#It's the correspective of receiving a shitty gift for Christmas and needing to smile and thank

[greypetrel]

Hello!

I left one prompt behind from @whiskynorocks and… I didn’t forgot, I just needed to keep this a little over and mull about it. I wanted to be a Coronation scene but eh. Of my characters, Alyra is the one I’m finding the most difficult to nail. But listen. Let’s wing it, I don’t know how good it’ll be but here you go.

Greis if you’re reading this: SHOO. THERE ARE SPOILERS, SHOO.

Tis the prompt list

Another card up her sleeve.

14. “I’m not going to let anyone hurt you."

The palace was at full capacity for the joint ceremony, both the coronation of the new king and the celebration for the end of the Blight, and whatever building and room was left standing in Denerim had been filled to the brim. It was as if the city was finally catching its breath, still much in shambles but not able to wait to turn page and begin a new chapter. A peaceful chapter, one of reconstruction and building, with a new king on the throne. A king who saved the realm from a Blight and fought against an Archdemon for them, a good one, one of the people.

She would have gladly done without the grand celebration for a victory they told it was hers and didn’t feel completely so, added to the coronation itself. It felt like a pointless show off. There was so much to be done, and she would have preferred to be up and about cleaning the Alienage from rubble, more than dressing up and be forced to partake into another pointless show.

Nonetheless, she had promised Alistair -still unaware of her intentions, but he had a lot of other things to mull over - that she would be there for his coronation, so ditching everything really wasn’t an option. She planned on skipping his marriage, that she did. With Morrigan gone without even a proper goodbye, she couldn’t bear to see him exchange vows with Anora. Anora who was the queen, Anora who was politically shrewd and clever, Anora who hadn’t been humiliated asking for his hand in front of the Landsmeet, showing vulnerability for once and being harshly reminded that her ears were of the wrong shape. No, that she couldn’t do. Not even for Alistair.

But now, she had promised, and she had plans of her own for the coronation. So, she sucked a breath, ignored the nasty pain in her ribcage, and tied the blue kirtle over her bust, deftly tying the laces in a knot over her chest and smoothing imaginary wrinkles down. Wool dyed of a rich blue, Warden’s blue, lined in fur, with a hint of embroidery in white thread on the bodice forming flowers and leaves. She snorted, noticing now that Leliana -the one who insisted that she shouldn’t wear her armour but a fancy dress and ordered the damn thing for her- had asked for roses. Ironical, she thought, as she sad back and started braiding her hair and putting jewelry on.

If she had to lose time in putting up a show, she might as well do so in style, for once. She braided her hair, leaving two smaller ones in front of her face, to cover the barely healed scratches from the damn dragon, and collecting the rest in a complex games of plaits that ran from the top of her head down, over her shoulder. The red played a nice contrast over the white fur and the blue.

After all, that attire was as much an armour as her dragonskin gabardine, she thought, and what she was about to fight was as much as a battle as the one that she and her friends recently won. A battle with her pride at stake: she allowed Arl Eamon -that despicable man that she really should have left to die- outsmart her once, convincing her that putting a crown on Alistair’s head and marrying him off to the former queen was the only sensible solution. She had danced on his hand, and realised just later that he just used the both of them for his own purposes. That Anora would have been a good queen on her own. She had made a mistake, letting the old man convince her to indulge, after evading from Fort Drakon, in the irritation against Anora - who really had no choice, she later realised that in her shoes she would have done the very same.

She danced on his hand, she let him move her and Alistair like pawns once. She wouldn’t have allowed that to happen again. Alistair was too naïve, too attached to the idea of a family he never had -that was no family-, to see that Eamon didn’t care for him as a person. She wasn’t. She saw. She cared. And she would not leave her best friend, her lover, one of the parts of her heart, in the hands of Eamon Guerrin ever again, after putting a crown he never wanted on his head.

No.

Let the simple Dalish huntress she once had been definitely die, substitute her with this woman dressed in fancy clothes fitting for an Arlessa. The huntress had died long ago with Tamlen, after all.

Because as much pain and drama this year had brought… Alyra had to say that it suited her. The chance to do something substantial suited her well, and she revelled in it.

So, she schooled herself, slipped on some jewelry – some earrings covering the tips of her years in silverite, that Ashalle brought her from the clan and once belonged to her mother. One of Morrigan’s necklaces -a gift she once gave her, it brought a bittersweet memory but she needed it- on her neck, and the enchanted rings she wore with her armour, and she was ready to go.

Fashionably late, she heard some banns commenting on her entrance in the great hall, straight and proud with her chin held up high. She wasn’t fashionably late, she thought this whole ceremony was a ginormous loss of time, when the city lied in shambles. Morale could be gained better by full stomachs and roofs repaired before the winter came. She had to adapt to new rules, it didn’t mean that she couldn’t express that she thought they were stupid.

So, she stood in her assigned place, was the very image of property and professionalism, did whatever was expected from her in that ceremony, and even if she felt too many side glances on her, she didn’t care nor deigned one of undeserved attention. Contrary to most nobles there, she earned her place and was intelligent and competent enough for it. She had nothing to be shy of or to be questioned about.

Alistair was there, putting some real effort to be less clumsy as possible, as he kneeled down and the crown was put in place on his head, pronounced some vows, accepted the position Alyra had forced on him. The fleeting thought, when he rose up and all the crowd cheered and saluted him as king, that it really suited him, made him look less like a stray puppy and more like… Like what she saw in him whenever he allowed himself to forget humour and be serious, take some space for himself. He was beautiful, in the tragedy of that moment, dreams and hopes dying as he kneeled down a Warden and stood up as the King of Ferelden. And the responsibility was on her. She had done this to him. That two horrible people used her as well and moved her around like a pawn wasn’t an excuse. Nonetheless, the damage was done, and there was no turning back now. She prayed to Mythal that she saw right, and that he could grow to appreciate the role. Or that at least the burden of the crown would not have broken him for good.

All that she could do, now, was waiting for her turn to pledge her vow to the new king, and make it worth it. As the chamberlain announced Lady Mahariel, Commander of the Gray, Arlessa of Amaranthine and Hero of Ferelden, she gracefully stepped forward, walking in stride and taking all the eyes of the crowd on her with as much dignity as she could muster. She raised her gown with both hands to step on the dais, in that dainty way Leliana had shown her, and knelt in front of him, purposefully. The kneeling part was something she had protested, when both Guerrins decided to annoy her with formalities and instructions. She was a Grey Warden, she was apolitical, she wouldn’t have knelt. But, if she wanted the political title for Amaranthine, it was necessary. And that title was central to her plans. So, she thought now… If it was Alistair, and she worded her vow carefully…

“I, Alyra Mahariel Sabrae, Commander of the Grey, Arlessa of Amaranthine and Hero of Ferelden, promise on my faith to pledge my sword and loyalty…” She casted a sideway glance to Eamon, who was standing a little further back the throne, and smirked at him. The traditional oath wanted her to pledge fealty to the crown, but she had a better idea, that honestly even solved the conundrum of Grey Wardens needing to be outside of politics. “…to king Alistair Theirin, first of his name. I swear to never cause him harm and to observe my homage to him completely against all persons in good faith and without deceit.”

She could hear murmurs raising from behind her, for the unorthodoxy of her vow. Not as loud as she would have feared, which was good and gave her a good idea of how strong her position actually was at court. Eamon’s firey glance, which she felt more than saw, only made her surer in what she was doing. Oh, she would have worn that angry glare like the most precious of jewels, she thought as she kissed the ring on Alistair’s right hand, as was custom to seal the oath.

She had one more thing to tell him, tho. Before the rest of the celebrations brought them apart, she had some more words and some more oaths. Which were just for him, just for the two of them. They hadn’t really spoken in the last days, they hadn’t parted in the best of ways, and he didn’t know whether she planned on staying or not. So, as he motioned to slip his hand away, clearing his throat in that way that she knew meant that he was getting flustered, she clenched her fingers over his, keeping him there and leaning forward to him, gaze fixed in his.

“I promise also that you’ll always have me by your side. Should you want or need one, I’ll always be an ally, for you.” She lowered her voice, and she didn’t care if people were staring. “You’ll never be alone shouldn’t you wish to, and I am not going to let anyone hurt you, not anymore. This I promise.”

It was personal, it was intimate, it was an echo of things she already told him, once, when they shared a tent and he told her more about his story and fears, quietly and softly in the deep of night. It was an echo, and yet it was as true as the first time she told him. From his expression, he felt it too: from the longing in his eyes, he knew. What was still to be said, was whether he really believed she committed. But for that, she still had a card up her sleeve, ready to be played before evening fell.

She bowed her head, letting go of his hand, finally, and raising up to return to her place. Bann Teagan, up in the first row of seats, casted her an inquisitive glance, not very benevolent, and she replied in tow, glaring back. She saved his village when he could not, she had no reasons to care for his opinion.

She stood back, so straight she looked taller, majestic and an imposing presence. So much so that nobody dared to speak to her. It was good.

It was good, when she was called back on the dais for her part of the ceremony, as the new king was properly greeted, and Alistair offered her a boon.

There were no murmurs, but proper gasps, when she refused to grant lands to the Dalish, and chose to stay and serve the crown, as a Chancellor in the King’s private council. Alistair smirked at that, a glint of amusement -Alyra hoped it was happiness too, but she didn’t want to illude herself- in his eyes as he ignored Eamon’s protests and granted the boon to her. She smirked right back, bowing her head in a thank you.

As if she ever believed that gifting to the Dalish the lands more hit by the Blight was ever meant to be a real boon and not just a pacification. As she turned back, both Eamon and Teagan, from one side to the other, were livid. Anora, on the contrary, was smirking to, the faintest respect in her eyes.

Yes, she thought, it wouldn’t have been half bad, after all.