Chapter Text
Empress Sulahn’nehn I of New Elvhenan awoke from her pleasant Fade-touched dream to the white glow of her palace bedchamber in Atish’an, smiling and stretching as the gorgeous curlicues of molded purified lyrium set into the ceiling above her filled her waking eyes with their brilliance. The morning sunlight streamed in from the vast open archways that led to her great balcony, laden with white blossoms whose fragrance now wafted in to greet the empress in the crisp spring air.
As she sat up slowly, she felt a soft rustle beside her as Briala nuzzled in closer, her dark curls spilling over her freckled back to caress Sulahn’nehn’s naked body as her lover moved in to feel her warmth. The elven girl slowly turned to face her, her dark liquid eyes opening sleepily as she yawned. Sulahn’nehn smiled and stroked her hair, cradling her friend and lover in the nook of her arm as she gently kissed her forehead.
“Good morning, Bria,” Sulahn’nehn said quietly as Briala sat up with a start. A small blonde elf peered through the creaking cracked door, hesitantly, as Briala scrambled to cover herself. Sulahn’nehn simply chuckled and stretched out. What shame was there in nakedness? Her handmaid dressed her frequently enough to see her proudly slender figure on a daily basis. And she knew more of the empress’s wild proclivities in the wake of her lost love than anyone else… moreover, Sulahn’nehn suspected she liked to watch.
“Come in, please, Leranni,” called the empress softly to her honored handmaid, who opened the door with her shoulder as she bore a flask of hot tea and an assortment of fine porcelain on a silverite tray and placed it on an ornate marble table, its legs crafted to mimic roots in the Dalish style.
Leranni turned to face her empress, tactfully ignoring Briala’s embarrassed presence. “Your Imperial Majesty, your silks are ready at the launderer’s. I will fetch them momentarily. May I assist you further this morning?”
“Thank you so much, Leranni, but that will be all. I would like to dress myself today. Feel free to take the morning to yourself after your task, you’ll still be paid for the work,” said the naked empress casually as she leaped off her enormous bed. The elven maid curtseyed to her, beaming, and turned to fetch her laundry as Sulahn’nehn gave her a nod and continued into her closet.
A whole room, just for her clothes. Briala had suggested the idea when Sulahn’nehn was still drafting the layout of the palace that would sit beside her academy, and Sulahn’nehn could still hardly believe the glory of it. She began to leaf through the rainbow of fine gowns and under-silks carefully hung side by side as she mused over the absurdity of her newfound wealth.
It was all she had ever dreamed of as a young Dalish girl, sewing quietly in her mother’s leaky aravel while her elders worked tirelessly in the meager camp outside. Speaking of her childish fantasies only brought her shame and derision from her ever-practical brother. She kept to herself for years, slipping away from the small fire-lit camp to gather rashvine and elfroot to weave into delicate and fantastical garments she could never bring herself to actually try on.
She imagined they were for greater elves, for people like Sylaise, noble elves who could wear such things in their leisurely, work-free lives. Noble elves… the idea had been so preposterous to her people, for so long. She dared not even speak of it to her mother, their clan’s proud First until their Keeper passed in the wake of Sulah’nehn’s reluctant departure.
Her brother would endlessly taunt her frivolous pursuits, brandishing and mocking the dresses she worked so hard to weave and sew from scratch in front of his laughing friends before throwing them into the great hearth their clan built themselves around. Enasal was so cruel to her, so disapproving of their differences. He saw value only in hunting, bringing back great bear pelts from his trips with pride to the admiration of the weaker mages who filled their clan. In the face of his clan’s dedication to Sylaise, he flaunted his worship of Andruil. He was born to be First one day, and he knew it; a day never went by where he failed to proclaim his worth over Sulahn’nehn’s.
He taunted her fearlessly until her magic emerged one day in a flash of fiery anger, burning down their rickety old aravel as he fled for his life and she stood motionless and unharmed in the flames. He grew to fear and avoid her, mere archer that he was. But as punishment for the loss of their precious aravel, she was forced under her mother’s stern wing to train tirelessly as a dirthenera, a song-mage dedicated to Sylaise, and rarely saw the others in her clan again. Her world became the hearth and song, endless flames fueling endless melodies. And then she was sent away at the Arlath’vhen, sobbing at her mother’s feet as the tall red-haired fire priestess insisted there was no room for more like her in their clan, that the aravels the rival clan offered in return were worth more than her life. Everything changed.
Everything always changed. It didn’t have to any more, not now that she had the power to make the world the way she had always wanted it to be. She would change the world once and for all, build the elves the homeland they had once been promised, and it would last her own lifetime. After that, she could not protest the machinations of time.
Her fingers caught the smoothness of a garnet red satin slip, so delicate and soft. Sulahn’nehn carefully pulled it from its gilded trappings and slid the silky slip over her head and down her narrow hips. It was cut low to fit her precisely, tight and flattering in the right places while loose and comfortable over her waist.
The slip was scandalously short, barely covering her thighs in the fashion she had gleefully decided to adopt when her position as Empress of the exotic land of New Elvhenan granted her the miraculous power of influence over the fashions of her empire, as well as the jealous Orlesian courts. She set the trends, now. None could look to her in scorn, no matter what she wore, a luxury that she appreciated fondly even as her position’s burden weighed heavily on her.
It was, perhaps, the best part about being Empress, at least for Sulahn’nehn, who grew ever more artistic in her free pursuits of fashionable excess. The many tailors of her mercantile empire begged her to support their trades, but she refused them all, stubbornly continuing to only wear clothes and armor she had made herself. But none could deny the beauty and finery of her time-worn elven craftsmanship.
And, in all her finery, she was still a fire mage. She didn’t need fabric to stay comfortable and warm. Sulahn’nehn possessed the luxury of focusing on form, any function of a garment rendered useless by her magical abilities. The others who blindly followed her lead at court were, perhaps, at a disadvantage, given Atish’an’s location in the frigid Emprise du Lion, magically enhanced to lushness as its scenery had become. She liked the climate. It was nice to have a cold place to build her favored hearths. The chill air made the glowing heat even more welcoming.
She began to walk towards her collection of great outer gown-frames, delicate yet armor-like in their construction and rigid enough to stand tall in their display even though they molded comfortably against her as she moved and sat. Sulahn’nehn heard a rustle behind her as Briala padded towards her, smiling, lightly armored once again as the great general she now was.
“That dress is incredible. It looks beautiful on you,” said the taller elf, looking down at her smiling empress with wide, dark eyes as she admired her form. Her obvious arousal swiftly ignited the empress’s own insatiable urges. Sulahn’nehn chuckled in response, stepping close to her general and pulling her in. “I know. I made it,” she whispered seductively up into the elven girl’s ear, eliciting a laugh. “Show off!” teased her Orlesian lover.
Sulahn’nehn simply grinned and bit her lip as she began to undo the hooks that bound Briala’s rogue armor, leaning up for a kiss. “I just got ready! You should be-” protested Briala before Sulahn’nehn stared up at her with a sullen pout, in an exaggerated frown. She was not going to let anyone get away from her, when she wanted them, when they clearly wanted her too. Not again.
“Wasn’t last night enough for you, your Radiance? You’re insatiable,” purred Briala, barely resisting as Sulahn’nehn continued her assault against the pernicious armor straps, kissing every inch of dark freckled skin left exposed as the pieces fell to the floor. Briala pulled off her undershirt and leggings impatiently as Sulahn’nehn deftly shed her light satin gown and let it crumple to the floor.
Giggling, the two elves made their way to the chaise in the corner, where Sulahn’nehn hungrily pressed her lover down, straddling her thighs as she kissed her. Briala was giving as ever in her affections, pressing back up with a moan and stroking her hair as Sulahn’nehn slid a practiced finger against her.
They tumbled across the narrow chaise, falling to the richly carpeted floor with a thud and a giggle as they ignored their clumsiness and focused on each other, their moans muffled by their frenzied kisses. The two girls finally lay quietly on the floor of the wardrobe caressing and kissing, surrounded completely by the ornate finery they had come to ignore.
“We need to get you ready,” sighed Briala, standing to retrieve her undershirt. Sulahn’nehn begrudgingly stood and walked to the crumpled mess of gown she had shed, stepping back into it and lifting the straps easily back over her shoulders with an easy shrug.
Briala had already strapped on her armor, so graceful and swift, and walked towards her impatiently. “You have an important meeting today, your Majesty. The Council of Elders will be here soon; they would not state the matter, but stressed its importance,” continued the general, less affectionate now in her tone than earlier.
Sulahn’nehn never liked it when Briala took an official tone with her, but understood its necessity. Any sweeter words from those honeyed lips, and she would not have been able to focus. She rolled her eyes at Briala’s words. “As usual, they won’t talk until they can complain to my face. All right, I’ll be ready soon. I’ll meet you in the court antechamber. Please call the examining student in to perform to us all directly,” sighed the new empress, moving quickly to select her chosen outer garment for the day as Briala bade her a chaste farewell and quickly left the small room.
Given the occasion, it was an easy enough choice; of all the delicately wrought gowns she had hand crafted from her own invented schematic, only one was truly unique. It glowed on its own on a pedestal, casting white light on her as she approached it; an ornately latticed bodice and skirt made entirely of purified lyrium, the rarest substance known in Thedas. The key to her newfound wealth. Sulahn’nehn gingerly lifted it, opening its tiny buckles, and slowly tightened the bodice. The soft white curlicues of lyrium molded to her warmth and held itself around her like armor, casting a bright light against her pale skin and illuminating the red satin of her under-silk, its light bell-like skirt hovering brilliantly above her knees.
Sulahn’nehn smoothed down the folds of her deep red satin slip under the great glowing carapace of her crystal white cage gown as she headed gracefully back into her bedroom and sat down nimbly at her vanity. The stool had been built to accommodate the bell-like shape of her overskirt. Sulahn’nehn reached for her powder with ease and began to apply it to her clear, pale skin, smirking a little even now at the lack of vallaslin that allowed her so much room to experiment now with pigments.
She had never loved her vallaslin, the devotional blood-writing that had marked her entire face in glaring crimson since she came of age as an eleven year old in the service of the sleeping fire goddess Sylaise. She had never really been able to choose it; her mother had guided her path as soon as her magic appeared. What if she had wanted to follow Mythal or June, instead? She never had the opportunity to think about it as a child. She wondered how her brother had been able to follow Andruil so fiercely, when their mother had been so strict in her teachings of the Vir Atish’an. Perhaps his fierce pride was his armor against the world. A prickly armor indeed. Sulahn’nehn sighed and tried to quell her memories of the arrogant brother she was about to face that day as she lightly patted a dark red shimmery pigment on her eyelids, in stark contrast to the vivid yellow-green of her large elven eyes, and applied a dark wax to her long red lashes and brows.
She filled her lips with a deep blood red wax and surveyed her own appearance with a smile as she carefully gathered her long red hair into a complex knot above her head, her heart-shaped face framed with light by the great filigreed collar of her lyrium gown. It had taken much for the Dalish to accept her again without her vallaslin, but it had not taken long for her. The shock of it was softened by the heart-wrenching loss of Solas himself, and she found joy in her clear face sooner than she ever found herself in his arms again. It was certainly easier to take joy in the ancient Orlesian art of maquillage without angry red swirls covering her entire face. Not that the Dalish would appreciate such arts. The very sight of her unmarked face had been enough to cause an entire tent of Keepers to burst into argument two years ago.
Finally, her shoulder-length, fine crimson hair was carefully coiled into impressive whorls that would keep her red locks out of her face for the day. The spirals mimicked the petals of a red embrium flower, a style her mother had once taught her to wear for formal religious occasions. Sulahn’nehn wondered if she would notice. It seemed like the Elder Councillor barely remembered that she was the empress’s mother, these days.
She rose with quiet trepidation and made her way gracefully to the antechamber. The great halls of her palace glimmered throughout, its high arched stone ceilings set with tiny spheres of purified lyrium that looked like stars in the shadows.
