ooc;; Hello all. This is a series of short dribbles involving Anora Theirin from Dragon Age. This particular story has Anora and a hardened Alistair seated on the throne. The Warden and Alistair had a romance prior to the Landsmeet and continue their relationship after the Blight has ended. As a side note, most of these dribbles are starters that I have tweaked from current role plays. I role play as Anora on and am looking for more Dragon Age role players to mingle with! Hit me up if you're interested and I'll send you my profile link. :]
Denerim's skies were gray for weeks after the Blight, the burned villages that could not be saved in time sending black clouds up, up, up into the sky.
Since her marriage to the former Grey Warden, her world seemed to reflect that lackluster sky, the glittering crown that was her destiny now resting upon the head of a bumbling idiot.
Anora was already dressed as the golden rays of morning light peeled in through the window, her lovely face showing neither delight nor irritation as the sun cut off the night to begin a new day. She wondered how many mornings has passed in which she would wake up alone, the covers on the right side of the bed perfectly untouched. Even on their wedding night, her husband was nowhere to be found, though she swore she heard his laughter somewhere out in the castle gardens, the high pitched laugh of the young Dalish mixed somewhere in between.
Do not mistake her, jealousy was a disease that would inflict only women who loved their husbands, and love King Alistair she did not. Had it not been for the Grey Wardens, Anora would not even be married to the fool, the throne hers alone until she took her last breath underneath her beloved Ferelden sky. But like everything the female Warden inserted herself into, the balance of the world swayed under her touch until it became nothing like it was before, beginning a new era with a Blight ended and a new king on the throne. There were many things that the Warden did to change Ferelden, things that Anora did not know and didn't wish to know. All she knew was that the Warden held the queen's fate in her tiny, scar-ridden hands, marrying her off to Cailan's half brother and forcing her to, once again, stand in the shadow of a king.
The door creaked open ever so slowly, trying to minimize the sound of the intruder as much as possible. A blond head poked into the room, a visible wince as he saw that Anora was very much indeed awake. Shutting the door behind him, Alistair regarded his wife and she him, a pregnant silence between them. Most days the Queen would at least pretend to be asleep; it was a little awkward game they played and it had worked well for the past several months. But Anora didn't want to pretend today, tired of hearing the hushed whispers in the castle halls that their King had taken, of all things, an elf as a mistress; a sign that Andraste herself did not approve of the commoner queen. It was the same things that had been whispered when she married Cailan; rumors that ended as quickly as they began once she proved a formidable ruler.
Pale blue eyes met chocolate ones—Anora wondered what the Warden had done to make the Theirin so different from the sniveling boy she heard tales of. When the threat of Alistair's succession first reached Denerim's inner walls she was quick to dismiss the thought. How could the country question her ability as Queen? Yes, her father seemed to have lost his way, but never did she think things would turn out like this. At least Cailan listened to her when she lectured him on politics, the economy, public speaking…but Alistair was as set as the stone, to take an expression from the dwarves. He shrugged away her constant nagging, telling her that his priority was the people of Ferelden, not rebuilding armies. It didn't help that the Hero had decided to stay in the castle and serve as a personal advisor to the king—Alistair would always chose the advice from his dear friend over the queen. And so while Anora made efforts to strengthen their dwindled forces, Alistair stood in the rations lines, handing out food to the starving refugees who regarded the new king with love and admiration.
Yes, Alistair was a king of the people, adored by all. It was perhaps one of his greatest strengths as king, and yet she worried if the nobles within the palace took him seriously. He was a far more active king than Cailan ever was, that was certain, but there were moments when king and queen clashed so immensely that a decision simply could not be made; there were many affairs that had been put aside with the hopes that the two might kindle some sort of relationship. But the months passed by and the two had yet to engage in a single act of intimacy. It was unbecoming, that she knew, and if things continued this way it could lead to disaster. For behind those intuitive eyes she saw malice lurking about the castle, waiting for the right moment to attack. Plots of assassination and usurpation were always a threat, but now more than ever she felt doom lurking above their heads, tension building with every day that she and Alistair remained in this ugly stalemate.
The icy queen pushed the covers away and stood up, walking past a rather cautious Alistair. She opened the closet to reveal the armor of the king, golden and glittering as brightly as the sun. Taking one of the armor-plated gloves, she moved towards her husband, reaching for his hand and forcing his phalanges through the gloved fingertips. She made a sad attempt at a smile for him, trying to appear like a doting wife as she helped her husband dress for the day. But the act was neither convincing nor desired, for no sooner had she put the glove on his hand that Alistair moved away, giving her a curt nod as he dressed himself.
Anora didn't wait for him, shutting the door to the royal quarters and walking briskly towards the stairs. The ornate statues that lined the walls of the castle went unnoticed as she stormed by, her usually pristine face twisted into a deep frown. There was simply no way to mend this poor excuse of a marriage. Surely the Warden must be punishing her for her betrayal at the Landsmeet. But the Warden had seemed so hesitant to make a decision, to settle the marriage between herself and the Theirin…Anora didn't want to risk the safety Ferelden on the off-chance that the Hero would choose the young Queen. But this marriage, if one could even call it such, was far worse a consequence than she anticipated. For as beautiful as she was, the Queen could not sway Alistair's heart when it already had been claimed. Even if the Dalish could not marry her beloved Alistair by name, at the very least she had him in her legs as well as in the royal Court. A battle won for the elf, and she a queen only by title.
It could have been worse, that she knew. She could have been imprisoned, possibly killed, had not the Grey Warden decided to keep the peace between those who followed Anora and those who supported the Theirin heir. For her life, she was grateful at least; though she still mourned the loss of her father. His sad blue eyes had met hers one last time, begging her to accept the cards the Maker had dealt him. The sword that sliced away at an old man's throat, shamed in the halls of the castle that at one time sang praises of his name. "Loghain forever. Loghain, our hero!" She had thought to herself as her father's corpse lay sprawled upon the tile floor, the dark liquid pool spilling ever so close to her shoes…
Her hands shook with the memory of his death, the blood that had coated her skin, never seeming to wash away no matter how many times she bathed. Her poor father—so blinded in the last year of his life, so twisted and ugly and not at all like the man that would lift her up in his arms and wipe her tears away, kissing her scrapes and relaying once more his battle with the formidable Orlesians, pride reflecting in his eyes as he looked over the hills of Ferelden and saw a land of freedom and beauty, a land he wanted to protect forever…
"You're going to be queen someday, my sweet. That has already been decided. Don't be afraid, I'll be right there with you…"
Anora leaned against the smooth wall of the stairwell, the marble stone cool against her flushed face. 'What would you think of me now, father? Are you proud of me? I cannot seduce my own husband, even when Ferelden hangs in the balance because of it…' The queen let out a disheartened laugh, caring not if anyone heard her. What did it matter now, everyone knew who Alistair spent his nights with.
Oh Ferelden, my heart, my home…is there any way to save you?