"Not the response I was hoping for tonight, if I am being honest." Dumar sighed, clearly fighting the urge to rub at his temples. "I prayed that at least our fellow Marchers would be more accepting."

"Some are." I hedged, "Most aren't."

He let out a soft grunt. "I cannot imagine that dueling one of them on the stairwell helped our cause, Lady Maeve."

I gave the Viscount my most innocent shrug. "We're doing our best, messere. Squire Trevelyan's insistence that the Knight-Commander ordered no dueling in the Ball itself is the only reason I didn't have to draw my sword twice just walking here from the far end. I'm pretty sure at least one 'Vint is stalking me anyway, just waiting for a chance."

Kirkwall's lord glanced out at the crowd. "I can well believe it. It seems everyone who speaks to me has an opinion on your ennoblement. I've defended you, and the Knight-Commander, but if you were to leave so soon it would assuredly be taken as flight."

Elowen shook her head, "I'm not concerned with our image, messere."

"I am." He said quietly. "And it would cast aspersions on my defense. The Knight-Commander is stringent on this matter. We must be resolute, or else this city will fall into chaos once more."

Meaning Meredith wouldn't be happy with him, or us, if we skipped out early.

Damn. That really cut down on our options.

I bit my tongue for a moment, glancing at her, then Zatris. Their discomfort with the entire evening was obvious. The fun of getting all dressed up, the excitement of actually being invited was long gone. The tolling bells announcing that the ball had been in motion for an hour had only just happened, and each and every one of them looked exhausted.

Shit. I had an idea, one that would let them leave and keep Dumar and Meredith happy. It just wouldn't leave me very happy.

"...dammit." I muttered, "How about this, messere. Lady Elowen and Ser Zatris are suffering pains from their lingering battle wounds and had to retire early with their most sincere apologies. Ser Nethon escorted them home given how many people objected to our presence. I'll stay behind and take one for the team. Be the face of the Elven nobility, wander around and mingle. Maybe I can find King Alistair to make sure everyone knows I'm still here."

Dumar blinked, then seemed to perk up a little. "Yes, yes that could work. I am sure that the Knight-Commander's squire would find it easier to escort one person rather than several, and a cordial relationship with the King would do your image well."

Elowne slumped in relief. "We have your blessing, Viscount?"

He smiled, raising his voice enough for the nearby courtiers to pick up his words. "Yes, you have my blessing in light of your injuries to retire early, Baronness. You have my thanks for attending in spite of the wounds you suffered on this city's behalf."

I fought the urge to snort at how thickly he was laying it on. But hey, at least he was letting us get away with it.

I'd found myself kind of liking Dumar. He was pretty reasonable, all things considered. Shame he was Meredith's puppet, and had no stomach for real confrontation. All of his well intentions tended to fall apart when he couldn't deal with strife apart from trying to delay and defuse it.

"Thank you, messere." Elowen bowed, "May we use the servant's exit as well? I'd prefer to leave quietly. The Deshyr Tethras has a coach waiting for us out front, we'll be spending the night at his estate to avoid anyone hoping to catch us on the way back to the Alienage."

"You may, and accept my compliments for your wisdom." He smiled. "Travel safely, my lady, ser knights. Thank you for coming. I will be sure to tell any who ask of how valiant you were in attending."

She bowed again, "We remain in your debt, Viscount. Lady Maeve?"

I followed as we were waved off of the platform the city's ruler was engaging his guests upon. A pair of nearby elves in servant's livery must have heard the discussion because they quickly led us to a hidden doorway just behind a pillar, ushering us through.

"Thank the Maker." Elowen groaned, quickly pulling me into a one armed hug. "I owe you for this, Maeve."

I hugged her back, "Let me scream and rant about all of this while we get drunk together, and we'll call it even."

There was a chuckle as we broke apart. "Deal."

Quicker hugs with Zatris and Nethon came and went, then the three of them were off, escorted by the pair of servants who seemed thrilled to get to interact with the Alienage's new leaders.

I watched them go, sighed, and straightened my outfit a bit before stepping back into the keep's main hall once again.

Little Trevelyan was waiting for me. "Messere? The Viscount let the others go home?"

"Yeah, they're free. Unfortunately I've still got to mingle." I settled my hands on my sword again, giving them something to do given the lack of a drink. "Let's go find Hawke again. I need to tell her she lost five points of attractiveness for ditching me."

She suppressed a giggle, nodding. "Yes, messere. I think I saw her on the second balcony while you were speaking with the Viscount. Ferelden's King was up there as well."

"Good. Let's go."

Plunging back into the brightly colored masses, I kept my chin up to better glare at everyone glaring at me. Which pretty much everyone was doing, if they weren't sneering, or pretending to feel faint when I drew too close trying to avoid the slowly filling dance floor.

The disgust transcended nationality. Overdressed Orlesians in gaudy colors, 'Vints with dragon and flame patterns, Fereldens in their more muted tones... Nevarrans, Marchers, it didn't matter. They were united in their disgust of having to breathe the same air as an Elf who didn't exist to serve them.

Those few exceptions were, well, few. I saw some of them same men who'd laughed at my shots at Vivienne muttering as I passed; their tolerance for me fading now that I wasn't snarking at a political enemy. My only real acceptance seemed to come from the Deshyrs, who had finally left their unified clique in order to mingle.

I got a few polite nods from the men, and was stopped twice by women complimenting my 'aggressive' outfit.

"It's both blatant yet subtle." The second, wearing a multi-layered green dress, with each layer a different shade, said. Her eyes flicked up and down me critically, "The colors declare your loathing of Orlesian frippery, drawing attention, but the mimicry of the Templar uniform is truly nice touch. It forces them to realize that to criticize you is to criticize your patron."

"Glad my effort wasn't wasted then." I replied politely.

"It wasn't, dear." She patted the back of my hand. "And I adore the feathers. We simply must bring them back into style."

I smiled, "I don't think me wearing them is going to help much with that."

"It may, or it may not. Your little engagement with the Madame de Fer is already the talk of the ball. Practically everyone outside of the Orlesians themselves quite agree with what you said about Orlais, though few are pleased to hear just who said the words."

"I figured. If you'll excuse me, I'm trying to find an Arlessa."

She smiled, giving me a dismissive little wave before turning back to the man she'd been walking toward the dance floor with. I left to her to her amusements, finally reaching the stairs heading up to the balcony Hawke was supposedly on top of.

They were curiously empty, apart from a woman in armor lounging at the top of the stairs.

"I'll wait here, messere." Trevelyan murmured at the base of them. "There's a few who look like they want to follow you."

"Thanks." I told her, resisting the urge to pat her on the shoulder. Or the head. I didn't think she'd had any training in mage-detection yet, but it was a foolish risk to take. "I'll be back in a bit."

I was about halfway up before I realized several things all together.

First, she was a fellow elf. A Dalish, even, from the vallaslin on her forehead. Taller than me, who fucking wasn't, blonde, with a resting scowl that reminded me a bit of Petrice if I was being honest. Oh, and her ears were a bit on the big side. Not like mine, which were just stupidly long and pointed, but honestly big.

Second, the armor was a mix of plate and chain-mail... with an over-reliance on Griffons on the buckls, and blue-white stripes on the cloth. It was a dead-ringer for the armor you saw in Inquisition, making identifying the group she was a member rather easy.

"Warden." I greeted politely as I approached.

Her response was far less courteous. "So. You're one of the flat-ears the shems rewarded."

Oh. Goody. One of those Dalish.

"First of all? Fuck you." She twitched in surprise, blinking rapidly. "Second of all, we both know my obnoxious ears aren't flat. Third of all, is Hawke up here?"

"...yes. She's berating a fool." The woman replied, "It is business between herself and the Wardens. You will remain out of it."

I didn't bother slowing down. Not until she physically stepped over, blocking me from taking the final step up. I was far up enough to get a good look at the balcony itself, finding a mixed group of Gray Wardens, King Alistair, and said king's bodyguards all doing their best to pretend that Hawke wasn't currently in the face of a man in the corner.

The ball was loud enough that I couldn't hear whatever she was saying, but the rigid fury in her stance was obvious.

"Hmm." I hummed, "I'll wait."

"You speak as if you had a choice in the matter."

"Of course I do, or did the Gray Wardens conscript this particular balcony?"

She blinked again. "What are you... oh. Ugh. No wonder the shems gave you one of their titles. You share their awful humor."

There was hearty chuckle from nearby, and I looked over again to see Alistair himself walking over.

"I don't know, Velanna. I thought that one wasn't bad." He gave me a charming grin. "You were the one Hawke was going to introduce to me, weren't you?"

"Before she left me to be devoured by a prissy Orlesian mage? Yup. That's me." And I wasn't annoyed about that. Not even a little.

Alistair let out another laugh, waving for me to come up, "Well we can't have that now cane we? Come on, allow me to restore Ferelden's honor with a good drink."

The Dalish Warden rolled her eyes, but got out of the way. I promptly took that last step, slipping past her.

I was about to offer the King my hand when I remembered that he'd had Templar training, and awkwardly aborted the motion into giving him a little bow. He chuckled yet again, waving off the gesture.

"It's fine, it's fine. I'm tired of the bowing and scraping. Come on, have an ale." He led over to a corner opposite of where Hawke was having her argument, several heavy mugs wating for us on a table.

We both took one, and a sip proved it to be warm and rich. "Hmm. Not bad."

"I'd be careful." Alistair warned me when I took a longer pull. "It's meant for Wardens. We need a lot of effort to get drunk, you see."

"Good to know, thanks." I looked over his features. Up close he was... like a more boyish version of Cullen, if I was being honest. A bit too manly for me, but he looked earnest and genial.

He was apparently taking my measure as well, taking in my outfit. "That's definitely an interesting choice tonight. Reminds me of a woman I used to know."

I assumed he meant Morrigan, but I couldn't say that when he didn't volunteer it. "I'll assume she had good taste in fashion then."

"She certainly had a very specific taste in fashion. Very swooping Chasind, Witch of the Wilds." The King shook his head, "There a story behind it? Besides being as blatantly contrary to courtly fashion as you can manage?"

"Black is my color." I shrugged around another sip of the excellent ale. When he merely hummed, I pushed on with a question of my own. "So. How's being King treating you?"

It was his turn to blink a few times. Probably because I wasn't following the usual script when it came to meeting royalty.

"It's not all that bad." He said around a mouthful of ale, "I smile, I wave at crowds, and once in a while the Queen has me sign papers."

"Huh uh." I drawled. "Because you looked pretty miserable up there with Dumar."

He grimaced. "That obvious?"

"Just a bit."

Alistair seemed to hesitate, then he let out an explosive sigh. "Maker's breath it's awful. Every day I wake up and I can't believe I let myself get talked into it. It's nothing but speeches, and pretending to care that some Bann's great-grandfather was insulted by some Arl's great-grandmother, so obviously the boundary in their lands needs to be moved a mile west."

I snorted, "That's oddly specific."

"Oh that was just the most recent one." He said with faux-cheer, "At least your Viscount kept his speech nice and short. At the Queen's last name-day an Arl went on for at least a half hour, and he didn't manage to say anything important at all. It was the first time I ever saw Anora start to lose her tolerance for that kind of thing."

"Ready to stab him with a fork?"

"Oh, no, Anora's not that merciful. She'd have used a spoon." He grinned when I laughed, "Don't tell her I said that, though. She says she has an image to maintain. Still. I think that was the first time we really got along."

"I doubt I'll ever be in a position to meet her." I said around another sip of ale. "In the unlikely event I do so, don't worry. I'll keep your secrets even if she asks nicely."

Alistair leaned on the railing, "I don't know about it being that unlikely. I hear that you haven't even been in Kirkwall a year, yet you're already a Knight. Give you another year and who knows where you'll be."

"Dead, probably." I blamed the increasing amounts of alcohol in my system for that particular blunt response. "I'm amazed I'm not already."

His smile faltered a little. "That's... rather grim, my lady."

"Yeah. True, though." My voice lowered. "I'm guessing you heard about the attack on the Alienage here."

"I did. Nasty business, that." Alistair turned slightly, looking over the other Wardens before sighing. "Did you lose friends?"

I exhaled around my mug, wishing we hadn't stumbled into this topic. "Not friends, no. But people I should have known better than I did."

His own eyes dropped. "I know exactly what you mean. You sound as happy as I was to be given a title for it."

"Not exactly happy about it, no." I admitted just as quietly. "I had to fight tooth and nail to avoid being named the Baroness. That would have been a fucking disaster."

"Heh. There's plenty of days I wish I'd fought when Teagen and Cousland came to me with their plan." He paused, sighed, and shook his head. "Not that I could have stayed in the Wardens. Not with Loghain among them."

Ugh. I'd been hoping Alistair would be good company, and he was, but God he was clearly miserable as King.

"To being silently miserable as nobles." I held my mug up.

"Heh. To silent misery." He clanked his against mine, both of us taking a long pull before he spoke again. "Is it that bad, being an ennobled elf?"

"You have no idea." I said, very aware that the Dalish Warden shifted a half-step closer, clearly listening. "Most common citizens want me dead because I jumped over them in the social hierarchy, and I put a stop to their ability to wander into the Alienage and beat, rape, and murder us when they got bored. And the nobles... you can guess how the nobles are."

"I can." He sighed. "I doubt it's much better for Soris in Denerim."

"Probably not." I shook my head. "Eh. Come on, you're supposed to be good at being cheerful, and I've had enough serious discussion for one lifetime already. Give me a good story from the Blight. A funny one."

Alistair huffed out a little breath, "Bold little thing aren't you? Giving orders to a King."

"Not my king." I noted. "Also, I have this tendency to just say whatever I want."

"I can tell. It's a refreshing change of pace to be honest." He paused, then got a sly grin on his face, finally brightening up again. "Did you know that Hawke once fell out of a boat six times in a row, trying to show off?"

I perked up at once. "No, and you've got my undivided attention."

He laughed, launching into the tale. "She and Leliana were having this argument about who was the better archer. They'd been bickering about it for weeks, and one day we're camping out by a lake when they finally decided to settle it. Leliana said that if Hawke could shoot an apple out of the air, from a boat, she'd admit that Hawke was a better archer."

"That's it?" I asked. "Not much of a challenge."

"Oh you don't know Leliana." He grinned. "Our adorable bard doesn't play fair. She'd been spiking Hawke's drink all night. Sober, she might have realized something was up, but she was determined to do it. So she got out in this canoe with her bow, and as soon as she stood up, splash! In she went. Poor Bethany was all ready to swim out to save her when she managed to climb back in."

And on, and on it went. A progressively more soaked Hawke climbing back in, and promptly rolling the canoe. Five times she got in only to fall out, only then finally managing to get upright without tipping the thing over. Shivering and utterly soaked, Hawke had gone to draw her arrow onto realize she'd lost them all in the lake.

"But she's all in at this point." Alistair chuckled, "So what does she do? Dives right into the water, swimming down to find one. Bethany had enough at that point, and waded out there to drag her back in. She had to tie her up in blankets to stop her from trying a seventh time."

I snickered, "How bad was the hangover?"

"Endless complaining." He laughed, "Once she sobered up she realized she'd been played. The rest of us made Leliana take care of her to smooth things over, but we never let Hawke hear the end of it whenever we got near a lake or river again."

I laughed again, the King still chortling along with me. Though his smile faded slightly after.

"That was just before we all split up." He said more quietly, "Scattering across the Kingdom to rouse it again Loghain. When everyone was united in defeating the Blight. It was only after we got back together that things... changed."

...all right, Alistair was definitely a bundle of issues under his genial smile and easy laughter. For every fun story and joke, he seemed to fall right back into melancholy after.

"I was going to tell them no, about being King." He muttered, downing more ale. "Then they conscripted him. Didn't even ask my opinion."

"That was rather rude of them." I said, managing about a heartbeat's silence before admitting, "I'd have killed him too, you know."

His eyes narrowed, as if he thought I was sucking up to him. "Why?"

"How many elves did he sell into slavery?" I asked. "Hundreds? Thousands?"

The King hissed quietly, actually bringing a hand up to shush me. "How did you... that's supposed to be a state secret."

I blinked in surprise myself. "It is?"

"Yes." He stepped closer, voice quiet. "It was part of the deal with Anora. Those crimes are all pinned on Arl Howe, not Loghain. She didn't want her father's name ruined more than it already was."

"Too late for that." I shook my head.

"Agreed, but where did you hear it?" He demanded.

I hesitated, then gave him a plausible story that didn't involve my future knowledge. Or the fact that I'd heard the entire thing from Anders and only the barest scraps from Isabella and Fenris.

"One of the pirates hired to transport them to Tevinter had a conscience. Once she realized what kind of cargo she'd been hired to move she refused to have anything to do with it, broke off from the convoy, and put them ashore in Antiva. Met her in a Tavern, along with another Elf who helped deal with some other poachers who came after them."

"...Maker's balls." Alistair groaned, "Anora's not going to be happy about that."

Stomping boots on the wooden floor announced Hawke's arrival, her voice matching her scowl. "She's not the only one who's furious right now."

"Hawke, I didn't know until we got here, and I told you as soon as I could." He said placatingly.

"I know." She growled, holding a hand out. The King sighed, handing over his mug. She promptly held it to her lips, downing at least half of it while we watched. "...he was quick to say you had nothing to do with it."

"He?" I asked, leaning to one side to look around her.

The man she'd been talking with was leaning against the railing with slumped shoulders, a suit in the same style as Hawke's looking ruffled. As if he'd been grabbed and shook by it very recently. Pale skinned, dark hair. Not conventionally handsome like Alistair or Cullen, but probably above average.

His eyes rose to meet mine, a visible frown on his face as we stared at each other.

"My future brother-in-law." Hawke muttered, "Greg apparently decided to lie to me about his plans to stay home, and stowed away with the Wardens instead of traveling with Carver and I."

...I stared harder at the man from Earth, eyes narrowing to slits. His puzzled expression deepened in return.

"Want me to go to kick his ass for you?" I offered, watching as another woman in Warden's gear walked over to the man, patting him on the shoulder. She said something that made him sigh and nod.

"Tempting, but not." She sighed, "I'm sick of Wardens. How about we go find Varric and get drunk listening to more of those stories of his?"

"Only if you tell plenty of your own." I countered.

"Deal. Want to meet the richest man in Kirkwall, Alistair?"

"Not really." He replied glibly. "But if I stay up here they're going to start talking politics at me again, so I'll take the lesser evil."

Hawke snorted, leaned over to grab another mug of Warden ale, then made for the stairs. The King followed behind her, leaving me to pause just long enough to catch the eye of the man who might have some answers for me.

This venue was too public for the kind of crap we'd have to talk about... but at least he was here.

I brought a hand up, two fingers extended in a peace sign. He started to frown again just as I turned the hand around, curling my index finger so that just the middle one was fully extended in what I hoped was a very Earth gesture of my opinion of him.

His scowl told me he didn't get it. Oh well. At least he'd remember me.

Turning away, I skipped down the steps as quickly as I could, catching up with the others. To drink, listen to stories, and hopefully learn as much as I could about what that bastard had changed in canon.

And with a bit of luck, I wouldn't get so drunk as to forget it all.