This story was written as part of the Secret Santa Story Exchange.

So... Surprise!

Merry Christmas, JayRain!

I hope it's the present you were hoping for :)

UNOPENED

Spring

Born a noble, grown a queen, and yet none of them ever really treated her as she would have deserved.

Every single Teyrn had knelt before my Queen's sarcophagus, Grand Cleric Elemena had blessed her corpse and asked the Maker to guide her safely by His side. Perhaps, her death has become her actual triumph.

I came into her service when she was eleven, still a child but at the same time a queen already. Just by looking at her, I could tell she was destined to many great things. She would have, had she made other choices.

First, there had been King Cailan: yes, a woman doesn't have the right to choose her own husband, but a smart one can find ways to keep him at bay from time to time. I told her to not trust him. I had seen right through him: a charming ladies' man, a boy at heart. But she didn't listen to me: she was smart, sly, but in the end her heart has beaten louder than my warnings could ever have been.

Then, Dane Cousland, the Hero of Ferelden, and his marriage proposal had come into her life. I assured her she was powerful enough to win over every Bann with her mere presence. I recommended her to reject him: how could the savior of Thedas not overshadow her, or anyone for that matter? He would have been Prince Consort only by name. King Cailan had robbed her of the standing she would have deserved through his charisma and his smile, Dane Cousland did the same simply by being himself. The Hero.

My Queen and King Dane had chosen to offer the rebel mages sanctuary in the Arling of Redcliffe. She never told me, but I'm sure it was his idea: I know how he looked at that black-haired apostate mage, I've seen him. And the worst part is that she knew too, but instead of standing by herself she had walked to the altar hand in hand with him. King Cailan's final affair and death had broken something inside of her, and she has become a shadow of herself since. Oh, she hid it perfectly. To the world, she was an iron lady and the perfect, dignified ruler. But I knew. When the Hero disappeared, she could have gained back it all. But my Queen needed the Inquisition to protect herself against the Venatori's assassination attempts. Left alone on the throne and with her ghosts, she didn't manage to stop the Red Templars from establishing their hidden port on the Storm Coast. However, when she finally stepped up and banished I thought our Queen was back in business.

One week later, she has died in her sleep, a peaceful smile on her lips.

One could almost say she had succumbed to her own heartache, two miscarriages and the shattering of every single dream. Her ruin has a name: Cailan.

Now, I've been ordered to clean up her quarters. I am to pile up every dress of her, every piece of jewel, every letter. Each of them sings a note to me: I've been only her maid, but I've seen her walk every single step. All that's left is what I call Cailan's drawer: the space in which my Queen has locked what was left of her one love. The locks click open, and I start emptying the drawer. As I place a heap of tunics on the bed, something falls off, on the floor. She has written so many letters that I'd recognize the paper's rustling anywhere. This one, though, is still sealed: under by fingertips I feel the fissures of time.

From Cailan,

to Anora

The writing on the exterior is clear. This was meant for my Queen's eyes, but I doubt she ever opened it. Probably she didn't even know of it: when he died, she ordered me to lock up the drawer and keep the key.

I know I should bring it to Teyrn Fergus Cousland, or Teyrn Teagan Guerrin. But she has never confided in them, and I have no intention of betraying her trust. She has always confided in me. So I break the sigil, and I start reading.

My dear Anora,

you must despise me, and I understand if you do.

I can only hope that you'll be willing to listen when I'll come back from Ostagar.

As hard as it could be, please believe me: it's not what it seems...

§§

We were young, and wild, and free

9:13 Dragon

Denerim, Royal Gardens

Walking along the gravel path of the gardens of Denerim's Royal Palace, Anora counted the pebbles: every single step had to be as long as the previous. The hem of her blue silk dress swished on the ground at every step. She focused on the sound: moderate swish could mean a good step, an excessive swish could mean one excessively long.

"Anora. Don't look down. You are almost twelve, you're not a child anymore. And you will be Queen one day, so you have to walk straight and proud" her father admonished her.

The daughter of the Teyrn of Gwaren quietly raised her head to look at his father's stern face. She focused on keeping the chin in the right angle with her neck. Every gesture had to be contemplated and measured. "Yes, father" Anora replied.

Discreetly, she admired the gardens of Denerim Royal Palace: the rose bushes, the tall trees. Her gaze, however, remained mostly in front of her, which allowed her to notice a tall, blonde, middle-aged man walking towards them. He was wearing no insignia, nevertheless her father and the servant who was walking with them immediately knelt. Anora's education kicked in, prompting her in performing a perfect curtsy.

"Loghain! You're well in advance. After all, you were never known as a latecomer!" the man greeted, a cheerful smile on his lips. Next she knew, he had raised her chin gently, smiling directly at her. "And you must be Cailan's future wife, Anora. I'm King Maric, child. And" he stopped her from curtsying again, swinging his index finger "don't even try that again. Manners are a necessity, but unless my entourage is looking at us, I don't need any curtsy.".

Struck dumb, Anora stared at King Maric, her blue eyes fixed on his face.

Her father, who was now standing straight, was looking blankly at the King. The King's only answer was putting an arm around his shoulders. "Come, Loghain. We have some catching up to do. You can leave your daughter here in the gardens, your servant will take care of her".

Anora looked at his father and the King walking away.

She kept walking calmly, her elven servant just a few steps behind her, until a roses' bush drew her attention. Anora stared at it in surprise: those were blue roses, a kind she had never seen before. Mesmerized, she moved her hand to touch a blue petal, only to be distracted by a group of royal servants passing in a rush. They were looking around as if they were searching for something. The moment Anora turned back to the bush, she distinguished a boy's face, masked behind the stem's maze: without a word, the boy touch the tip of his nose with his index finger, asking her to not reveal his position. He curved his lips into a conspiratorial smile. Despite her intentions, Anora shut her mouth. No one ever had shared with her a true smile, let alone a conspiratorial one, no one ever had ever seen behind her Teyrn's daughter facade. She had never shared a secret with anyone.

Her elven servant had knelt to examine a yellow flower growing into a near flowerbed. Without a thought, Anora slipped behind the bush, side by side with the mystery boy. He was blond, obviously younger than her, rich dressed.

"What are you doing here? Why are you hiding?" she asked.

The blond boy smirked. "They want to dress me up like a doll. My father, the King" he proudly told her, pausing and staring at her, as if he was waiting for her to look impressed "says I'll meet my future bride today. I told him that girls are a boring nuisance I can do without, but he doesn't listen to me."

Speechless, Anora didn't say a word. She had never met a child like that one, no one had taught her how to deal with such an earnest demeanor.

He made a face. "You don't look boring. Are you sure you are a girl?" he inquired, looking doubtful.

Anora proudly lifted her chin and fastened her feet. "I am Anora Mac Tir, daughter of Loghain Mac Tir, Teyrn of Gwaren" she proclaimed.

In response, the boy smiled brightly and took a blue rose from the bush. Offering her the rose, he kissed the back of her hand as a gentleman would have done. "I am Cailan" he introduce himself. When he smiled at her once again, she felt her cheeks getting warm. "It looks like my father chose the only girl in the world who's not a nuisance."

9:17 Dragon

Gwaren Palace

He and Anora needed to come in contact with their subjects, his father had said. A ruler could be either loved or feared, preferably and when possible loved. So, he and Loghain had organized a tour to cover every Ferelden Bannorn and Arling: accompanied by his father and Loghain, they had met several nobles, and every single one of them had admired Anora's grace and elegance, to the point that she had become his model to look upon while in doubt in terms of social contexts. Whenever he hadn't been sure how to address someone, Cailan had imitated Anora's demeanor and the same shining light surrounding her had extended to him as well. His betrothed had grown up into some sort of alien, perfect creature, someone able to daunt him. Sometimes, he could still see glimpses of the playful Anora he had come to know as a child: a lovely dress, a peculiar flower or the right book still lighted her up in excitement in the most genuine manner.

Even though she looked nothing like a child now. The awareness had struck him the moment Arl Eamon had kissed his bride, Isolde, right after Her Grace had declared them husband and wife in front of the Maker. Cailan had turned towards Anora, suddenly conscious that one day he, too, would have had to stand in front of the Maker with her by his side. More than once, while they were traveling to Gwaren, Cailan had found himself thinking about Anora's beautiful, always peaceful face. Ever since, he had kept discovering something new in her features, something he had not noticed before: how her intricated braids revealed the curve of her neck, her dimples showing when she smiled, the gracefulness of her steps, and even the shape of her breasts.

And now, hiding behind the Gwaren library's door jamb he was spying on her like a pervert. Sitting on a bench, with Erlina beside her, she seemed to be examining a tome; now that the tour was over and she was back at her home, she wore simpler, but still classy dresses. The beacons' light bathed her into a haunting light.

"Erlina, would you be so kind to get the book a left on my bed?" he heard Anora asking her elven maid. Enchanted by Anora's figure, Cailan didn't immediately realize that upon exiting the library Erlina would have discovered him hiding. Hearing the elf approaching, he panicked. In an effort of trying to act casual, he straightened up, joined his hands behind his back and turned his back on the library, like someone who was simply walking along the corridor. As a result, he almost bumped into Erlina.

The elven maid bowed, uncomfortably eying him. "Prince Cailan. I am so sorry" she exclaimed.

There he was, in front of a servant, and yet he knew he was blushing in embarrassment. Even worse, he was at a loss of words while a servant of him was waiting for his permission to leave.

Finally, Erlina raised her gaze, shot him a suspicious look and left to complete the task Anora had assigned her.

"Come in, Cailan. Don't stand stock-still" Anora invited him, a warm smile on her lips. She patted her hand on the seat beside hers.

Those lips. All of a sudden, he didn't seem able to look at his childhood friend without feeling confused and shaken. "Of course" he quickly answered, setting foot inside the library and sitting on her same bench. She was sitting properly, her hands joined upon her legs. Once again he wondered when she had become so perfect while he was but a clumsy boy. She looked like a true queen, and he...

"Anora?" Cailan whispered. He didn't dare to look at her, afraid to blush again. He looked at those printed words without actually seeing them.

"Yes?" she simply replied, clearly waiting for him to speak. She calmly turned the page.

"Do you think I will be a good king?" he inquired, all in one breath.

He had expected a scolding, a shocked look or even an exasperated sigh. Anora did nothing like that. Instead, he felt her warm hand on his, and when he looked into her eyes he saw her gentle smile. "You are the son of the man who had freed us from Ferelden, whose Queen, your mother Rowan, had fought by his side. How could you not be the king Ferelden needs? Blood will tell, Cailan."

When she reassuringly squeezed his hand, he almost lost his breath. Gulping, he nodded. She always knew what to say and how to act, so it had to be true. "Will you help me, Anora?" Cailan asked.

In response, she quizzically stared at him. As he saw her disclosing her lips, ready to talk, he hastened to explain himself. "I mean, you seem to know how to talk to Arls and Banns already. You're so polite, so capable when engaged in conversation. And you move so graciously...". He silently cursed, shutting his mouth before he could disclose some less innocent thoughts.

However, if Anora had noticed anything at all she was hiding it pretty well. She let out a brief, silvery laugh. "That's what queens are for. We exist to support our husbands" she simply stated.

Her words placated his angst. Did that mean she would never have left him?

Oblivious to his internal turmoil, she turned another page and immediately pointed at a painting covering half the page. "Look, Cailan! That's your mom and dad!" she exclaimed. She briefly studied him before smiling again. "You have her eyes, you know?".

Cailan heard her as if he was surrounded by a bubble: he saw her lips moving, but instead of listening to her, he found himself enthralled by the way they were moving. Prompted to obey her, he bent his head to look more closely at the painting, and when she bent down too he could almost feel her breath on his cheek. Endless times they had been that close, while in hiding and trying to avoid having to attend a boring lesson: but this time, it was like any other. Before Cailan could even think it through, he felt compelled to savor her breath: as his lips landed on hers, he tasted their softness and for a couple of seconds nothing else aside her existed.

A moment later, Anora had retreated. Staring at him in shock, her fingers covering her mouth, she looked frozen except for her reddened cheeks.

No coherent thought passed through Cailan's mind. As much as he struggled, his mouth was arid and he may as well had had his tongue cut off. Stumbling over his own feet, he ran away, wondering every step how to look at her without feeling ashamed and how could he apologize.

I'll take you as you are

9:23 Dragon

Redcliffe Castle

Anora stared at the tiny, gracious bowl in front of her. Out of curiosity, she briefly touched the pottery: it wasn't hot. When she raised her eyes, Cailan was still looking at her in excitement: she couldn't see his hand as they were hidden under the breakfast table, but she knew he was tiptoeing upon his knees, as he always did when he was impatient. Half-smiling, the blonde almost-queen decided to tantalize him a little bit more. She lifted up lid enough to smell the content, her eyes closed. And she smelled sugar.

"Come on, Anora! I had them prepared just for you!" Cailan exclaimed. His tone was filled with childish impatience, which vanished into a manly, charming smile. "Don't I deserve to know what pleases my to-be-Queen?".

Anora heartily laughed. Despite all his flaws, he still had a way in getting what he wanted. However, the moment she set eyes on the bowl's content she fell breathless. It was full of blue roses' petals frosted in sugar. As she bit the thin petal, the sugar melted on her tongue and mixed with the velvety, a bit tart rose's flavor. She met Cailan's eyes, now shimmering with satisfaction. He didn't need to ask whether she had liked it or not.

Reaching her side, he softly took her hand into his, kissing her palm. Nothing more than a lips brush, but it still gave her pleasant goosebumps.

"You can taste those sugar-coated roses' petals as often as you wish. All you have to do is ask" he whispered. Without rush, his eyes locked into hers, Cailan left her quarters.

She gifted him a brief smile before he disappeared, closing the door behind him.

As time went by, Cailan had turned from a shy, clumsy and insecure young boy into a charming, brilliant and self-confident man. Even too much self-confident.

The rest of the world might not be able to see behind his cocky smile and his impeccable manners, but Anora knew. She was the one who had raised him up. After that first, clumsy kiss and her shocked reaction, Cailan had taken his distance from her and started looking at her like she was some sort of deity, someone necessarily out of touch. Every time their diction and etiquette instructor had commanded them to execute a certain exercise, Cailan had looked at her, shameful for not being as good as her. But she had always been taught than queens existed to support their husbands: so, she had taken upon herself to teach him every good manner she was aware of, and to make sure that the next king wouldn't have become a weak, powerless man. And she had been successful. Once Cailan had understood how much she believed in him, he had started improving day after day: so much that he had soon been able to sate his need of approval and success through women's admiring eyes. The Cailan who had walked into Redcliffe Castle's main hall, presenting the royal present for Connor Guerin's third birthday, looked like a complete and utter man.

But Anora knew. Even though Cailan was old enough to charm elven servants to his bed, to shine with royalty or to court her like any other man, she knew that behind that mask rested a naïve, kind and unsuspecting soul, a child at heart. Three dangerous qualities for a king, as gentle can turn into weak in the blink of an eye. Still, that same kindness was the reason why she had grown fond of him: all in all, he was the better husband she could have hoped for. He treated her as a person and not a property, he often surprised her with thoughtful gifts. His flings didn't matter: after all, he was a man and man had needs, and he was also wise enough to keep his brief affairs silent.

Cailan needed her by his side. She would have been able to guide him through the treacherous waters of the art of ruling.

9:25 Dragon

Denerim, Royal Quarters

Cailan stretched the violet, embroidered jerkin. He had settled for that one – violet was royalty's color, after all – but know it seemed somewhat excessive. The man inside the mirror wasn't him. Too gentle to call back his servants for the tenth time, he was aware that no piece of cloth had the power to make him look like his father. And perhaps he didn't even deserve that. He looked inside the mirror once again and what he saw was a scared boy, whose face was drawn and tired. And yet, Ferelden needed a King, and he had to be that king: not some lost boy still in mourning.

A discreet knock on the door startled him. Was it time already? Cailan took a look to the same violet, fur-bordered cloak that his father had worn at his coronation.

Another knock. A knock he would have recognized anywhere: soft enough to be respectful, loud enough to be heard. "Come in" he said, as relief was filling his chest.

Anora quietly stepped into the room, surveying him with a concerned look. To him, she was shining: it may have been her silver silk dress embroidered with a golden flowered pattern, but he was pretty sure it wasn't all. Simply put, she was the only one who could soothe his anxiety, and perhaps his pain.

"Our guards will be here soon" she announced, taking a step towards him. "Are you alright, Cailan?" she inquired.

For a moment, just for a moment, looking at her he forgot all his troubles. For a single moment her bare arms, crowned by those puffball sleeves, and that round, laced neckline, were all he needed. Those arms were her safe anchor, that neckline was all the beauty he desired. Then, he met her blue, worried glare and he was back to the present.

"I don't know, Anora" Cailan confessed in a whisper. In doing so, he didn't feel the need to avoid her eyes. "It doesn't feel right. I look at myself and I don't see a King. I see an orphan."

In response, she lifted the royal cloak placing it upon his shoulders. She rested her chin on his arm, her arms around his neck and the soft pressure of her breasts against his back. "No one will blame you for missing your father, Cailan. Certainly not me" she softly stated. "And the reason why I see a King inside the mirror is the same reason why you miss him. Your sensibility. That's the reason why you may make some mistakes, but also the virtue that will earn you our subjects' love."

Her sweet tone and her reassuring words slowly removed some of his anguish from his chest. Now, breathing seemed easier. That embrace had become his only safe harbor.

"I wish I was like you, Anora. You're so strong, so controlled. You never falter" Cailan admitted. He was speaking the truth. He trusted her and her knowledge more than any of his counselors. While those pretty servants saw the shining king, she saw the man.

Anora shook her head. "You don't need to be like me, because I will always stay by your side. We're in this together, and we can face it hand in hand. As husband and wife." Her hand found his, and he held it like it was his only anchor.

When he turned, he managed a smile. A small one, but maybe it would have been enough for all those folks outside who were waiting for him and Anora.

"Let's go get crowned, then" Cailan exclaimed. He didn't leave her hand until the guards knocked, and it was with her by his side that he faced the world with the eyes of a King.