#anyla lavellan

They were seated together in a canopied box of the newly constructed stands, centered where they would have the best view of the tourney’s events and proceedings. As the host of the tourney, Anyla’s seat was front and center, placing her within eyesight of nearly every person in the stands or on the tourney fields. On her right, Cullen sat in a new dress uniform, within easy reach should she ever wish to hold his hand or gossip with him, which was frequently. Josephine sat at her left, looking as gorgeous and regal as ever, watching the proceedings with a soft feathered fan in her hand. Beyond and behind them sat envoys from all over Thedas, ambassadors from nearly every nation on the continent, including Antiva, Rivain, and the Anderfels. Tevinter had even sent a representative—or, more accurately, Dorian had invited himself, eager to escape Tevinter politics for a moment and spend time with the Iron Bull.

He sat now with Bull in a section of the box off to her left. Some of Bull’s Chargers had entered the tourney, led by Krem, who had gotten decently far ahead in the hand-to-hand combat event before ultimately getting bested by a Rivaini fighter. Blackwall, Cassandra, Varric, and Sera sat not far off, spending the majority of the event debating the strengths and weaknesses of the champions in each event. Vivienne was seated elsewhere, among some of the Orlesian courtiers and mage representatives, a personal canopy constructed for her use, while Cole was…somewhere. Anyla had lost track of him sometime mid-morning, but she trusted he was fine. He usually was.

Solas, of course, was nowhere to be seen. She had wondered, as they were organizing the event, if he would find such displays amusing and frivolous, or scorn them for wasting time, effort, and resources. She didn’t know. And with him gone for over a year now, she had no way of asking him.

Aside from him, most of her companions had gathered again for the tourney, drawn there by her invitation or a personal interest in witnessing the proceedings. The only one who had declined was Leliana who, as the new Divine Victoria, was far too busy to attend any events not directly related to the Chantry. She had expressed her regrets to them in a letter and said to inform her of the winners, as well as update her on any interesting gossip they might overhear while the events were ongoing. No doubt Charter and Scout Harding, who were both present and seated in the stands, had received similar requests.

There were plenty of people for them to watch or spy on. Josephine had marketed the event as the height of the social season, a chance to test the mettle of the famous (or infamous) Inquisition, and a chance to win rewards the likes of which most tourney champions could only dream of. Win the tourney, and the victor could ask any boon of the Inquisitor herself—within reason, of course.

It had gained more attention than they’d anticipated. Chevaliers from Orlais, knights from Ferelden, tourney veterans from the Marches, they had expected them to participate. They had not anticipated that warriors and rogues from other parts of Thedas would arrive to join the events, too.

Competition was steep, but their chosen representative, Briony, had held her own. She was the undisputed jousting champion, having earned more victories there than in the war games that kicked off the tourney the day before or the tests of skills that allowed warriors and rogues to show off particular talents, such as archery. While she hadn’t disappointed in any event, each major event had funneled down to one champion each, leaving them with a set of finalists—each of them fighting for some reward they had not yet named or made known.

It was a welcome change to the days when they were the enemies of nearly every kingdom and organization in Thedas. Now the Inquisition was hailed as heroes. Now, battles could be held with rules in place to prevent unnecessary deaths or injuries, with healers on standby to patch up the participants and plenty of food and drink to satisfy both spectator and combatant. The Inquisition was no longer vested in the arts of war on a grand scale. The tourney was merely a series of games, and nothing was at stake save for one’s reputation and a chance at a reward others could only dream of.

If Anyla were honest with herself, she was enjoying the tourney, even with its violent melees and intense combat. It was a different kind of adrenaline, but one that felt safe with the promise of a return to normal soon after. She was half tempted to host a tourney every year, since this one was going so well.

Briony, oblivious to their gossip, stood in her saddle to bow to them, crossing one arm over her chest in a salute. Anyla waved back with a smile while Cullen nodded in acknowledgement of the bow. “She’s too good at this,” Anyla said. “I’m glad she agreed to compete.”

“As am I. I can’t think of anyone who could have done better.”

She elbowed him lightly in the side. “You could, for one.”

Cullen snorted softly, but said nothing. It was a conversation they’d already had, more than once, and she still hadn’t changed his opinion. Not even when she had pulled out the ultimate trump card, a wide-eyed pout that often had him caving to her every desire. Try as she might, she couldn’t get him to participate as the champion of the Inquisition.

She had teased and pleaded with Cullen to enter the tourney, but he had abjectly refused and held his ground. It wasn’t proper for the Commander of the Inquisition to participate in the actual events, he argued. Either he would bring embarrassment on her if he failed, something she personally felt was probably impossible, or they might be accused of rigging the events in his favor should he win too easily, a point she couldn’t deny, even as she suspected he had consulted with Josephine before coming up with such an answer. So they had agreed to appoint Briony as the champion instead. A safe choice in victory and in loss.

She watched Briony as she guided her horse effortlessly around the perimeter of the tourney field, waving to those who cheered and fluttered handkerchiefs, ribbons, and flowers in her direction. Anyla smirked slightly, glancing again at Cullen. “Shall we place bets? Whether our Briony will stay with us or accept someone else’s offer?”

Cullen shook his head with a smile. “I know better than to bet against you. But I believe Briony is loyal to the Inquisition. She won’t go anywhere else.”

“You ought to give her another raise.”

He raised his eyebrows at her. “Is the reward of winning the tourney today not enough?”

Anyla shrugged, looping her arm around his and leaning against his arm briefly as she watched Briony wave to the crowd again and turn to bow to the chevalier she had just defeated in the final jousting round. He returned her bow stiffly before limping off the field. “Depends on what she asks for. You know her. I can’t see her asking for a pile of gold.”

“Perhaps not, but at least I know that whatever she will ask for would be more sensible than what anyone else might demand.”

“The Inquisition has safeguards and limits in place to avoid anyone using their boon to take advantage of us,” Josephine said, fanning herself lightly with her feathered fan. “And you may reject any champion’s request if you deem it unsuitable, of course, Inquisitor.”

“Of course. It's just too bad our Commander refused to participate,” Anyla said. She gave a theatric sigh and patted his arm. “I would have granted you any boon you asked for, Cullen.”

He glanced sidelong at her, amusement crinkling the corners of his eyes. “What more could I ask of you that you haven’t already granted?”

Anyla could think of a few things, but she didn’t voice them now. With Briony having officially won the joust event, it was time for the grand finale of the tourney—a final melee upon the tourney field, with no restrictions on weapons, tactics, or fighting style. Victory would be won by incapacitating your opponent, rather than by first blood. The last warrior standing would be the ultimate victor, the champion of the tourney, granted the Inquisitor’s boon, whatever it may be.

As Josephine stood to announce the event and explain the rules, Briony took her place on the field next to the four other champions of the other events. The other Orlesian, Marcher, and Ferelden participants had been defeated one by one, leaving only those from elsewhere in Thedas as the remaining champions. Together, they made an eclectic and diverse group.

The first was a Nevarran dragon hunter, a lord from somewhere Anyla couldn’t remember, but who’d claimed family ties to the Van Markhams. Lord Auerbach had earned his place as a champion during the beast-fighting event, single-handedly taking down many of the gurguts, lukers, phoenixes, and even giants that had been captured and released into the arena one or two at a time. He had openly complained that there were not more monster-fighting events at the tourney, saying that it was a waste of his skills to best “mere men” on a battlefield when he was more accustomed to subduing dangerous beasts. According to him, had the Inquisition been prudent enough to capture a dragon for sport at the tourney, his victory over it would earn him the Inquisitor’s boon in one fell swoop.

That’s what Scout Harding had reported, in any case, when doing rounds among the champions’ tents. Anyla had no reason to doubt her testimony. She disliked the man on sight.

The other champions were less obnoxious, but no less skilled. The next was a dusky elven rogue from Antiva, who moved with such effortless grace that Anyla was certain he must be an Antivan Crow. His dark leather armor did little to dispel the suspicion, and he had given his name only as Lucio. Though he had several throwing daggers sheathed at his sides and across his chest, he had won a place as a final-round champion by besting all others in archery. He listened to Josephine explain the rules of the final melee with his head cocked to one side, idly running his finger up and down the bowstring of his bow as if contemplating how best to use it in the upcoming fight.

On his right stood a dwarven warrior from the Anderfels, a formidable woman who hefted a large war hammer on her shoulder as though it weighed nothing at all. Revka of Laysh looked tough enough to be a Grey Warden, and had journeyed the farthest out of all the participants to be there. She had won the war games at the start of the tourney, leading the charge on horseback as her group, made up of fighters randomly selected and sorted into one of four teams, clashed with the three other “armies” on the large field outside the tourney ring. Out of the confusion, only she remained standing and armed with her weapon. She was a force to be reckoned with, and Anyla couldn’t help but hope it was she who might humble the mighty dragon-hunter with a hammer to his kneecaps.

She pressed her lips together to stop a smile. Perhaps the tourney had made her a little bloodthirsty, now that she thought about it.

The final champion was the winner of the personal combat event, a tall, dark-skinned woman from Rivain named Kalanda. Her colorful clothing jingled with gold chains, baubles, and bangles every time she moved and her hair was tightly braided in long twists, which she kept bound back with more gold jewelry. It was she who had bested Krem in the final match, disarming him faster than anyone Anyla had ever seen going up against the Charger lieutenant. Krem had looked a little starstruck when he left the battlefield, the defeat apparently forgotten, or at least assuaged by the fact that it was delivered by the skilled hands (and blades) of an intimidatingly beautiful, tall woman.

Anyla was almost sad they had to fight. Aside from Lord Auerbach, perhaps, she would have much preferred to swap stories with each of the champions, trading tales of her adventures with their descriptions of Rivain, Antiva, the Anderfels, or Nevarra. But that wasn’t why they were here today. Each one of them wanted something from her, and they intended to fight to the bitter end for it.

“As you know,” Josephine said, wrapping up her instructions and explanations, “the winner of this final melee may ask the Inquisitor for any boon. If it is in the Inquisitor’s power to grant such a boon, she will do so.” She paused, looking over each of the champions, and then offered them a polite smile. “Are there any questions before we begin?”

Revka tilted her head. “How do we know whether what we ask for is something the Inquisitor can grant us?” she called, her voice carrying over the grounds with ease. “No use in fighting for something if we can’t get the thing we want most.”

Josephine glanced at Anyla, who considered the question. She stood and joined Josephine at the edge of the box. “There are no guarantees in a thing like this,” she said, “but if you want to voice your request now, in front of your competitors and those of us watching, you can.”

Revka frowned, but said nothing. Either she hadn’t thought of a boon yet, or she was unwilling to share her idea lest someone come up with something more ambitious, outplaying her. The others seemed equally unwilling.

Lord Auerbach, however, stepped forward and bowed. “Ambassador Montilyet, Inquisitor Lavellan, if I may? I applaud the efforts you have made to ensure this tourney is the grandest event of the age. Doubtless even the right to claim the title of champion at the end of the day is reward enough. But if I may offer a suggestion…?” He inclined his head deferentially toward them, but beneath his helmet, his eyes looked sharp.

“What is your suggestion, Lord Auerbach?” Josephine asked.

“Let us establish the reward before the melee. Let it be something that you swear to grant now, regardless of who wins.”

Josephine’s eyebrows drew together briefly before she mastered her expression. “You mean for us to settle on one specific reward?”

“Think of it as an attempt at fairness,” he said. “It wouldn’t do for the Inquisitor to agree to grant one of us a boon worth less than what another may request. The rewards should be equal. The best way to do that is to decide it now and come to an agreement on something we all want.”

Lucio and Revka nodded. Briony looked a little uncomfortable, but kept her silence, waiting for Anyla or Josephine to answer. Kalanda narrowed her eyes first at Lord Auerbach before pinning her gaze on Anyla, her dark eyes intense. It was clear he had captured the other champions’ interest, if not their agreement on the details of his arrangement.

Anyla could see the merits of the Nevarran’s argument. Briony would be just as likely to dedicate her victory to the Inquisition and accept only a reasonable monetary reward as she was to demand something of impressive value, but Anyla had no way of knowing the heights to which the others might aspire to. Josephine had warned her that granting “any boon” may include steep favors, diplomatic negotiations that risked their lands or holdings, or contracts that could place the Inquisition at a disadvantage, if they were not careful. Settling on a simple monetary award now would make everything easier.

She nodded to Josephine, who turned to pick up her writing board and dip the quill into the inkwell at the top. She readied the quill over a fresh piece of paper. “Name your terms, Lord Auerbach. If the others agree, we will make the necessary arrangements.”

Caught in his own rising temper, Cullen barely registered the reactions of the crowds. Their whispers turned to murmurs, and then into a full roar as everyone openly voiced their opinions and reactions to the matter. They debated the appropriateness of the request, the timing of it, the scandal, the promise, the romance, the intrique, their words unintelligible but their interest palpable. Suddenly everyone was looking between Anyla and the champions, and then at Cullen.

He didn't care. It was an open secret among the Inquisition and now most of Orlais and Ferelden that he and Anyla were happily immersed in a long-standing relationship. It hadn’t stopped every damned noble from acting as though one or both of them were still up for grabs, however, simply because they were both unmarried, much to Cullen’s increasing frustration. Clearly this Nevarran lord was cut from the same cloth, overreaching in attempts to gain the Inquisitor for himself.

Even Anyla appeared to be stunned. She stood with her mouth slightly agape, at an utter loss for words. Cullen glanced her way once before glaring down again at Lord Auerbach, his hands clenched around the banister. A lesser man would have cowered—many had, under such a glare—but the Nevarran lord merely laughed, sending another spark of irritation crackling through Cullen’s skull.

“Commander Cullen Rutherford, I hadn’t seen you there,” he said, bowing yet again. “You must have been hiding in the Inquisitor’s shadow. As you do.”

“Mind your tongue,” Cullen growled between gritted teeth. He strengthened voice with the deep, loud tones of a commanding general. “You’ve chosen the wrong venue to make such a demand. If you were my recruit, I’d have you beaten and tossed out.”

“Ah, but I'm not your soldier, Commander. I am your equal. As are my opponents,” he added, gesturing to the other champions. “Any one of us would be worthy of the Inquistor, especially after proving ourselves in the Inquisition’s tourney. Or do you mean to insinuate that the victor is somehow less than a member of the Inquisitor’s inner circle?”

Cullen ground his teeth together, struggling to maintain his composure. “You know perfectly well what I’m referring to, Auerbach. You’re here as a guest of the Inquisition, yet you make insane demands and try to twist our words. You should count yourself lucky the Inquisitor hasn’t thrown you out herself.”

Instead, she had remained silent, looking back and forth between them as they traded jabs and glowers. She could simply say no—why hadn’t she?

Lord Auerbach rubbed his chin beneath his plumed helmet. “Insane demands, you say.” He turned to the other champions. “Is it insane to want to marry one of the most powerful women in Thedas?”

Lucio smirked. “If it is, I wonder what that says about…other interested parties present here today.”

The wood creaked in protest as Cullen’s hands clenched around the railing, a hot flush of anger creeping up his neck. “That isn’t what I—”

Kalanda crossed her arms, resolutely silent, but Revka tapped her fingers against the handle of her hammer with a thoughtful look. “It is a tempting offer, if I am honest,” she said with a shrug. “One I would not lightly turn down if it were offered to me.” Beside her, Lucio nodded, tilting his head again as he studied Anyla.

“You’re all mad,” Briony said, taking a step back. She whirled to face Anyla, appealing to her directly. “Inquisitor, don’t listen to them. We agreed that this tourney should be conducted honorably. If they wish to be selfish bastards—”

“Such language, and from one of the Inquisition’s own.” Lord Auerbach tutted, shaking his head. “Then again, with a Commander such as yours…”

Briony’s sword was out of her scabbard in an instant. “Insult the Commander again, I dare you.”

“Knight-Captain, stand down!” Cullen snapped, even as pride bloomed in his chest for his friend. She could have taken Auerbach’s head clean off his shoulders within seconds if she had not held back—and he had been tempted to let her try. Briony clenched her jaw and forced her arm down, but kept her sword free of the scabbard. Cullen, meanwhile, leaned over the railing to glare at the Nevarran again. “Auerbach, if you take issue with me, we can settle this on the dueling grounds.”

“I have no quarrel with you specifically,” Lord Auerbach said, bowing again. Every bow seemed more mocking each time. “However, I am no fool. I know that if anything stands between victory at the tourney today and the prize that I and my fellow champions desire, it’s you.”

“I’m right here,” Anyla muttered under her breath.

“Then refuse him and be done with it,” Cullen ground out between clenched teeth. She shot him a look, eyebrows raised, but said nothing.

“Inquisitor,” Josephine murmured, leaning close to her, “this is getting out of hand. We must resolve this quickly, before anyone does anything rash.” At the last words, she cut her eyes to Cullen, who ignored her pointed look.

“He means to make a mockery of this whole tourney with his demands,” he muttered under his breath. Down below, in the field, he caught a hint of Auerbach’s satisfied smirk beneath his helmet as he crossed his arms over his dragon-skin armor, waiting for their response. Cullen turned to Anyla, one hand still gripping the banister as if he were trying to choke the life out of it, and kept his voice low. “One more word from him against you and I swear I will enter this bout myself.”

Anyla had just taken in a breath to respond, only to pause. She stared at him, lips slightly parted, light blue eyes fixed on him. To his slight dismay, he saw the beginnings of an idea stir in her mind, in the way her expression shifted. She looked down at Lord Auerbach again, then at the other champions, and finally at Josephine.

Then she snapped her mouth closed and folded her hands on the banister.

“Inquisitor?” Josephine asked.

“Lord Auerbach, let me get this straight,” Anyla called down to him. “You want to fight for the sole reward of my hand in marriage? Knowing, I assume, that I am already involved with another man?”

Involved. Cullen didn't particularly like the way she had phrased it, unable to stop a baffled, wounded look in her direction, but he couldn’t deny that’s more or less what it was these days. They weren’t married. To say they were courting made it sound more distant than it was, as though they only saw each other on formal occasions and in the company of chaperones. They were lovers, but there was no shame or suggestion that they had anything to hide, as the term might otherwise imply. More than that, his heart was devoted solely to her and she had always, always made him feel as though she felt the same.

That hadn’t changed…had it?

Surely not.

Lord Auerbach unfolded his arms. “I see no reason why your involvement with anyone else should affect the prize,” he said. “I’ve heard many tales about your supposed relationship with Commander Cullen. The Herald of Andraste and a Templar who left the Holy Order. The Inquisitor and her Commander. It’s all very…romantic.” He seemed to sneer the word, but his eyes weren’t on her when he said it. They were on Cullen. Then he smoothed over his expression and faced Anyla again. “Fear not, I am not so bold to think I can win the Inquisitor’s affections. But marriage, that is another matter entirely. Should I, or any of my fellow champions here, win the tourney, I’m sure we could negotiate arrangements that suit all parties.”

Cullen choked on his own words, unable to string together a coherent sentence. Lord Auerbach didn’t seem to notice. He put a hand over his heart and bowed his head deferentially again.

“I can be a generous man. Unlike some.” Here he cut his eyes to Cullen. “The…three of us could surely live in harmony…so long as you call your Ferelden dog to heel on occasion.”

Amid the tantalized whispers and gasps form the spectators, the final thread of Cullen’s patience snapped. He drew his sword, pointing it out and down toward Auerbach, just as Briony lifted her sword to level it with Auerbach’s neck, though she was several paces away. “Maker help me, I swear I'll cut out that tongue of yours if you say another word!”

Anyla put a hand on his arm. “Cullen—”

“Anyla, I refuse to sit here and let this man insult you, the Inquisition, or myself,” he said, keeping his glare and the point of his sword fixed on Auerbach. “If Auerbach is too cowardly to duel me directly for your hand, then I will enter the tourney myself.”

The implications of his words struck him immediately, as her breath hitched in her throat and as the spectators in the stands erupted into more tittering and whispering. But it was too late to take them back now.

He didn’t tear his eyes away from Auerbach. He’d issued the challenge. He wanted a response.

And he knew if he looked at Anyla, his composure would crumble entirely as he stammered to explain himself. This wasn’t the time. Not now that her hand in marriage was on the line.

Briony immediately dropped to one knee, plunging the tip of her sword into the ground and gripping the handle in both hands, like a prayer. “Inquisitor! If the Commander wishes to enter the melee, let it be in my stead. I will forfeit my place among the champions. If the prize is your hand, then I—”

“Done.”

Briony faltered and Cullen turned, surprised, to Anyla as gasps chorused along the stands. Done? Just like that?

Anyla was careful not to look at him, but at the champions down below. She lifted her chin, the way she did when she was assuming the commanding presence of the Inquisitor, and waited until the watching audience was quiet. All eyes were on her now. The only sounds to be heard were the muted, distant sounds of horses and voices in the camps outside the tourney grounds and the soft wind that came down from the Frostbacks to whip through the banners and flags that hung all around the stands. Cullen kept his sword pointed at Auerbach, but he watched Anyla, his breath caught in his throat, awaiting the verdict.

“The prize is set,” she said, raising her voice so the spectators could hear her. “All champions in the final round are fighting for the right to marry me as their grand reward.”

Cullen’s mouth fell open, shock rooting him to the spot, his arm still outstretched with his sword in hand. But it appeared Anyla wasn’t done yet. She smirked faintly before she mastered control of her expression, turning to Cullen.