, just to keep the conversation going. Hawke shot him another suspicious glare. What was his angle for being there? She saw a few of her other companions at the banquet as well. Sebastian was seated down the table with the other Starkhaven nobles. Aveline and Donnic were back and forth, checking on the other guards every five minutes. Anders had been very clear that with the Wardens attending that he needed to make himself scarce. Merrill and Fenris hadn't shown up, but she couldn't really blame them. Being mistaken for a manservant or waitress was an embarrassment she would have avoided as well. Isabela had already left with some, or a few, lucky nobles that had no idea that the next morning they'd wake up robbed and without pants. Eh, they could afford it. Hawke caught herself and attempted to follow the conversation.

"They make for an excellent hunt. You should join us sometime, Champion." Duke Propser produced a fancy looking invitation that was handed to him by one of the servants. "Chateau Haine is one of the finest hunting grounds you'll ever experience."

Hawke took the invite, trying to seem enthusiastic. "Oh...I'll have to try to find some time for a vacation. You know Kirkwall, always on the brink of utter destruction."

His grace smiled weakly at that. "Oh, and I would have had an invitation made for you, Warden, but I was not made aware that you were going to be here tonight."

"Don't worry, your grace," Aedan replied, sneaking a glance at the Champion. "I've had more than my fair share of giant lizards trying to eat me."

"I see." Duke Prosper pursed his lips and went on to tell Hawke about Cyril's last hunt and how it had gone down. She might have been more impressed if she knew what a wveryn even was.

Hawke ate only the soup, because the soup spoon was the only utensil she was absolutely sure of. The Warden, however, ate everything that was placed in front of him. He even had the nerve to eye her plate and she knew if they were anywhere else he might have just snatched her plate from her. She had seen the same look in Carver many a time before.

Of course, she had been allowed to set Carver's pants on fire. Well, her father hadn't so much as allowed it as told Carver that if he kept stealing his sister's food something bad would happen and Marian had decided that good old karma needed a little help. At any rate, she couldn't do the same to the Warden. Not with so many witnesses about.

Bran made another announcement and from years of tuning him out Hawke missed what he said. All she knew was suddenly everyone was leaving the table, some gaudy, awful music was being played, and all the Orleasians were on the dance floor and were hopping about like drunkards. Hawke stood up and backed away from them. "What are they, possessed?"

Bran appeared at her back, placing a hand on her shoulder. "They're dancing. As you should be." He tried to give her a light push but she wouldn't budge.

"Oh, I don't fucking think so." There was no way she was hopping around like that. She may have lived in Kirkwall for years now, but she was still Ferelden to the core.

"Language," Bran scolded her. "These people think you're a lady."

"No," Hawke retorted instantly. That was far from true. She had seen the looks the other 'ladies' had given her. Had heard the whispers. The qunari called her 'worthy'. What had she done to earn those monsters' respect? "I'm just the freak of the week for them. Don't think I don't know that."

"Fine." Bran had tired of her rather quickly. "But you must act as though you don't. And dance."

She nodded reluctantly. "I'll play the part for you, don't worry. I'm a wondrous actor."

"How nice. Too bad you're dancing skills aren't wondrous in any sense of the word."

He ran away before she could pinch him. Bastard.

Maker, this was undignified. Aedan was hiding in the kitchens, trying to stay out of the servants' ways as they cleaned dishes and put away leftover food. He received a number of strange looks, but really what choice did he have? Dulce had headed his way the instant the music had begun and there was no way he was doing that moronic, new dance.

And especially not with Dulce. She was mean.

Damn. How long had he been hiding? The song had to be over by now...

Aedan straightened up and glanced about the room. A flash of white hair and dark skin moved past him, weaving in between the servants. From the man's stature Aedan knew he was an elf, but from the way the other servants regarded him Aedan also knew he didn't belong in the kitchens. Interesting.

Before he could think on it further, Cartier came in the retrieve him. "The dance is over. It's relatively safe out there now, Commander."

He couldn't help but smile at that. "Oh, Cartier, we both know that's not true."

"Can't say I can disagree. Lord Cyril just twisted his ankle during that stupid dance. Maker, I can't believe I used to look forward to these things."