"I told you so."
If there was a more annoying phrase to hear from Alistair's lips, Anora couldn't think of it. His gleeful smugness enraged her, all the more for its being well-deserved.
He had told her so, almost a year ago. He had warned his new wife that making Mira Tabris Bann of the Denerim Alienage was a bad idea. He had called his fellow warden all manner of unsavory things: unfeeling, unforgiving, unscrupulous. Anora had brushed his fears aside and granted the Hero of Ferelden her chosen boon. He could have put his foot down; they were joint rulers, after all. He could have put a stop to it and he didn't, and Anora had chalked it up to weakness. Now she understood. He was bidding his time for this moment.
She cursed her own stupidity. She'd allowed pride to get in the way of sense, sentiment to out-weigh logic. She had considered Alistair's objections mere juvenile resentment for Mira's sparing her father's life at the Landsmeet, recruiting him into Alistair's beloved Grey Wardens. Worse, Anora had allowed herself to see Mira's actions as an act of mercy, proof of the elf's kind heart, basic decency, and moral fortitude, the perfect qualities in a Ferelden noble. That such decisions might have been cold pragmatism and logical calculation had not occurred to the grateful and triumphant queen.
She ought to have listened to Alistair, and the realization stung. He had traveled with Mira for two years, had fought by her side and watched her make every decision as she had taken the fate of the nation into her own hands. He likely knew her better than anyone alive. And his wife had ignored his warning.
Sargeant Kylon shifted uncomfortably in his heavy chainmail as the queen read his report for the third time.
"I thought," Anora began sharply, "that crime had fallen in the Alienage."
"It only appears so, Your Majesty. The elves simply no longer report crimes in the Alienage to my men. They claim they look to the Bann for their justice, or at least what passes for justice in the Alienage. Some, however, are beginning to complain. Not publicly. But outside of the Alienage, they talk. And the talk is not good. It is all gossip, of course, but remarkably consistent gossip, and verified as much as is realistically possible. Extortion; bribery; racketeering; favortism in housing, in taxes and tolls, even in food distribution. Those who resist or refuse...they tend to suffer painful 'accidents.' Which is why little gets reported to my men."
"That sounds like Mira," Alistair mused.
"Your Majesties, nothing ties Bann Mira directly to any of these activities. I imagine no elf would dare implicate her. She's a hero, after all, and the first elven noble in all Ferelden. But more than once, the name Zevran Arainai has come up in connection with this unrest, and I understand they are confidants."
"That's putting it lightly," the king snorted, remembering a number of sleepless nights at camp caused by the elves' "confiding" in each other rather loudly.
"Well," Anora began, "I suppose we cannot act directly against her, but there may be a way to remove the Antivan from the picture, yes?"
"That would be my suggestion, Your Majesty," replied the sargeant. "I think it would put a significant dent in the operation."
"Good luck with that," Alistair replied. "Those two are as slippery as cod."
"She cannot protect him as she protects herself," Anora reminded her husband with a wry smile. "He is no bann; he's a foreigner and an avowed murderer. Surely there are many in Thedas who want him imprisoned or dead, and who are we to deny them?"
A knock at the door interrupted them; a footman entered with an elegant envelope.
As the queen examined the envelope's contents, her fingers curled stiffly around the vellum in the reflex of rage her husband recognized immediately.
"What is it?" he asked.
"A wedding invitation," she replied, through gritted teeth, "from Bann Mira."
Alistair put all his considerable might into suppressing the smug smile he felt rising from his chest into his face. His effort did not go unnoticed by his wife, who starred daggers at him, waiting for the inevitable. Finally, the King of Ferelden could control himself no longer.
"I told you so!"