Disclaimer: I don't own Dragon Age or any of its related characters. This is just for my own enjoyment and the potential enjoyment of other fans like me, and no monetary gain was expected or received.

Rating: T

Spoilers: May contain spoilers for Origins, Awakening, and Dragon Age II as well as the novels The Stolen Throne and The Calling.

Chapter Thirty-Nine: Urthemiel

"So…are you as frightened as I am to see what fresh horrors your daughter has to show us?" Elilia said as they made their way to the Little Audience Chamber in the early morning.

"I may be more afraid. I know the sort of trouble my girl gets up to when she's left unsupervised for too long."

"She certainly had ample time to plan out the rest of our lives in minute detail."

"Not terribly impressive, actually. I'm not going to live that long."

Elilia snorted. "I don't think you'll ever die."

"Sick of me already, are you?"

"I didn't say that, I just mean you're awfully…vigorous for a man on the wrong side of sixty-five."

"Ha! You should have seen my father at this age. Of course, he didn't get very much older than this, but its not like he died in his bed of some wasting disease."

"I wouldn't want your father to demonstrate his strength and virility for me in quite the same way you did last night."

They reached the chamber and the Queen's seneschal announced their arrival. Anora stood before the great blazing hearth, hands folded demurely before her. The dais where she typically received petitioners was closed off by a heavy curtain.

"Ah, excellent. I have been quite looking forward to this: with all that is going on, it is good to have a few pleasant projects with which to relieve stress."

"You haven't relieved ours any, yet, so why don't we get this over with, eh?" Loghain said, and crossed his arms over his chest.

Anora merely smiled. "Allow me just a hint of drama, father; I promise not to drag it out too much."

"In any event, as I'm sure you've already surmised, my pet project for the past several months has been the two of you. The finest dressmaker and tailor in Ferelden have been kind enough to donate their time and materials to the task of fully outfitting the both of you with clothes suitable to your standing in this nation."

"A gold-plated gown for Elilia and a gunny sack for me, I take it," Loghain said. Anora ignored him in very pointed fashion.

"Allow me to present Madam Mellaris and ser Pramin el Sulabar. Their shops are the very cornerstone of the High Market."

The two clothiers stepped out of an alcove at the back of the chamber. The woman, tall, thin, and severe, tipped a graceful curtsey. The man, dark and exotic with a twirled moustache and pointy goatee, bowed low with raised hands. "It was a great honor to serve Her Majesty on behalf of Your Grace," the woman said.

"Likewise for me," el Sulabar said, in his thick Nevarran accent. "The chance to work with amazing materials of such unusual provenance alone was reward enough, but to make clothes that will be worn by so august a personage…'twas the greatest honor of a blessed lifetime."

"What a load of horse - " Loghain began, but Elilia elbowed him hard in the ribs and he was silenced by a wince.

"Now, these good people have made you several fine garments each, but what I am particularly eager to show you are the clothes you will wear for the Royal Ball this Satinalia." Anora clapped her hands together briskly and an elven servant pulled a rope that parted the curtain. A pair of headless mannequins displayed a set of remarkable raiment.

The male dress form displayed a shirt of the finest linen, so white it almost seemed to glow against the dark colors of the rest of the outfit. The sleeves, which were the only parts visible, were quite full down to mid-forearm, where they ended in long, tight cuffs each fastened with three silver cufflinks inlaid with Ferelden opal, dark blue and banded with elusive hints of purples and greens. The gemstone hadn't been mined since the Occupation, thanks to the Orlesians having turned the mines into prison work camps so brutal and unsafe Maric preferred to shut them down rather than send anyone to work there even voluntarily. Buttons of blue-shelled clam, a dark, banded blue that glimmered with a thousand iridescent hints of colors featured prominently on the sleeveless leather doublet, two lines of grand buttons that held the garment closed in single-breasted fashion. The export of blue-shelled clams was one of the sideline industries of Gwaren, and was surprisingly profitable despite how little product there was to be had. In fact, in Gwaren it was not uncommon to hear the natives refer to gold sovereigns as "clams."

The doublet itself was almost identical in color to the buttons, and it rather dazzled the eye. Deep midnight blue, without banding but with definite shifting hues of iridescent color, some shades that did not seem to exist elsewhere in nature; it had a high, rounded collar and gold inlays in discrete but intricate designs at the collar, buttonholes, and hems. The trousers were essentially armored leggings, of the same remarkable leather but without decoration other than, perhaps, a few more straps than was strictly necessary. The cuffs ended below the tops of a pair of high boots with folded tops and riding heels, the amazing blue leather gave way at the ankle to what appeared to be fine dragonscale of the same astonishing color. Gold or, more likely, volcanic aurum tipped the pointed toes and banded the heels.

Elilia's gown was, if anything, even more remarkable. Orlesian silk dyed with indigo merged with the same deep blue leather in a wide waist cinch which was, perhaps quite deliberately, unboned. Dark blue velvet and silver fox fur trim made up the overskirt, draping a skirt of indigo silk. That much of the dress was designed solely with an eye to loveliness, but the rest was an exultation of the virago. The sleeves were leather armor ending in almost-delicate dragonscale gauntlets, and a pauldron of short-spiked tail scales was softened only by a lining of silver fox fur that peeked out from underneath in a narrow band of trim. The décolletage on this gown was not designed with an eye to hiding unfortunate scars, and the whole of her chest below the shoulders from side to side and collarbones to just above the line of her nipples would be exposed and outlined in silver fox trim. Dancing slippers of dragonscale matched Loghain's boots.

"Maker's breath…" Elilia said. She stared for a long time, then tore her eyes away from the mesmerizing shifting colors contained within the leather and scale and said, "That isn't normal dragonscale…is it?"

"You recall, perhaps, the difficulty we faced in destroying the carcass of the Archdemon in the wake of the Blight," Anora said. "All we succeeded in doing, initially, was to burn away the muscle and organ tissues, leaving us with a tremendous pile of seemingly indestructible bone, scale, and skin. We piled it in storage in the deepest cellars under Fort Drakon for some years, but its mere presence proved to have a profoundly demoralizing effect upon the men, both in the prison and those stationed to guard them. Finally we took it out and made another attempt to destroy it with fire, using more and stronger fuel and for a longer time than we attempted before. We again failed to destroy it, but we did manage to cleanse it at last of the corruption that made it distasteful. It was still difficult to know what to do with such a strange bounty, outfitting common soldiers or even King's knights with such material seemed almost profane. But to use it to garb those who slew Urthemiel seemed a fine statement. People, particularly nobles, have dreadfully short memories. I intend that no man, woman, or child of Ferelden forget what they owe you for as long as I draw breath."

"Well this will certainly serve to remind them - and me," Loghain growled.

Anora chuckled. "I didn't expect you to like it, father - or at least not to admit to it. But it is quite beautiful material, don't you agree? I suppose that is why they called him - or was it a her? Aren't all High Dragons female? - the 'Dragon of Beauty.' And fortunately so dark a blue is a great color for both of you."

"Who did the metalwork and the armor?" Elilia asked. "It is masterful craftsmanship."

"Ah, I am glad you asked. May I present Master Wade?"

The Master smith stepped out of the alcove, beady eyes alight and of course fixed upon his own handiwork. He clasped his hands together reverently and sighed in rapture. "It is unbelievable, isn't it? Never in all my life did I ever dream I would have the opportunity to work with such…such…glory. Maker, it is no wonder the Tevinters worshipped the creature, is it? What strength! What beauty! It is the pinnacle of my career, the very peak - the world can hold no greater joy, no greater thrill than that which I experienced while creating with this dream of heaven."

He giggled like a twitter-pated schoolgirl. "And the best…oh, the very best…is yet to be revealed."

"In due time, Master Wade," Anora said. She turned to her father. "Father, I cannot have helped but to noticed that you are no longer wearing heavy plate."

He shrugged his shoulders. "The thing about heavy plate, my dear, is that it is very…heavy."

"A fact which never bothered you in the least previously. I realize that you were an ill man at the Battle of Sulcher, but I do not think your physical strength has failed in the slightest over the years," Anora said. "I understand precisely why you have set aside your armor. You no longer wish to be seen as the man you were. But you cannot hide from who you are, and the way the people of Ferelden perceive you is still overwhelmingly positive - which I'm not certain you realize. The statues in the harbor will doubtless cause interminable debate at the Landsmeet - we've already heard several rather heated petitions - but it is only a handful of the nobles who can't stand to see you receive honors. By and large, they are the same nobles or the heirs thereof who couldn't stand to see you raised above them in the first place. You are a symbol of the strength and courage of this nation, father, whether you like it or not. And you must look the part."

She gestured, and servants pulled aside the dress forms with their astonishing garments. Across the dais behind them was another heavy curtain, drawn shut. "I commissioned these pieces from Master Wade, and I intend the both of you to wear them to this year's Landsmeet, a visceral reminder to the hacked off nobility of just exactly whom they are most beholden to in this world."

The second curtain was opened, and the armor revealed. Dragonbone melded with dragonscale, it was armor very likely of a sort no one in the world had ever seen before, if only for the fact that it was deep and gleaming blue in color. Elilia's suit of mail was very different from the King's mail usually seen in Ferelden. It was, in fact, a rather fanciful weave of links that capitalized upon the shifting, enigmatic hues within the scale. Loghain's massive plate featured the largest of the Archdemon's tail spikes upon the pauldrons. Both suits were decorated with inlay of gold. Notably, both featured in their decoration the yellow wyvern rampant of Gwaren, a bold and rather arrogant move on the part of the Queen if she truly intended for it to be seen at the Landsmeet prior to either of them being appointed the Teyrnir. It would also serve to make the secret engagement rather an open secret, which perhaps she didn't mind. She was evidently willing to be a trifle more aggressive with the bannorn than she'd intimated yesterday.

Interestingly, only Loghain's armor came complete with weaponry. A masterpiece kite shield and a wickedly-designed longsword of the same dark blue bone rested alongside. The shield was blank of heraldry, a faint sop to protocol given the advertisement designed into the armor. "The rampant wyvern crest will be inlaid upon it once the appointment is official and the wedding is over," Master Wade explained. "Gold inlay - such a piece shall not be tainted with common paint!"

"I don't get a new sword?" Elilia asked the armorer, with a slight pout to her lips.

"It is not yet complete, I fear," Master Wade said, with a very definite pout to his. "Even with such superior materials, it is difficult to surpass what I did with the greatsword Vigilance. The new blade is almost perfect - but it requires something more. I'm just…not sure what."

Elilia chuckled. "Well, I'm afraid I don't know either. Here - is this of any use to you at all?" She took from her pocket the bright runestone Sandal had given her. "I don't know what it's for; I've never seen this particular set of runes before."

"Oo, let me see…my, but this is fine craftsmanship. I'm not…quite…certain what it is myself, but it is obviously quite a powerful enchantment. The feel of it in my hand is like a very small, contained earth tremor. I will make an examination of it, if I may. Perhaps it will be that one last perfect piece that sets this blade apart from all others."

"Have fun."

"Thank you very much, Master Wade, Madam Mellaris, ser el Sulabar," Anora said. "If you would excuse us, please?"

The clothiers bowed themselves out. Master Wade lingered a bit, eyes fixed avariciously upon his creations, before Anora's seneschal was forced to "assist" him in leaving.

Anora turned to Elilia. "Have you spoken with my father about the Hunt?" she asked.

"I…we didn't get a lot of chance to speak, last night."

Loghain sighed. "Don't tell me the nobles are actually going to waste time with pig-sticking. Not that they're any good for anything else, but still…"

"It's an important tradition, even if I do think it rather an odd way to accomplish the necessary," Anora said. "I want you to participate this year, father."

"I don't have time for tomfoolery, Anora."

"Politicking may fit your definition of useless, father, but there is no way to run this country without it. You must reestablish your presence. We need the bannorn on our side. I will not have a repeat of the division we suffered during the Blight. Please, father. I'm counting on you."

Loghain sighed and glanced at Elilia. "What about you? Up for a bit of pig-sticking?"

"I know father rode to the hunt once or twice, but I've never seen it. What does it entail?"

"Riding a horse, carrying a spear, and using it to slay some poor stupid boar the beaters flush out of the bushes."

"Is there something you're leaving out? It sounds not only ridiculously easy but simply…ridiculous."

"Have you ever actually seen a full-grown boar before it has been roasted and had an apple stuffed in its mouth?"

"Can't say that I have, no."

"Let it be said here and now then that there is nothing easy about pig-sticking. Ferelden boars are probably more dangerous than bears, and some of them aren't very much smaller. But it's something that would appeal to the Cousland Barbarian, I should think."

"Well, I'm game."

"Given the number of men who've been killed in the Hunt over the ages, let us hope not."