Chapter 1: The World Turned Upside-Down

The Royal Palace of Ferelden, imposing and grand, although nothing she was unused to. There had been a time where She would have been impressed, but now, it was middling. Unremarkable.

As were its people, on the outside at least.

Morrigan could see through the gaps in her honour guard, a whole company of Grey Wardens in silverite plate and blue tunics, their winged helmets glistening light into her eyes every now and then. The drunken dwarf was in front, leading the procession, by some miracle both soberly and without smelling like a pig that had been left to ferment.

She saw those very Fereldans lining the route as she passed by, those very unremarkable people.

On the garlanded streets from the estate to the steps of the Palace, they were commoners of all stripes. Well-to-do merchants, journeymen and craftsmen, elvhen servants, all looking their best. Which wasn't great. Most seemed happy, a few sullen, a few angry. The latter did not act, not this day.

A strange pleasure shot through her on seeing how happy she had made them, like she had brightened their lives even a little. What a strange thought it was to have, she knew, for her at least.

Once she had climbed the steps and entered the Palace itself, the scenery and people changed. The high arched ceiling stretched over head, the building swallowing the procession like a great dragon.

Morrigan felt like she had been, anyway. The series of events that had led her to this place could not have been predicted. The inside of the 'dragon' was as fine as she remembered. Finely crafted wooden balconies, elaborately stitched carpets, chandeliers, fireplaces, and the dog sigil on all of them. Nothing compared to her recent experiences, but useful nonetheless.

The onlookers were 'better' now. Richer, noble, cleaner... but apeing the Orlesian fashions of yesterday, or following the traditional dress of their ancestors to the point of absurdity.

At least their faces were uncovered. There was no hiding how they felt. It was not the Fereldan way, and despite those feelings, it was refreshing after so long. The faces she saw were frowning, glaring, looking away when their eyes met hers, or wrinkled with mixed emotions and lack of certainty. It would do no good to stare at them. She elected look straight forward, to her destination. Her destiny, even.

To the big idiot at the thrones. Well, her big idiot. Specifically, the big idiot staring down at her with his big grey eyes, a crown over his brown hair, encased in red ceremonial armour and wearing a sword he probably couldn't fight with. There was an even bigger imbecile off to the side slightly, in Templar armour and holding the Dog by the collar. Behind the two children.

Morrigan's approach had very appreciative effects on the idiot's face.

She wasn't the woman that had fled those years before. She had knowledge of things now. How to dress for an occasion being one of them. The dazzling white dress, the long tail held up out of the dirt by Wardens, was as fine a thing as could be made, in Orlais or Ferelden. She felt her heart flutter, sending her into a slight panicked flurry of thoughts. What was she doing?!

But she did not let a single strand of that thinking onto her face. By the time she reached the thrones, the idiot had a gigantic smile.

"You're beautiful," he said.

"I better be," Morrigan replied, "It took effort to look this good, my love."

"Good thing I said something," he laughed, before he waved over the cleric to do the formal part she did not care about, but had agreed to.

The Chantry's superstitions were satisfied over the course of the next half hour. Hymns were sung, the Canticles recited, the vows exchanged. It was all just so much unnecessary wasting of time. It was not under the Maker that they would be joined. They were joined long before that. On the edge of what looked like certain oblivion, searching for and finding a way to defeat Death herself.

Morrigan resisted the urge to tell the old lady to shut up so she could kiss the idiot, reminded of the annoying Wynne and her lectures. Tolerating this part of ceremony was the surest path to the life she wanted.

When it ended, the cleric stepped back, away from the thrones, to allow everyone to see what was happening once more.

The idiot, Aedan Cousland, father of her son, King and Hero of Ferelden, threw back her veil, placed one hand on the small of her back and another in her own. Their bodies closed the gap between them, and they kissed, sealing the compact expected of him. With a ferocity that was as much about bringing the nobles to the new reality as it was about the two of them.

Which was entirely why Morrigan agreed to participate, or at least that's what she told herself. Her insides were more honest. She felt her knees go weak, having to hold on to him to remain standing.

When it was over, she was Morrigan of House Cousland. A strange thing, to have a second name. She had been known as the daughter of Flemeth, which perhaps counted. She had used other names in Orlais, borrowed ones. But now she was part of a family with roots and branches she knew about. People she could count on if the worst happened, if she was to believe the ideal.

The strangest was yet to come, however.

Morrigan of House Cousland moved to centre stage, just before the steps, and kneeled facing the crowd. She looked out, examining every person's face, and glancing at the children to her right. All were enraptured. Good, she thought, you should be.

Behind her, Aedan shifted his weight, as the imbecile in Templar armour clanked over to give him the necessary item, allowing him to speak.

"I, Aedan Cousland, By the Grace of the Maker, King and Warden-Commander of Ferelden, Arl of Amaranthine, Defender of the Realm," he declared, "Do hereby grant the Crown Matrimonial to Morrigan Cousland, Consort of Amaranthine, and do anoint her Queen Regnant of Fereldan, to rule with me and beside me."

The crown came down onto Morrigan's head gently, the rim of the circlet resting slightly on her ears, the band perfectly sized for her head. She rose and held her head high, her eyes fixed on the back of the room.

"Long live Morrigan, Queen of Ferelden!" Aedan shouted at the top of his voice, his sword rasping out of its scabbard as he raised it to the air beside her.

"Long live the Queen!" roared the crowd, or enough of them so it seemed like the whole crowd. The dwarf did his level best to be louder than all of them, which sent a disgusting thought of appreciation for the drunk into Morrigan that she quickly suppressed. Count on him to ruin the moment, almost.

"Long live the Queen!"

"Long live the Queen!"

Her eyes went towards her son. Kieran smiled at her, the smile of a child not knowing the full implications of what was going on. It would be explained to him.

Beside him, the one-year-old blonde girl beamed, not sure what was going on but knowing it was important. The other child of Aedan. A child that would never know her true mother. A curl of unease. What relationship they would have, she did not know. It was going to be complicated.

Morrigan turned to Aedan himself, in time to find him taking her hand and looking out over the crowd himself with a wide grin. The challenges would be met head on, with no hesitation. Like the Blight had been. And she felt she had done the right thing.

Now, she was Queen. Now she had position and authority, more than she could have ever won in Orlais. She was second to no one, not even Aedan. Those unremarkable people in the street and in the Palace were her people. Hers to command, but hers to protect also.

Now, she would use that power. To protect herself and everything she loved, everything he loved.

And to take everything she wanted.

Morrigan imagined Flemeth in the crowd, laughing joyfully as hard as she could, as everyone continued to chant.