Written for the DAWC prompt, 'Deleted Scenes'. This scene is of when Anora was told of Ostagar. Ties into my other fic, Trip the Darkness, but knowledge of that fic is not needed.

Dragon Age and all associated revenues belong to Bioware.

"My lady?" Anora looked up from her vanity-mirror, her anti-aging poultice partially smeared across the edge of her neck, working it up across her face. Her maidservant stood in the doorway, mindlessly fumbling with her skirts, unable to look at the Queen directly.

Anora set the jar of cream down, worried slightly at what could cause her relatively mild-mannered maidservant such distress; surely nothing the Queen did herself, but…then what?
"Yes, what is it, Mirabelle?" Anora picked up her poultice and continued with the treatment, applying some around her eyes.

Damned crow's feet! Anora thought wistfully to herself.

"I'm sorry, my lady, but…it appears that the King has…been slain at Ostagar…" The jar slipped from Anora's hand, crashing on the marble top of her vanity, sending the thick, alchemical poultice everywhere.

Anora didn't move; she just sat there, looking horrified at her own reflection, wetness beginning to gather in her eyes. Her hands shook, several of her fingers bleeding heavily from the glass of the jar embedded in them. But she didn't feel the pain, she didn't feel anything. She just stared.

It's what I wanted.

No it isn't.

Is it?

Perhaps…

"And…and when did you…when did you hear of this, Mirabelle?" The Queen asked, her voice sounding very far away, as if it was retreating so no one could hear it. Flashes of memory shot about behind her eyes. The first time she met the lovable fool, when he had carried her all the way home when she had fallen off that one rock and twisted her ankle. Their wedding…

The most beautiful affair Anora could ever have wanted or imagined. Cream-colored silk over every table and chair, huge sprays of multicolored flowers, some colored through the use of magic. Candle flame illusions dancing joyously above the crowd, providing romantic lighting. The smell of sugar and rosebuds wafted about; charming ladies fluttering fans, polite gentlemen leading their loves, or daughters about in perfect dancing.

Her own dance with her father…

That night with Cailan, how he was so gentle with her, how he held her close and whispered sweet nothings in her ear.

This isn't what I wanted

Right?

"News just reached us, my lady. Your father is on his way back with his men now; the courier described how Loghain withdrew his men just in time to avoid the Grey Wardens' treachery. It appears Duncan and the other Wardens present turned on the King, my lady." Mirabelle answered her Queen after she had been able to find the words with which to do so.

"Lies…" Anora whispered, reaching out to touch her fingers to the cold glass that separated her and her reflection. Her mother had once told her, that if a woman who is forced with disaster and trauma looks into a mirror, her soul will be the other side, staring back, only for a moment, but it happens.

"Excuse me, my lady?" Mirabelle begged pardon, worried at what such an accusation from the Queen could mean. Would she be executed in the Queen's grief? No; surely not! The Queen was a kind woman.

Anora didn't care to elaborate, but she knew the moment the words left the Maidservants mouth that they were false. Her father would never…her sister would never. It was all lies…it was the Darkspawn. Anora could see that as clearly as she could see her soul, staring back at her from the other side of a mirror.

Mirabelle noticed the redness pooling underneath the Queen's fingers. "My lady! Your hands…" Anora held up one bloody finger to silence the other woman.
"Mirabelle, I wish to be left alone just now. I will seek attendance to my fingers on my own time, please cancel my attendance to tonight's dinner." Without another word, the maidservant curtsied formally and hurried out of the Queen's chambers, closing the door behind her.

Taking a towel with her, Anora strode out onto the balcony, wiping the anti-aging cream from her face, staunching the bleeding from her sliced up fingers with the dry-portions of the towel.

I did want this, didn't I?

But not like this.

I wanted it to be sickness, or a fast-acting and painless poison.

I didn't want this, did I?

Questions fix nothing.

Questions fix everything…

"I'm sorry…" The Queen sighed, staring up at the full-moon, which hung heavy in the sky, letting its light illuminate the Queens…sorrow? No…sorrow wasn't the right word.

"I'm sorry for everything, but you were a fool, a child who had to be taught everything. You were never fit for this country, despite your father. But I loved you still, didn't I? So who was the bigger fool?" Anora's blood created red-streaks on the marble balustrade where her hands rested.

The sounds of someone entering her room reached her ears, and she knew Mirabelle didn't take her words to heart, and Anora smiled somewhat.

"My lady, allow me to examine your hands, if you would." Anora didn't fight while the court-healer gently poked and prodded the wounds inflicted by the shattered glass. She hissed when a particularly long shard was pulled from a cut.

Hands tightly wound with salve to protect her from infection, the healer meant to leave.

"Alfred, before you go…please get rid of all of that anti-aging serum, I don't need it."

"Are you quite positive, my lady?"

"Of course I am…there isn't anyone to look pretty for anymore…"