And here we begin with the last arc of this 'book', which should last for ten chapters starting from this one. Once it's done, the story will go on a temporary hiatus until I get the next five arcs properly outlined, and the first sections written. In the DA2 style, there will be a fairly significant time skip, but unlike the game I'm going to make sure to give you all additional interludes to help recap events. Expect several more "Letter" interludes, a Diary Interlude or two, and I'm strongly considering adding a Longing POV chapter just for the novelty of such a thing.

I hope, but can't promise, that the next posting spree will begin before Christmas, but I've got enough original projects going on that I can't guarantee anything. Rest assured that when I do resume, I'll have enough written in advance to maintain a posting routine identical to what I'm currently doing: M/W/F.

Thank you all for reading, and I hope you enjoy the conclusion to this section!

For the first time since I arrived in Thedas, I got to get all dressed up in an outfit of my own choosing.

I sat perfectly still in the Alienage's new Chantry, doing my best not to move as Fiolya and Petrice attacked my face with the medieval makeup. I didn't want to know what was in any of it, but then, I had to admit I hadn't had the faintest idea of what had been in my makeup back home either.

Maybe I'd been sprinkling shredded flowers and crushed bugs on my face on Earth too.

"Hair's done." Merrill chirped behind me, a final stroke of her hand keeping my increasingly long mane out of my face. "That soap really made it feel soft. We'll have to ask Isabella for more of it."

Fiolya giggled, carefully using a finger to apply a bit more of the black lipstick. "I think she stole it from the Rose."

"That," Petrice noted, leaning around the smaller girl to dab something under my eyes. "Is assuredly something that harlot would do."

"Visit a brothel, or steal from it?" Merrill asked.

"Both." The Mother replied, drawing more giggles from the other two and a soft snort from me. "I think she's nearly done. How is the Lady Elowen?"

"Nearly done!" Another woman called over excitedly. "I still can't believe it. Elves at the Grand Ball, as guests instead of servants! What an Age we live in!"

Petrice smiled even as she added a bit more of the powder to my skin. "If someone could please check on Ser Zatris, and Ser Nathon as well? We should be done shortly, and it would not do for our party to be late."

One of her new subordinates, I thought it was the tall, skinny one from Navarra, promptly answered. "I shall make sure they are prepared."

"Thank you, sister. Hmm... yes. Yes, this will do perfectly. Merrill? What do you think?"

My elven sister slipped around me, joining the other two in staring at my face. I felt myself color a little at the attention, still not really used to having other people do this part for me.

"It's very dark and shadowy." Merrill said after a long moment. "She looks very dangerous. Even more than usual, I mean. She always looks a bit dangerous. I'd be very frightened if I didn't know her."

Petrice hummed, tapping a finger on her chin. "That's half of the battle won. Is she properly striking?"

Merrill nodded at once. "Isabella is going to have a lot of dirty things to say. Don't you? Oh, I'm sorry. You don't say them. You just think them and then ask your Maker to forgive you for being tempted to break your vows."

It was Petrice's turn to color, "Dalish!"

"Don't be embarrassed. Everyone's heard you." She smiled, patting the taller woman on the shoulder. "Are you sure you don't want to talk to Varric about better nicknames though? I don't really get frightened when you say 'Dalish' like that."

Snorting again, I finally broke my silence. "Don't leave me in suspense. Can I check the mirror now?"

There was a little huff from Petrice, but she waved the others back so that I could stand. Rising slowly, I carefully tested the feel of my new boots. The black leather flexed just enough to not hurt my ankles when I walked, and I counted that as a success.

A quick few steps got me over to the display mirror Varric had ordered for us, giving me a good view of myself as I turned this way and that.

I... hadn't really had much of a chance to think about fashion lately. Nor ever, really. I mean, yeah, a few times in High School, but I'd been the daughter of a criminal. Combine a badly paid mother who made her own poor choices, two brothers, and then me... yeah. I'd considered myself lucky to have five or six outfits that fit at all.

Picking out an outfit for a Grand Ball had been...

...all right. It had been fun as hell.

According to everyone who we'd talked to, bright colors were the current fashion in both Orlais and Tevinter, meaning they were in fashion for anyone of means in the rest of Thedas. The bolder and more vibrant the better, and no woman of means would be caught dead wearing less than four different shades of color.

Similarly, women were supposed to show off their cleavage, but keep everything else covered up beneath multiple layers of cloth. Not quite hoop skirts, but somewhere in that area. Also, ribbons tying your hair up in impossible styles was apparently the 'newest thing'.

I'd considered that for about five seconds, then decided to hell with it.

I was going to stand out as it was. We all were. As had been said, we'd be the only Elves there who weren't working as servants. There was no chance in hell of me sliding under the radar... so I might as well go out and make statement.

And Earth even had the perfect style to offer two middle fingers to courtly fashion.

That's right. I'd gone full fucking Goth.

My lips were midnight black, accented by the dark shadows they'd added to my cheeks and under my eyes. Above that was hair that was deliberately left loose, sides of my scalp shaved down to make sure the mane down the center was perfectly even on both sides. Below I was wearing a choker of crow feathers around my neck, a further thumb of my nose to the fact that feathers were 'out of style' now.

My outfit was rich silk, but once again black. I'd copied the Chantry Auxiliaries uniform I'd worn for Dumar in basic style; a tight, short sleeved shirt, with equally tight pants below. A half-skirt in the Templar's style flared nicely around my hips when I moved, and would hopefully stop anyone from staring at my ass.

Bringing a hand up let me check each nail, also black, making sure the paint they'd applied wasn't chipping yet. I'd even found a pair of black leather braces for my wrists.

"I look good." I smirked for the mirror, rather liking the way I looked like a villain. "Sword belt?"

Fiolya was already bringing it over, buckling it around my waist so I didn't do any damage to my nails. We'd worked my Dream-catcher onto it, the hoop right near the top of the sheath, feathers swaying merrily below it. Between its presence and the draining that Thrask had hit me with an hour ago, and I'd probably fine for the rest of the night.

Provided my usual precautions against skin contact held up at least, but constant meetings with Templars was leaving me increasingly blasé about the risk. The paranoia had become a routine I barely thought about.

She adjusted it a few times, nodded once, and stepped back to look me over as well.

"That does complete the look, lady." My squire reported. "And now you'll get to duel any shem bastard, forgive me, Revered Mother, who gets bothered that you're there."

"You are forgiven, child." Petrice sighed, "I'm certain there will be at least one such duel. Likely several."

I admired myself a bit more until Elowen came bustling over to inspect her own appearance. Her outfit was similar to mine, though an outline of a Vhenadal had been added to her shoulders in silver thread, and her skirt was a dark gray rather than black.

Apart from that the Lady of the Alienage had been content to follow my lead.

"I look... dangerous." She murmured, "Even with only one hand. And no, I'm not wearing the hook. With our luck some poncy Orlesian will stab himself on it and order an Exalted March be called to avenge his honor."

I barked out a laugh, "Probably. Can you breathe all right?"

She nodded, "It's not as tight as I expected. Are you sure about the hair? I feel like it's going to get in my eyes all night if it's kept loose."

"Price of fashion." I told her. "Would you rather have spent six hours layering it all thirty times with ribbons?"

Elowen huffed, "Point. Are we ready to go then?"

I glanced around the Chantry, finding a half-dozen Elven and three Human women all beaming at us. "Assuming the boys are ready, yeah. Merrill-"

"We'll be fine, lethallan." She smiled, walking up to give me a gentle hug, "Try not to have too much wine. I want to know all of the stories when you get back!"

I hugged her back, then gave my squire a similar embrace. "I'll do my best. Be good for Merrill."

Fiolya pouted, "I'm seventeen. Not seven."

"Good point." I smirked, "That definitely leaves you in charge. Make sure Merrill gets her exercise, and don't feed her more than one cookie or she'll-"

Merril promptly shoved me in the back, "Lethallan!"

Laughing, I let her push me along, Elowen and Petrice quickly following us down the Chantry's aisle.

Outside we found that Nethon and Zatris were both ready, and that half the alienage had turned out to see us off. Several hundred excited elves chattering, oohing and ahhing over our appearance in the evening light.

The new leader of the Night Watch was in the Chantry Auxiliaries uniform, while Zatris wore a more masculine cut of Elowen's outfit; he'd forgone the skirt and added gray sleeves to his shirt. While he wore a sword just the same as Nethon and I, the cane he was using to walk betrayed the fact that he wasn't in shape to use the weapon.

Officially, at least.

Anders had mostly patched him up as soon as we'd been able to sneak him into the Alienage, but we didn't really have a good way to hide his miraculous recovery from the Templars. In private he moved around just fine, but in public he leaned on the cane and acted like a man not quite ready to throw it aside.

"Ready?" I asked, more confidently than I really felt. If the past few months had taught me anything, it was how to hide what I was feeling.

Getting sick of everyone insisting two hundred deaths weren't your fault, when you damn well knew they were, would do that to you.

My former second in command nodded, "Shina has the Watch set. The Deshyr's coach awaits us, as do our bodyguards."

"Let's not keep them waiting then. Elowen?"

Our Baroness held up her single hand, striding over to where her husband was beaming at her with their three kids beside him. She hugged each one of her children, then her partner, and finally gave the Alienage a wave that sent up a chorus of cheers.

Petrice didn't bother hiding her approving smile, speaking quietly as we set off for the stairs. "You learn quickly, Lady Elowen. A speech next time, perhaps."

"I'll be giving one tomorrow." Elowen murmured back, "Hopefully it with be a truthful account of the Viscount's respect and the city's welcoming our presence."

Nethon snorted, "One of those will be more true than the other."

"Agreed." I chimed in, rolling my neck as we walked. "Stick close to the Viscount when you can, and Meredith when you can't. That way you'll be able to tell everyone that she put the fear of God into anyone that looked twice at you."

That got me another round of chuckles and nods of agreement.

It helped cover up my discomfort of the fact that Meredith was wildly popular in the Alienage, and had been ever since that night four months ago. A popularity helped by the fact that she'd come by once a month since to inspect the Night Watch, observe drills, and speak with Elowen about the Alienage's status.

The fact that she'd kept a large force of Templars inside the Alienage until Western Wall was repaired, and our new Gatehouse built, had helped a lot as well.

Those two projects, and the Chantry, were about the only ones to have finished so far. The rest of the Alienage was massive construction zone, but... things really were improving inside our walls. Give it a few more months and the first of the new apartments would be finished, including my new home.

And Meredith had been the one to keep us all alive until we'd been able to start protecting ourselves again. Which was all leaving me extremely conflicted, because she was still a complete and total bitch on the subject of the Mages.

We'd found three more blood mages fond of using the blood of others instead of their own over the past couple of months, and Meredith's parental pride in Kirkwall's elves, and me in particular, had only seemed to grow with each report we gave her.

Speaking of the Knight-Commander, her thirteen year old squire was standing nervously as the top of the stairs. She was without her helm for once, revealing her still childish features, but otherwise in full armor as she waited for us just outside of a horse-drawn coach. Another Templar was sitting in the driver's position, though they were wearing the lighter armor instead of the heavy stuff.

And, just to show us the extent of Meredith's favor, a third Templar was standing on the riding board behind the rear wheels, a bow hanging over his shoulder.

"Lords, Ladies." Trevelyan gave us a quick salute that everyone but Petrice returned. "I have been assigned as your escort tonight."

"Thank you, child." Petrice gave her a gentle smile, "I am sure you shall do wonderfully."

The barely-a-teenager quickly stepped back, pulling the coach's door open for us. I got in first by prior agreement, taking a corner seat with Elowen beside me, and Petrice on the other side. Zatris and Nethon quickly took the spots across, leaving our baby Templar at the far corner from where I sat.

Then it was time to sit back and enjoy being driven through the city for once.

We rode through a Kirkwall filled with just as many ladders and scaffolds as the Alienage, the Powers That Be working on transforming this area of Lowtown into proper middle-class housing. I think the running theory was that it would cut down on the number of riots near the Alienage, as the wealthier citizens would object to such violence next door.

I had no idea if it would work or not, but at least Dumar was trying something.

The jostling of the carriage grew calmer when we hit the main street heading up into Hightown. From there it didn't take us long to reach the Viscount's Keep, our driver calling back, "We approach!"

"Thank you!" Elowen called. "Mother Petrice, will you be entering with us?"

She shook her head, "No, I enter with the Grand Cleric's party, second to last. I must go and join them as soon as we arrive. I would advise following the Lady Maeve's advice. Find the Knight-Commander and remain near her for the duration. Only fools would dare insult you in her hearing."

Nethon nodded, "Works for me. You staying with us, Maeve, or are you going to go pick a fight or two?"

"I need to talk to the Ferelden delegation, but Varric should be with them." I said. "His money will scare off anyone who objects to my presence."

"Let's hope so." Zatris grinned, "Be a shame to get blood on your outfit before the Mother and the Pirate are done fighting over who gets to remove it."

Trevalyan turned pink, Petrice rolling her eyes as the carriage slowed to a stop... though there was some color to her cheeks as well. "One would think you a jester, rather than a warrior, Ser Zatris. I shall see you later this evening, lords, ladies."

Zatris waited until she slid outside before smirking at me, "You know, lady, if you just-"

"Shut it." I told him, following Elowen when she got up and made for the door. "We all know you put money on her when Merrill's odds plummeted."

Nethon snorted, elbowing his friend, the two men emerging behind me once I was outside.

What looked like half of the city's Guard were standing watch all around, while an army of servants worked on getting the city's lamp posts lit. More carriages were coming and going, dropping off nobles both Human and Dwarven, though none of theirs had Templar drivers.

Nor did any of them have Templar escorts; our driver giving the reigns to a Human servant, forming up with the other behind our party while Trevelyan scurried out front. She led us up a grand stairwell packed with the rich and noble of Kirkwall. Most were slowly heading up, but plenty seemed content to chat and enjoy the cool air for a while longer.

We followed the squire, and made it about twenty steps before a dwarf wearing a suit cut in at least seven different shades of blue witnessed our approach.

He burst out laughing at once, holding up a goblet as we passed. "Now that is a statement. Luck in there, Lady Long Ears!"

Elowen pressed her lips together, while I gave him a mocking nod, "Thanks. Luck yourself, Deshyr Short Round."

The probable-Deshyr kept up his chortling, but the damage was already done.

His outburst had drawn all of the eyes to us. We'd been supposed to arrive with most of the rest of Kirkwall's lower nobility, and the politics on display were anything but subtle. The Nouveau Riche were dressed just a little more casually, their outfits darker, and were quicker to laugh or hold up wine glasses in salute at our appearance.

The message of our outfits was clearly lost on no one. Good.

The old nobility, on the other hand, were more blatant in their attempts to look Orlesian. Obnoxiously bright colors, beards tied with ribbons, overdone hairstyles, and each and every one of them was wearing a gaudy mask.

Oh. And they were sneering at us, pointing at us, or otherwise indicating their rank disgust.

"Lady." Elowen said very quietly, our pace slowing as we neared the back of the line slowly shuffling its way indoors. "What do we do?"

I glanced around, hummed once, then shrugged. "Earlier than I thought, but we have to show them we're not prey."

"...if you're sure." She murmured, sounding very unsure herself. Probably because she was down a hand, and as capable as they were, Zatris and Nethon were archers first and formost. "We won't be alone at least. There's a duel in the courtyard already."

I glanced back, nodding slightly at the sight of two Orelsians crossing blades while a crowd formed a circle around them.

"Good. Not unusual then." Turning forward again, I swept my gaze over the crowd before picking my target. "Make eye contact with the inbred on your left. The one in the yellow... whatever the hell that's supposed to be. Pretty sure I can make a statement out of him for us."

Elowen calmly turned, staring down a man with a rather weak chin. He'd tried to hide it beneath a scraggly beard, but was only drawing attention to it. His lips curled below a gaudy silver and emerald mask, responding to merely being looked at faster than I could have hoped.

"Look at the filthy knife ears." He barked with an Orlesian accent so put upon it had to be fake. "How they mock us! I can't believe Dumar allows this farce to continue!"

Elowen surprised me by speaking up before I could. "Look at the inbred shems, mindlessly copying Orlais. You'd think a true Marcher would have the pride to break free from Imperial fashions."

Mister Weak-Chin promptly reddened like a tomato, an impression that only got worse when I burst out laughing. When several of the better dressed nobles around him snickered and saluted Elowen for the verbal touche, he actually spat at her feet and stepped down a stair.

"You dare!? I demand satisfaction!" His shout made everyone else go silent. What few people hadn't already been staring at our party quickly turned, watching the show. "Or will you hide behind that fool Dumar's Templar thugs?"

Petrice had been coaching Elowen up on how to speak to nobles, and it showed when she replied.

"I accept your challenge." She said, her voice calm though I saw the sweat on the back of her neck. She really wasn't comfortable talking back to rich, powerful Humans. She was doing a good job of hiding it, but it was clearly a struggle to overcome thirty years of life experience. "Alas, I cannot meet you personally for I have lost my sword-arm defending this city from Abominations. Dame Maeve? Would you honor me in this?"

More snickers and approving noises came as I stepped forward, casually drawing my sword. "I shall be your proxy, my lady. The Lord of the Weak Chin seems to have both his hands. Will he duel me himself, or will he cower behind a champion?"

His lips pulled back from his teeth. Steel sounded as he pulled his own sword free, the crowd quickly backing away from us all as best they could on the wide stairwell. "When I am victorious, you pathetic creatures shall return to your pen."

"I like your mask." I told him, "It's mine when I am victorious. Squire Trevelyan? Could you please call the start?"

"I..." The poor girl hesitated, she'd probably had orders to make sure something like this didn't happen, but with more than fifty nobles staring her down she gave in quickly. "...by the laws of the city, first blood shall end the duel. Agreed?"

"Yes." He growled.

"Yep."

"Three. Two. One. Begin!"

The idiot had already shifted his weight, telegraphing the immediate lunge that he fell into when she called the start. I brought my blade up in a quick parry, stepping in and slamming a savage beat down near the hilt of his blade before he could recover.

His shitty grip couldn't withstand the impact. Fingers sprang open in pain, sword clattering to the steps, his mouth falling open when I whipped my follow-up across his face.

Blood fell from the neat cut on his narrow chin. The only sound his weapon clattering its way down the stairs before a man casually stepped on the hilt to stop its noise.

"Blood drawn." I injected as much boredom as I could into my voice, while still making sure it carried. "That was a lot less fun than I hoped."

More chuckles and muted applause sounded, several Deshyrs adding their deep voices to the chorus.

"You... I..." He staggered, a hand snapping up to his jaw. "Cheater! You must have-"

One of our Templars, the one from the back board, strode forward and ripped his mask off. A young man's voice emerged from the helm, "The lady disarmed and cut you in two moves, serrah. If she wished you dead, you would be. The duel is complete, and her honor remains intact. Unlike yours."

Watery blue eyes glared death at me... then another, older looking man with similar features below his own mask grabbed his shoulder. "Brother. You shame our house."

Weak-chin was yanked away without ceremony after that, vanishing into the crowd.

"Lady." The Templar turned, offering me the mask as the crowd settled down, buzzing about what had just happened. "Your trophy."

I snorted, carefully flicking the bit of blood off my sword before sheathing it. "Honestly I was just going to smash it under my heel for the symbolism. You might as well keep it. I'm sure a merchant will give you a good price for it."

He chuckled, bowing. "I will split the proceeds with my unit, messere. Thank you."

Zatris slid up next to me as we all resumed the slow trek up the stairs, finding the line much reduced.

"So much for not drawing attention." He murmured. "That's going to be the first of many, tonight."

"Doubt it." I whispered back. "Meredith's inside, and everyone knows we're in her favor. We just need to get through the doors without someone with actual talent picking a fight with us."

He grunted, thumping his cane harder on the next step, "Maybe, but you're not staying near the Knight-Commander. I don't blame you, but... be safe, lady. The insults are going to get far worse than that, and your skin is extremely thin these days."

I couldn't really argue with him. Not when I knew it was true.

"See if anyone recognizes that idiot when you get a chance." I told him quietly. "Don't think they're going to be the types to accept getting beaten in public by an Elf."

"Definitely not. I'll see what I can hear."

"Thanks."

We fell silent when we finally arrived at the main entrance. Double fortunately, while we had Dumar and Meredith's favor, we weren't important enough to actually announce. Bypassing the crier, we got to plunge right into the thick of a Ball that was still in the stand-around-and-talk phase of its existence.

Trevelyan led us around the edges, right to where Meredith was looking incredibly uncomfortable in fancy red robes rather than her usual armor. Surrounding her were several other Templars, while a very unhappy looking First Enchanter was scowling into his wine at her side. A few other mages were drinking nearby as well, each one clearly possessing a Templar minder right beside them.

Giving Elowen a final encouraging pat on the shoulder, I split off before they reached the group, not about to inject myself into that mess.

Unfortunately being a few hairs above five feet tall makes it extremely difficult to find anyone in a crowd. Especially when that someone is a dwarf just those same few hairs shorter than me.

Fortunately there were plenty of raised balconies for me to pick from, any one of which would give me a good view down onto the floor. Assuming Varric and Hawke were down here, and not up on one of those.

...and back to unfortunately, without a group and an escort, my black-everything outfit was drawing all of the attention.

I picked the nearest such man staring at me, the Mabari stitched into his vest hopefully indicating a Ferelden origin. "What? You've never seen someone mock Orlesian nonsense before?"

He blinked a few times, then chuckled. "Never an elf, and never quite so blatantly contrary. The King is going to adore it."

"I aim to please. Sometimes." I gave him a little wave as we moved past each other, resting a hand on the hilt of my sword. I already had my next target. "Sarand. Give me wine or give me death."

The young Elven man in a servant's uniform grinned, bowing as he offered me a choice of the glasses on his tray. I took the fullest, holding it up in salute, "Thanks."

"Our pleasure lady." His voice lowered, feet deliberately slow as he moved to step around me. "The Madame de Fer is asking about Elven nobles. She is very angry tonight."

Probably because poor Viv was stuck slumming it with the 'Vints outside of the city's walls. And, if she was here already, it meant that Dumar had refused to allow her the honor of an announcement.

Heh.

"Thanks." I murmured around my glass, "Another report at the top of the hour."

He nodded, the pair of us casually parting. I kept my eyes moving after that, walking towards the nearest set of stairs. It was a good thing that I did; the racists weren't wasting any time tonight.

Another Orlesian, or wannabe Orlesian, had already spotted me despite my diminutive stature. A gloved hand was on his own dress sword, the blue ribbons in his long hair trailing him as he strode purposefully in my direction.

Grimacing around a quick swallow of wine, I picked up the pace as best my short legs would allow. Bravado in front of the others or not, I really wasn't up for dueling with Chevaliers. Not in a fair fight like this. It was all too likely that I would lose, and they would 'accidentally' hit something vital in the process.

A brief parting in the crowd let me see what I'd been looking for; a collection of Dwarves all gathered together in the far corner, with a scattering of Humans among them.

And one of those Humans was definitely Carver Hawke. Even at a distance it was easy to tell that Junior was built like few I'd seen in either world. He probably could have gone pro as a tight end in the NFL, and was absolutely towering over the dwarves around him.

The woman beside him was clearly tall for a girl, but compared to her brother, Hawke herself looked positively petite.

I kept a half an eye on the man chasing me, watched as he was temporarily slowed by a group of women from another March, and kept my lead until the I ran into the outer cordon of the Merchant's Guild.

"Varric?" I asked the nearest, a dwarven woman wearing approximately nine million shades of red.

She waved an arm toward the Hawke's, "Has a new audience for his tales. Good luck getting him to shut up. Who's your friend?"

"Someone looking to arrange an accident I think." I slipped past her.

"Luck." She called to my back.

Said luck held just long enough. The Chevalier, and he definitely was one from his build and balanced prowl, was nearly close enough to grab me when I managed to put a hand on Varric's shoulder from behind.

"Buzz!" He grinned, quickly sliding an arm around my shoulders, pulling me over. "About time! Was just telling Hawke how grateful I was you talked me into inviting her to stay at my place. Marian Hawke, this is my good friend Maeve. Maeve, Hawke."

I saw the Chevalier slide to a stop, scowling beneath his mustache. I turned away when he began to back off, looking at Hawke to...

...all right. What the actual fuck was up with Thedas?

Hawke was at least as gorgeous as Isabella. You could run her down like a check-list of perfection. Eyes? So blue the practically glowed. Hair? Lightly tousled and looking natural that way. Lips? Soft and curling in a natural smirk. Skin? Flawless apart from the red birthmark stretching from her cheek to nose, and even that just gave her a dangerous edge.

"Charmed." The protagonist of Dragon Age Two grinned while I fought to keep myself from staring. Or drooling.

While I had resisted giving her the elevator eyes, beyond noticing that she was wearing a purple and blue suit style outfit, apparently Hawke didn't feel such restraint. She slid her gaze up and down me not once, but twice, "Well now. You're either going to start an entirely new trend in fashion, or be murdered for so deliberately going against the Court's style."

"The Orlesians were going to try and kill me anyway." I found my voice in reply, "So I figured why not go all in on insulting them. Besides, black's my color."

"It certainly is." Hawke grinned. "So. Really a Knight then?"

Varric chortled, "Entirely against her will, I assure you. Buzz has even less patience for the noble lifestyle than you do."

Carver entered the conversation with a snort, "Hard to believe, that. I'm Carver by the way."

"Maeve." I held my glass up in salute, and saw him do the same. "Wasn't there a third Hawke?"

The question drew a scowl to Carver's face, though he covered it up with a quick sip of wine. Hawke's own smile dimmed a few degrees, but she still sounded relaxed when she replied, "Bethany and Greg decided to remain at home with mother. It's not all bad, let us travel light, like the old days."

...fuck. The had-to-be-from-Earth guy wasn't here? Dammit!

"True enough." Carver glanced between Varric and I again. "How much of his tales about the Deep Roads are shit? He wouldn't shut up about them all night yesterday, and I didn't believe a word of it."

I let out a quiet snort, recovering my balance. Hawke and Carver were here, that was good enough. And I even found myself liking Carver on first impression.

Which kind of surprised me. He'd never made much of an impact in the game. "Did he tell you the version with the dragons, the one with the rock wraiths, or the one with the demon horde?"

"All of the above." Hawke snorted, eyeing him. "I knew you were bullshitting at least half of that."

Varric groaned, "Buzz, really? You're supposed to back me up on this. Tell them, there were at least five demons waiting for us in the end."

When the Hawkes glanced at me, I rolled my eyes. "One demon."

"Buzz!"

"It was eleven feet tall though, maybe twelve." I amended, shaking my head. "Varric, the thing could have crushed any of us like a grape in one hand. That doesn't really need any exaggerating."

"I'm sorry, which of us is the famous author, and which one can't tell a story to save her life?"

Hawke snickered merrily, Carver chuckling along with his sister.

Sadly our conversation ended there, a deep shout from the crier near the door ringing through the hall.

"Lords, Ladies, and Knights!" Silence slowly fell, everyone turning to the entrance. "It is our very great pleasure to announce King Allistair Theirin of Ferelden, Honorary Knight-Commander of the Templar Order, Warden of the Gray, Veteran of the Fifth Blight. Accompanying him is Grand Cleric Elthina of the Southern Free Marches."

Applause sounded as royalty entered, and the Grand Ball truly began.