Summary: Four times Anora Mac Tir is afraid. And the one time she isn't.
Note: I know some of these details divert from canon, but please bear with me as I altered it a little to make sense for the story.
1. The first time she is just a girl. She is seven – already sharp and intelligent and bursting with quiet self-confidence. Quite the charmer, the women at court call her, when she attends with her father, she will make a fine Queen.
Sharp and intelligent she may be, but good at making friends with children her age, she is not. Her lack of suitable friends of a similar age had called for the family's sudden journey to Highever, home of the Couslands.
The journey from Denerim had been long and tiring for Anora, more accustomed to the warmth of the castle than Ferelden's cold winters. Not one to complain, however, she had spent much of the carriage ride in silence, stormily glaring at farmlands and villages alike.
A small cough from her mother shook Anora from her composed silence.
"Gather your things, child" Celia said besides her, pressing her hand on her daughters in a gesture of comfort, "The Couslands are an important family, and their daughter will be eager to meet you."
That was what Anora was afraid of. She had never been too sociable, preferring the company of adults rather than other noble-born children. Cailan was the exception, of course, but he was easy to boss around, and the two had known each other for years – she was used to his company. Girls were different. She had rarely spent time with girls her own age outside of brief court visitations and when minor nobility stayed at the Mac Tir home. Her father had never much cared for large festivals and gatherings, and for that she was grateful. This trip was different, however. This trip had left her stomach in knots.
The carriage door was abruptly opened, and the footman held out his hand for Anora to take. Disembarking from the carriage, Anora straightened her skirts and looked up.
Bryce Cousland stood before her, a retinue of servants at his behind him, and two children at his side. The boy could not have been more than nine – he stood nobly by his father, giving Anora a small smile. The other child, a girl, could not have been more different.
She was pretty, with freckles a mop of dark hair that looked as though she had not brushed it in weeks. She seemed younger than Anora, but she was tall and gangly – all legs and little else.
"Teyrna Mac Tir" Bryce Cousland smiled, pressing a kiss to her mother's left cheek.
"Teyrn Cousland" Celia returned the smile, before gesturing to Anora, "This is my only daughter, Anora"
Anora curtsied, well-versed as she was in mannerisms. She moved with confidence, trying to ignore the uneasy feeling in the pit of her stomach. Don't be such a baby, she told herself.
"Ah, Lady Anora, a pleasure to meet you at last" Cousland beamed, "These are my own children, Fergus and Eliana"
The boy offered his hand, which Anora shook pleasantly. The girl, Eliana, was not so civil.
"It's nice to meet you, Anora" She said, rushing forward with a smile. She pulled Anora close, her arms wrapping around her in an unexpected embrace. Anora's stiff body relaxed a little, surprised at the gesture.
"Eliana" Cousland hissed, "What did your governess tell you about your manners?"
"Sorry father" Eliana said, but she hardly seemed fazed. She turned to Anora, "Come, let us go play."
2. The second time, she is seventeen. Two young to yet be married to Prince Cailan, but old enough to know it is not him who holds her affections. Now well experienced in affairs of the court, politically adept and engaged to be married, Anora is far from the girl she once was – the girl who played at sword fighting with Eliana Cousland.
It is Eliana who is beside her now, taking down Anora's elaborate braids and gently brushing her hair. It is something she does most nights when the two are both in Denerim. And how Anora wishes the younger girl was always in Denerim.
Eliana's movements are soft and soothing, delicately smoothing down Anora's hair with practiced strokes. She doesn't say, of course, but it makes Anora's heart ache that Eliana – always so brash and reckless and fierce – reserves all her gentleness for her.
She must know, Anora thinks, she must know of my affections. She had tried her best to fall for Cailan, but it was no good, not when Eliana Cousland seemed to grow more beautiful with each passing season.
Would she run away with me, if I ask? She wonders, then scolds herself. Those were fanciful dreams, and a life best lived by some other girl. Instead, she takes a deep breath.
"I am to marry Prince Cailan" She says, matter-of-factly, as though stating that the night had fallen or her dress was red.
In the looking glass, Anora sees the other girl's face fall.
"Oh"
"Eli?"
"I… I guess I had always known" Eliana says, her voice quiet and soft and almost sad.
Anora turns her head away from the vanity, and Eliana's eyes do not meet her own.
When she looks up again, the Cousland girl is all smiles. If Anora had not known her better, she would think her expression genuine. Ten years of friendship, however, testifies to the hurt in Eliana's eyes.
"I can think of no one better suited to be Queen" She says warmly, setting the brush down. "Oh there is so much to think of – what will you wear? what will the prince wear? what flowers will you have?" She chuckled softly, "I bet your mother is head-over-heels with excitement"
Anora smiles half-heartedly, "Yes, she is."
She turns away from Eliana, trying not to think about the lump forming in the back of her throat, trying not to think about the girl beside her whom she had known for ten years, and loved for as long as she had known what the word meant. It should be you that I am to marry.
Her silence does not go unnoticed.
"What's wrong? Do you not want to marry Cailan?" Eliana asks "He is rather handsome, once you get past all that Princely stuff."
Silence. The other girl stops her teasing. Turning to face her, she places two fingers underneath Anora's chin and wipes a single tear away with the pad of her left thumb. Do not be a fool, Anora chastises herself, willing the tears away, Tell her how you feel.
"Shhh" Eliana murmurs softly, "It will all be okay."
Anora cannot bring herself to say anything.
"Why are you crying, Nora?"
Because I love you, she thinks, miserably, Because I wish it was you I was to marry. Because I want nothing more than to kiss you. She feels as though she is seven years old again – small and afraid. She cannot find the courage to empty her heart, and instead offers Eliana a small smile.
"I am simply overwhelmed with happiness."
3. The third time is the night before her wedding. Eliana had long gone, returned to Highever promising to journey to Denerim with her family for the occasion. Only she hadn't, and Anora had received only a single letter – scrawled in Eliana's careless hand – something about travelling to the Free Marches for a while.
Oh, if only she had told her how she felt.
She loves Cailan, but not the way she wishes she did. And though the burden of ruling a nation is one she knows she can bear, it is one that feels far too heavy to carry at eighteen. And one made far heavier by the Eliana's absence.
"Anora Theirin" She tries - it sounds strange and wrong and peculiar as it rolls off her tongue.
Anora Theirin, Queen of Ferelden. She shuts her eyes, wishing that she could open them and be a young girl again, playing swords with Eliana Cousland.
How can I rule my nation when I am afraid?
4. The fourth time is many years later.
The first message arrives as her maid dresses her in the early hours of the day. The Couslands are all dead, slaughtered in their beds at the Command of Arl Rendon Howe. Eliana is dead.
The second message - from Ostagar - comes as she breaks her fast.
More death. Cailan is dead too. And she is left to rule, alone.
1. Her country is swarmed by Darkspawn, her father cold, calculating and ruthless, her husband dead, and Anora is alone and trapped.
Howe's men had taken her what felt like weeks ago. She had gone with them calmly and quietly, refusing to make a fuss, refusing to let them see her afraid. She had surrendered herself to Howe – she would survive and endure, as she always had.
Erlina, loyal as she was, had been her source of hope.
It had not been an easy choice, to decide to work against her father, but it was once Anora was willing to make. She would not give up on her nation so easily, and she refused to let imprisonment sour her chances of retaining her claim to the Fereldan throne.
And so she had planned and plotted, quietly sending Erlina to and from the estate, all while playing the charming and obedient prisoner to Howe's guards. It had not been easy, reaching Arl Eamon and the surviving Grey Wardens – but Erlina had managed it.
They will rescue you, the elf had said, the Warden and her companions.
She had heard whispers and rumors of the wardens who had survived at Ostagar, but she could scarce believe her ears when Erlina had confirmed it true. Eliana lived. She lived and she was in Denerim, bruised and battered perhaps but alive nonetheless, and a Grey Warden.
It is the thought of Eliana Cousland that allows Anora to endure. Maker-be-damned, she would not die in Howe's cell without seeing her once more.
It is past supper when Erlina comes.
"Your majesty?"
Anora's back straightens - hoping, praying to the maker that the wardens were here.
"Yes, Erlina?" She said, willing herself to retain her composure.
"What's all this talk, we should bash down the door before Howe's men realize we're here" A man's voice hisses from behind the door.
"Be quiet, Alistair" A woman with an Orlesian accent replies.
Erlina sighs exasperatedly, "The Grey Wardens are here, your majesty. The mage's spell is broken."
Hurriedly pushing the door open, Anora stops short at the sight of the woman in front of her. She wears the Grey Warden garb now, and the sword at her back is no longer wooden. Though her hair is as messy as the day they had met, everything else about Eliana Cousland seems to have changed. It is as though in four years, she has become an entirely different person. Her face is just as pretty as Anora remembers, and her eyes just as wild, but new scars are dotted across her cheeks, and she wears a weary expression. At the sight of Anora, however, she is unable to hold back a smile.
"Anora, I…" For once the girl was speechless.
"I…" Anora falters for a moment, unsure of herself, "Lady Cousland"
Eliana grins, the grin that had always made Anora's heart ache, "Don't be silly, it's Eli, it's always been Eli. Although if you wish to remain formal, you should address me as Warden Cousland."
Anora gives her a small laugh in return. Maker, four years later and being around Eliana still makes her act like such a fool.
"Your majesty, we ought to…" Erlina begins, but Anora barely notices her maid or Eliana's strange assortment of companions as the warden moves toward her, wrapping strong arms around the Queen's slight frame.
And for a brief moment, she allows herself to put aside thoughts of Ferelden and the Darkspawn and the almost certain impending doom they are sure to face. Burying her face into the crook of Eliana's neck, she feels content for the first time in what feels like years. Her warden is here, and Anora is unafraid.