"Don't you know your queen?
Gleaming,
Wrapped in golden leaf.
Don't you know me?"
"Queen" ~ Perfume Genius
5. Beginnings
"The Marquise of the Dales!" the page announced as Briala stormed past the ornate doors into Celene's Grand Apartments.
She firmly grasped a copy of the ridiculous law that had been ratified that morning. As she marched into the salon facing the courtyard garden, she found Celene and her entourage. Ladies Colombe, Fleur, and Couteau hovered nearby while the Empress herself sat with a cup of tea between her hands. A young man with a powdered wig, half-face mask and a large mouche decorating his cheek, was deftly curling Celene's hair around papillotes. It was early evening and the servants had begun to make the rounds to light the various candelabras throughout the rooms. She had interrupted the young man mid story and he glared at her, unimpressed by her abrupt entrance.
"Celene, can you explain the meaning of this?" Briala asked angrily, tossing the sheets of parchment on the large round table hosting an ornate centerpiece of the most lush and sweetly fragrant flowers. Celene stared at the papers impassively.
"I don't see why you would object to a law that allows Orlais' elves to attend the theater," she noted calmly.
"You know as well as I do that this is pure chicanery!" She seized the papers off the table again, scanning them for a specific passage. "It states right here that elves may only attend a performance if escorted by a human patron," she fumed.
Celene blinked calmly.
"It's a beginning, Briala."
"They won't lack for escorts," the young man intruded. "Our Empress has made it very fashionable to attend the theater thus accompanied."
Briala narrowed her eyes in response to the malice in his comment. Before she could speak, Celene raised her hand to her hair, and plucking a handheld mirror off the table, contemplated his work.
"Thank you, Luc. We are done for tonight," she stated dismissively.
"Your Radiance," he bowed immediately. "It's actually 'Franck'…" he tried to amend, as the page began to usher him out of the room.
As the door clicked shut, Celene turned to her ladies-in-waiting.
"A bit parroty that one," she declared in a tone filled with censure. "My head is as full of his nonsense as it is of papillotes," she remarked, sipping from her cup.
"This is insulting. It is a mockery!" Briala protested.
"It doesn't apply to you," Celene pointed out. "You have a noble title."
Briala bristled.
"And how many elves in Orlais possess a title? This law is demeaning—it treats us as objects, as a fashionable accessory to be paraded about! Had I known the court would have seized so eagerly on what they witnessed… and warped it thus, I would never have allowed myself to be seen with—"
"Me? As my pet?" Celene asked accusingly. "Or as my fellow ally? Because I know what I meant when I extended you an invitation to accompany me. Regrettably, however, I do not have control over the eyes of the beholders."
Colombe, Couteau, and Fleur exchanged uneasy glances.
"This was penned by the Comte of Courtenay," Briala continued, persistently. "That you would even consider—"
"That the old coot who finds elves beneath him would be pressured by his fellows to draft such a thing? I find it refreshing and—"
"It's a crime. A perpetuation of the abuse suffered upon us. We are not baubles meant to be displayed for amusement."
"I imagine there will be nobles who will parade about with their latest conquests," Celene conceded. "I am not naive. But it is, as I said earlier, a start. If the good people of Orlais witness more and more elves in environments that had been exclusively limited to humans previously, it may not seem as such a novelty or a shock. That could possibly open the doors for further—"
"Abuse," Briala complained.
Celene finished her tea and placed the porcelain cup over the dainty saucer. The page returned to the room, taking up his station by the door.
"Inform Violette that I will be taking dinner in my quarters tonight." She cast a glance at Briala. "You will be joining me, Marquise?"
Briala faced the icy blue stare and could not discern whether it was an invitation or an order.
Did it matter? she thought crossly. Those days were over, long behind them now, she told herself defiantly.
"No," she stated. "I have some business to attend to before traveling to Val Royeaux tomorrow," she excused herself.
As she walked towards the door, she could feel Celene's gaze follow her. She made her way back to her own quarters, passing the obligatory string of obsequious servants and messengers, and the occasional unctuous noble. It was always awkward finding herself so many stations higher than the one she used to possess back in the days when she would slink in the shadows down very similar hallways. She appreciated the leverage her title afforded her, but she did not particularly care for its entrapments. She knew the artifices of The Game, but she had excelled at them from a different vantage point, reveling in her relative anonymity. Celene had always been the figurehead, and now Briala lamented being thrust into the limelight. She did, however, enjoy the power that had been openly conferred to her and watched, with satisfaction, as nobles who had once been openly hostile bit back their tongues and found themselves forced to address her with reserved politeness.
She fell tiredly into a soft, overstuffed chair. Celene had her rooms filled with flowers and ordered all the imposing, stuffy portraits removed from the chambers' walls, substituting them with bucolic landscapes, featuring rolling valleys and well ordered forests. The servants had already lit up the room, and she had dismissed the young woman sent to wait on her.
It hadn't been easy, she thought. She had no trouble wielding her power. Hadn't she always had a hand in most decisions as soon as Celene had begun to rule?
Participated? Or been manipulated? she thought tersely.
That law had driven her over the edge. It had taken all of the well-rehearsed restraint developed over her long career to keep her from adding words to the scorn that surfaced in her when applause rang forth and heads tilted and nodded at her, congratulatory, throughout the room that morning. They all thought she would find the law a triumph for her cause. Instead, she felt her innards shrivel from the shame.
No better than the kept, pampered pet Celene had once tried to make me into.
She had willingly marched alongside the Empress, as her honored guest, foolishly hoping that the eyes that trailed them in their wake would see her as the force to be reckoned with that she had officially become. Instead, she had unwittingly started an ugly trend.
"Dressed so finely, elves can be quite bewitching, can't they?" she had caught the fleeting comment whispered from behind a fan.
She could only wonder how her people would be preyed upon because of her misjudgment. What a fanciful gesture, to parade one's elven lover so publicly and lavishly! It was the ultimate statement in status, wasn't it? No need to merely prowl into their bedrooms at night, force them to submit to their wills and desires in exchange for jobs, basic necessities, and in the most sinister cases their freedom…or even lives. No. Now their shame could be visible, displayed for all, bedecked in a few silks—If it's good enough for the Empress, why not? Briala seethed.
A rap sounded from the concealed door by the fireplace.
Impeccable timing, she surmised, bracing herself for a second round of unpleasantries.
The one who knocks does not wait passively for permission, she observed, sitting up, as the wall panel sank backwards and then slid sideways, revealing an unfinished passageway.
Celene emerged silently into the room, the odious papillotes hanging in her hair, her elegant taffeta gown a rich tone of lavender against her snowy white skin.
"You are still angry," Celene concluded as she took in Briala's hostile posture.
Celene's footsteps bridged the distance between them. She paused beside her. In her hands she carried a large folio with her seal upon it.
"Here." She placed it in her lap, before wandering away to the large windows opening to the eastern gardens.
She leaned expectantly against the windowsill, mildly distracted by the birds outside, as they chirped their last songs, settling into the evening. Briala puzzled at the large folio, and had an urge to cast it off onto the ground in a display of her displeasure with Celene, but decided to leaf through its contents. Perhaps it was the spy in her, she remarked bitterly.
Celene observed cautiously, out of the corner of her eyes, as Briala browsed through the papers, her face first set in disdain. As her eyes ran down the pages, she watched the stern expression gradually soften. When they finally arose from the documents, they were bright with tears.
"Celene!" she exclaimed, her voice strangled with emotion.
"I let the Comte have his little victory today to pave the way for my triumph," Celene grinned, gazing into the dimming garden with unconcealed pride. Briala's hand shook slightly as she read over the documents again in disbelief.
In the folio was a royal decree opening the University of Orlais to elves. Any elf seeking instruction would have his or her education subsidized by the Empire.
"Did you see who has lent support to my decree?" she continued, delighting in Briala's reaction. Several nobles on the Council of Heralds had signed in symbolic approval. It had been noted that the Chantry also backed the decree. "The Marquis of Damas himself," she smiled. "I'd say he has a most vested interest. His sole heirs now, since Adrien died in combat, are two half elvish children— a boy and a girl— and he is quite eager to have them legally recognized so they can enjoy all privileges associated, including a proper education… Especially now that Gaspard's death and Florianne's arrest have most of the noble houses astir with the new possible successions. Several titles are in play. I am discovering that the Council has been quite amenable to my proposals these days…"
It was a royal decree. It was as good as done.
"Of course, we will have to keep a check on the Chantry. It is evident education is a part of its mission, but I doubt for a second it will waste such a rich opportunity to proselytize and cast its influence."
Briala was speechless.
"To integrate the advisory panels we extended an invitation to several Dalish elders," she explained. "But there was no interest," she lamented. "Still, we think things should be reasonably balanced out. Some of the elders in the alienage were affable to the idea... and definitely some elven mages, who I think are strategic, since they appear more neutral and removed from—"
She paused when she noticed Briala rise from her chair and approach her.
"I know we tried before and failed, but our alliances and the defeat of Gaspard have consolidated my power. I have fewer distractions and fewer influential enemies at home to contend with now. It is time—"
She was interrupted by a gentle touch on her cheek. For once, she fell silent. Briala's eyes spoke clearly. In them she saw fierce and raw hope.
"It is tremendous," Briala said softly. "Do you have any idea of what this means for us? To be offered the tools with which to shape our own destinies? To have an opportunity to learn, preserve, and share our knowledge? To have agency? Mobility?…" her voice faded.
Celene heaved a heavy sigh.
"It will not be easy, you know. We are up against very old prejudices and great ignorance. You and I may not live long enough to see the world we envisioned."
"But you will have paved the way, sown the seed," Briala whispered.
For a moment Briala saw it, breaking through the impassive, haughty facade— that delicate expression, a flicker of honesty and vulnerability. It was the same one she had revealed to her when they were still children.
"Do you like it?" Celene used to ask, a gift extended to her in the small hands, almost afraid, her fair lashes lowered.
That the child with the indomitable will was capable of such earnestness, such a deep desire to please— and to please her, among all people— always touched her profoundly. Briala inhaled her fine perfume, a floral scent, as fragrant as lilies, but not as cloying. The woman before her had always been an unwavering champion of the arts. At first, during more skeptical times, Briala had been utterly convinced it was because she had found in the arts an escape route—She believed Celene too willing to bury her nose in her prized books, of anesthetizing herself from realities by wandering through the elegant salons, museums, and art galleries, hiding in the glorious past and whimsical fictions. Celene had told her, many times, that there was nothing vaster than the imagination, that to nurture it was to become an architect of possibilities. Education was the transitional step that transformed the dreamer into the visionary.
She looked at the folio in mild disbelief, as if at any moment it were going to disappear, like in a cruel prank. There were many hurts to mend between them, but as her eyes wandered to the figure who stood in front of her, gazing at her expectantly, longingly, she realized that Celene was living proof of her own credo. She played The Game not only with a verve and steadiness that confounded and flummoxed her opponents and enemies, but with insight and creativity…and imagination. And now, she wished to nurture that ability to envision possibilities and create opportunities, make it a reality for those who had been forced into an immoral social and political exile. She reached out to hold the one she had embraced so often through her life, that woman who as a result of the scheming of others, but perhaps through the will of something greater than all of them, had played so many roles in her life: the constant companion of her girlhood, the consoling friend through times of defeat, an eager and sensual lover, and many times—so many times—the source of so much grief and heartache. And yet, she realized, their paths had intertwined too deeply over the course of their lives to be considered separate anymore.
For better or for worse, Briala acknowledged, a familiar shiver coursing up her spine as Celene's lips tenderly grazed her ear.
"Stay by my side," Celene urged her gently. Because there was scarce a time when you weren't, and those dark times I cannot or do not want to remember, Celene thought. "We will usher in a new era, together."
There were many replies Briala could have given her— some acerbic, caustic, witty, or cynical. But at that moment, she allowed herself to believe…and to imagine.
It is you, only you, Celene thought headily, her heart beating faster as she kissed the face she recognized through touch alone. The warm, slender body pressing against hers she knew as intimately as she knew her own.
You were, are, always will be my friend, my home, my love.