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.

A/N: Oh boy. 2013 is off and running, and its running rough. I said before I got sick 'round about the holidays. Well, I kept GETTING sick for quite awhile; every time I thought I was better I'd get knocked down again and ended up with pneumonia twice, two more times than anyone should ever have to have it. In any event, because I was so sick, my family seemed to think it best not to stress me out with the news that my grandmother, in her nineties but seemingly immortal (still dancing as of December), had also gotten some bad medical news. First I knew she was sick was the day they came to tell me she had passed. So I'm kind of gobsmacked, and a lot more stressed than I would have been if I'd been allowed the opportunity to see her beforehand. So life is in a low right now, but I'm trudging on. It's been hard to pick up the thread of the story again but this is the kind of thing that helps me through things like this so as long as I can keep it going at least by littles things will work out.

Chapter Fifty: Satinalia

Elilia was not the only one who noticed, in the following days, that Loghain seemed even quieter and more perturbed than usual, but not even she quite had the will to attempt to speak to him about it. There was a worrisome tilt to his black brows that hinted at gathering thunderclouds she wasn't prepared to face.

Enough bad news for now, she thought to herself. If he needs my help, he'll tell me.

Loghain, truthfully, didn't know how to speak of it. When he woke up the next day he could not be certain that what he'd experienced was real or only a Fade dream. Perhaps, with Flemeth (whoever or whatever she was), there was no difference. Whether the meeting was in person or only in his mind he took the threat seriously enough. He simply could not trust that anyone else would.

Despite his worries he managed to enjoy Satinalia well enough, in between dodging feasts and festival speeches. He spent as much time as possible with his grandchildren, and enjoyed the holiday through their perspective. He was surprised to discover that both children were firm believers in Pere Noel, the Orlesian legend of an old toymaker who traveled from house to house on the eve of the holiday, leaving small gifts in childrens' shoes. He had not allowed Anora to be raised with that belief, and not because it was Orlesian; because it was a lie. Evidently she had come to consider it a harmless lie, or perhaps Alistair had merely insisted stringently enough for her to accede. Loghain didn't disillusion the prince and princess; in truth, he somehow found the story rather…charming, now.

Ugh, perhaps he needed something large and preeminently difficult to kill right now, just so he'd know whether it was possible to be both a doting grandfather and a proper Ferelden warrior.

Even when he was with the children his thoughts never strayed far from what the witch said was coming. An Archdemon father…definitely nothing that ought to be allowed to live, if it was at all possible to kill it. It would "amuse" Flemeth to see him defeat the beast - how much more would it amuse her to watch him eaten by it? But still, there had to be a way. Nothing was completely impervious…he hoped.

She had neglected to say whether the beast was corrupted or not. If it was, did that mean Ferelden would suffer another Blight? Andraste's ass, he had enough to worry about, didn't he? The Maker had a fine, troublesome sense of humor indeed, or at least Flemeth did.

Nothing much besides his grandchildren had his full attention, thanks to his newfound fears, in the days leading up to the holiday. Dworkin struggled on through their projects with only that odd teenaged dwarf to help him, Chatterly was utterly ignored (not that the cheerful elf hadn't been virtually invisible to Loghain almost from the start, at least when he wasn't living up to his new name), and even Elilia suffered from a severe lack of interest. To his credit, he did at least realize that he wasn't doing right by her, and vowed to make it up to her as soon as possible.

When he dressed for the Royal Fete in his Archdemon-leather sleeveless doublet with the high gorget and the blindingly white linen shirt with its Ferelden Opal cufflinks, Chatterly clapped his hands in delight and gabbled over the end result and the dwarf Tarquin, who passed him in the corridor on the way to nowhere in particular, said in his oddly uninflected voice that he looked "nifty." Loghain, who had never heard the word before in his life, couldn't tell from the youth's utter impassivity whether it implied that to the good or the bad.

Elilia, stunning in her Archdemon warrior-gown, held all eyes at the ball, and he danced with her without a murmur in penance for his recent inattention. The dress was beautiful but he found it disturbingly similar in style to the red leather armor that Flemeth, whether real or dreamt, had worn. But Elilia was Elilia, his goddess of battle, and with determination he set his worries and qualms aside for the evening. He would bring up the matter of the approaching threat at the Landsmeet, and if he was shouted down or laughed out of the chamber entirely he would deal with the problem on his own.

"I am sorry, Beloved, that I have been improperly attentive to you in these past days," he apologized with stiff formality as they danced. "I received news that has left me greatly troubled."

"I thought as much," she said as he twirled her. "Anything I should know about?"

"I expect you should, but not tonight."

"Oh dear me, you aren't trying to be romantic, are you?"

"I have my moments," he said, and gave her a half smile and a particularly graceful twirl.

"Well, if you don't let some other men dance with me tonight, everything will be spoilt for the Landsmeet. We are supposed to be the Queen's great secret, you know."

"Rather say we are her open secret, for I doubt that there is a man here tonight who does not know the rumors about us. We are wearing matching garments, my dearest. Perhaps you missed that particular lesson in Nobility School, but that is what is known as an advertisement."

"Hmm. Well, just let Arl Wulffe have me for the schottisches. Nobody else will risk their feet on him in those."

"Are those slippers of yours armored?"

"I believe they are at that."

After the dancing came the feast - roast boar, of course, and Elilia was fairly certain the massive beast at the Royal Table was one and the same the boar Loghain had killed on the first day of the recent boar hunt - and during the meal gifts were handed out. Imported fruits and nuts from the Crown to all (boars' ears and knuckles for the many mabari in attendance), and personal gifts from one person to another passed along by the bevy of servants who circulated. Queen Anora found herself presented with a circular box of the type that came from a fine chocolatier, beribboned but without the name of its sender upon the card. That in and of itself was telling, and she recognized the bold hand that had scrawled her name. A faint smile already started on her lips, she untied the pink silk bow and opened the lid. Marbled chocolate seashells, cunningly sculpted, hinting a promise of praline cream. Her smile broadened and she took a nibble of nautilus. Like the fabled elephant, her father never forgot.

Elilia, of course, delighted in giving gifts at all times, and she particularly enjoyed shopping for Satinalia. She had found presents for all her friends and relatives, and gave to Loghain a fine atlas with many beautifully illustrated maps rendered in brilliant color. Having discovered Seanna's interest in horseflesh, she purchased for the elven mage a beautiful roan mare of pure Ferelden cob stock, sturdy and dependable and as gentle as her new mistress. The horse caused something of a stir among the feasters when it was led to the main dining table with a huge red velvet bow on its neck. Seanna couldn't stop blushing for the remainder of the meal, though she was transported with joy at being the owner of such a lovely mount.

To her brother Elilia gave a new pair of dragonhide riding boots, to replace the pair he'd ruined on the third day of the boar hunt. For the King she found a realistic model of a high dragon, after rejecting the idea of giving him the model Urthemiel she had purchased from the Wonders of Thedas. It occurred to her somewhat belatedly that it might be seen as a bit of a slap in the face, considering he'd refused to face the Archdemon at her side. She gave Anora a golden jewel box from Rivain, enameled with flowers and vines in bright jewel colors, quite exotic to Ferelden eyes.

From Seanna Elilia received a set of hair brushes, made from turtleshell with a beautiful pattern. Fergus gave her a black velvet choker with a very familiar antique cameo upon it - one that had belonged to their grandmother and was lost when Howe massacred the family and sold off their treasures. Even though it did not look quite right over the high leather gorget of her gown, Elilia put it on at once. She then opened her gift from Loghain.

It was a silverite knife, no great surprise, but the trappings of its scabbard briefly puzzled her. The fine tooled leather featured two straps far too short for her waist and far too long for her arm. After a moment she realized what she was seeing was a lady's knife designed to be worn secretly on the thigh, hidden within a slit in a skirt. It was simultaneously utterly ridiculous and incomparably practical. She laughed out loud.

It was not long after the gifts were given out that Queen Anora retired from the table, a clear signal that the heavy eating was done and the heavy drinking could begin in earnest. Ferelden banquets were not tremendously high-class events, even royal ones, and in due time the great lords and ladies of the Ferelden court would be vomiting on the floor, dancing on the tables, and throwing food at one another. Loghain usually left the meal before things could devolve to that stage as well. Elilia actually rather enjoyed the drunken revelries, and stayed. This time, Loghain stayed also.

It could not be said that he was at all comfortable with drunks. He was, as he sometimes said, "adverse to stupid," and the most simple-minded fool on the planet could not on his worst day compare to the average inebriate. Then, too, drunken men had a tendency to think they should try their hand at fighting him. Loghain did not care to fight for frolic at all, and did not like fighting the inept. Drunk men were always inept, it was the nature of the drink to rob a man of his skill. And lastly, his sense of humor, such as it was, did not run to Ponce-and-July slapstick. Food fights did not amuse him in the slightest, particularly not when there were Ferelden citizens without enough to eat.

He pulled his chair slightly away from the table as the rowdies started up and sat with one arm hooked over the back of it and Champion's muzzle on his knee as the laughter grew loud and food began to fly. Champion could not understand the wastefulness of these people any more than her master could, and whined softly in concern and confusion while he scratched her ears comfortingly. Elilia, who did not need to be drunk to be uninhibited, was less sotted than most of the revelers but no less rowdy, and flung handfuls of mashed potatoes with glee and deadly accuracy. Being halfway to sober, she was also better at dodging gooey missiles flung at her, and her dress took little damage. But then, with a mad twinkle in her eye, she turned in her seat with a handful of what had once been an Antivan tiramisu and planted it firmly in Loghain's face. Drunk as they were, few of the nobles seated nearest were quite drunk enough not to feel a cold chill of sobriety spike their spines. A dread silence fell in the vicinity, unnoticed by the far side of the great room. Champion jerked her great head back and regarded her master with surprise and some dismay, and wondered as much as anyone what he would do.

Loghain ran one big finger through the sticky cake-and-cheese mess and tasted it. "Too sweet for me, my dear," he admitted, in a mild voice. He wiped off the bulk of the glop with his bare hand. "I think this runs more to your tastes, actually."

He reached out and painted her face with the dessert, giving her a mascarpone moustache and beard. The nobles seated nearby exhaled almost as one and began to laugh again. Elilia took Loghain's hand and licked it clean.

"Lets get out of here, shall we?" she said in an undertone, with a significance in her eyes he would have to have been blind to miss.

"A fine suggestion, my lady," he said, and rose to his feet.