Anora looked out over the city of Denerim. From her vantage point in the tower, she could observe the city as she never had before, the ebb and flow of the people, of work and commerce, the tides, waves, rise and falling. It created a rhythm all its own. Living as she had, sheltered in the castle, she had never known the city as she did now.
The schedule of the baker was of particular interest for no other reason than the wafting smell of baking bread. She craved a fresh baked sweet roll more than anything else in the Maker's world and although she had requested it many times, pleaded and nearly begged, one had not appeared. It was a cruel joke that some time ago (although it seemed a lifetime now), any request, any whim she made was fulfilled without hesitation regardless of expense or difficulty. Now no one will get her a sweet roll from a common baker.
She paced the floor, but then made herself stop. It was unbecoming and unworthy of a queen, and that is what she was. She had bribed an elven servant to deliver messages for her, and now at dusk when the guards were changing was the time he could deliver any replies. She hoped he was trustworthy but had little choice. She had not seen her handmaiden since the landsmeet, that was no doubt by design for this very reason. She worried about her but did not truly fear. He, and while she may think his name she refused to honor him with the title, did not have the... stomach to kill either one of them.
For why else would she still be here, trapped in this tower, weeks and weeks after the blight had been defeated. She had hoped and prayed for the good of all Ferelden that he would die in the battle with the archdemon. It seemed a perfect solution, everyone would get what they wanted. She would be queen, he dies a hero. But perhaps the Maker does not answer such prayers, even if for the best, merely on principle. Those had been frightening days. She watched the destruction, heard the noise, the screams, and waited. It had occurred to her that Calain had been right about one thing, the blight had been defeated in one great battle the bards will no doubt sing of for centuries upon centuries to come. It is just that Cailan was not the one to defeat it.
The fire was lit and burning well. The snows were coming. She watched as the last of the daylight seeped out of the sky. She had sent out letters to all her allies to garner support. They could not have forgotten about her so quickly. She had ruled Ferelden for five years. Did she have no friends, no allies, no... one? Her disappointment was bitter, no messages, no replies.
She could not just take back her throne, not yet anyway, but soon they would see that they had made a terrible mistake. They would see that Alistair was no king and could not rule, at least not alone. They would see that they needed her, Ferelden needed her. They had been scared, bullied, desperate. The situation had been impossible with the blight and the civil war. But now with the threat over, all could think with rational minds. All she had to do was wait for his failing as a king to become evident. All she had to do was wait.
Her prison cell was comprised of two small rooms. One a bedroom and one set up as a sitting room. They had been made quite comfortable, not that different than the palace really, if smaller. There were rugs, a couple chairs and a small table, writing desk, bookshelf. She heard the lock on the door rattle and the guard stepped in and said with just a touch of nervousness given that he was not in the habit of announcing visitors, "His highness, King Alistair Therein." He then stiffly stood aside as Alistair stepped into the room. The guard bowed most awkwardly and then went back through the door, shutting and locking it.
"Hello, Anora." He looked different. He was dressed better, in attire more fitting royalty, but it was something else. He looked older, but not really. He reminded her of... well Cailan, of course, must be. Odd, how she had nearly forgotten how Cailan was, his manner, ways, voice. Alistair seemed much like him, like... but now was not the time for musings.
She had thought about what she would do in this moment if it ever came. She knew how to get what she wanted from Cailan and she had little doubt that she could do the same with Alistair. She must simply play this game better than he, and that she knew how to do. Politics was her weapon as much as any warrior's sword or shield. He was of royal blood true but raised a commoner. He was not a king. She, however, was a lady, a noble with training and education. She had ruled the country. She was a queen, now she had to prove it.
"To what do I owe the honor? I would think that you would have better things to do than check up on prisoners." She said.
"I do, but I decided to make an exception in this case." He sat down on one of the chairs surrounding the tea table.
"I see you forget your manners. I have not asked you to be seated, but I guess that is not surprising in one raised a commoner." Alistair smiled an easy smile.
"And I see that you have forgotten your situation. I am king of Ferelden, if you hadn't heard. Had a coronation and everything. Which means that this is my tower, my fort, my city, my kingdom, and you are my... guest here. So please, be seated." She ground her teeth and tried not to glare. She desperatly tried but could not think of a proper response and seeing little alternative, sat down.
"I am sorry that I haven't been by sooner but in truth I forgot about you in all the excitement with the end of the blight and all." She caught the subtle insult. This may not be as easy as she had thought.
"That would be understandable. I know about running a country, for you it must all be so new and overwhelming." She said trying to sound understanding.
"Not as much as you might think." Alistair took a moment and then sat up and leaned forward. "Now, we can trade... formalities for a while longer or I can get to the point. I have come to make you an offer."
"I take it that you have finally realized that you can't run this country, that you are a warrior, a warden but not a king, not a ruler." Alistair sat back and waited. She leaned forward and said as though in confidence, "I know that you never wanted this but I realize that you felt you had to, in order to... punish Loghain and save the country from the blight but... trust that I am not the only one who sees it." She let her words and her certainity of them settle in.
"As soon as the country is safe, they will turn on you, and then what will happen?" Again, she paused letting the force of her words hang in the air. "Ferelden will break apart. Is that really what you want?" Her voice pleading.
"I can hold it together..." She said with conviction, "You will doom this country, this country we both love."
"I see." Alistair said.
"It is not too late to abdicate." She nearly whispered to him. "Awkward maybe... but it will be soon forgotten or... would you have me rule with you?" Alistair's eyes got wide for just a moment.
"You rule while I play king. Hmmm... is that the deal you had with Cailan?" He asked.
"Not in so many words but it worked, as all would admit." She said matter of factly.
"You would be willing to... if you could have your throne back?"
"I am queen and will do whatever I must for Ferelden." She said with feeling and certainity.
"You mean for yourself." He said with equal feeling and certainity.
"You do not even want to be king."
"No, I never wanted it but now... now, I do. And I don't intend to give it up so easily." He said with a surprising amout of surity.
"You want a throne you took... stole from me!"
"I did not steal this throne, my father fought the Orleasians for it." He said.
"So did mine!" She said louder than she wanted.
"And then he took it from you and you let him." He waited and then sat up and continued his voice getting louder as we went. "He killed the king, allowed an army to die to cover it up and you stood by as he set this country on a path straight into the teeth of the blight without so much as a whisper of protest!"
"He was my father!" She said pleading.
"He was going to destroy this country, allow it to be overrun by the blight, and torn apart by a civil war, he started!" At that, he stood up and then continued. "He tried to seize power from the banns, destroy the government and sovereignty that makes this Ferelden and you knew all that and still you stood by him, even when he had you imprisoned. Why? Because you knew that it was the only way you would ever become queen again. You didn't care about the people of this country or what anyone would suffer or it there would even be a country left to save as long as you ruled it. You did not lift one finger against him, not even to save Ferelden. Yes, he was your father and you loved him or loved yourself but either way, more than Ferelden." Then more calmly. "You do not deserve to be queen."
"And you do?" She said letting more of her anger show than she wanted to.
He shrugged and said. "I defeated the blight and stopped a civil war."
"You didn't. The Warden did!"
"Well, I helped." He said lightly. "At least I did more than you did. And then there are these." He pulled out a stack of papers from his cloak and tossed them onto the table. She could see they were her letters. "Courtesy of my new head of security." He sat back down, allowing the weight of the thin papers settle in.
"Even now, with the country suffering and parts of it devestated, you would provoke war to gain back the throne." He shook his head incredulously and then pulled out another paper, thicker, official with a royal signature and seal and tossed it on top of the others. An order of execution. She looked to him.
"Didn't think I had the... stomach to have you executed, did you?" She began to cry. "Oh, come. Now you're just insulting my intelligence." She stopped. She rose and went to the window. The air was bitterly cold.
"When?" She asked softly.
"Tomorrow." He answered. She nodded and then turned back to him.
"You said you had an offer. But the order is already signed, we're you just toying with me? I wouldn't have expected such cruelty from you."
"I do have an offer." He took a small vial from his pocket and placed it on the table. "This country does owe you, Anora, that is why I came personally and why I'm giving you this. It is quick and painless. It does no one any good for you to die by the ax in a public spectacle." She looked confused. "It is a kindness, Anora. Do not make me regret it." And she could tell he meant it. She looked at the bottle and then back to him.
"If there had been no letters, if I had been repentant and sworn loyalty in trade for my life, would you have let me live?" She asked, genuinely curious.
"I would have consid..." He stopped and then looked grim. "No. I can't believe I'm saying that. How much... things... have changed. But, no, not now. I can't let you live, you no doubt understand." He said without apology.
"Yes, I do." He stood up, stepped to the door and knocked on it. The door opened.
"Ali... your highness." He stopped. "May I call you Alistair? We are a sort of family, after all."
"Yes, you may." He said.
"Alistair, you have shown me a kindness and I do not like to leave my debts unpaid, so I give you this. Before Maric left on that last trip, he told Cailan about you. Cailan was furious with him." She said remembering.
"No doubt for cheating on his mother." He said dismissive.
"No, he was angry that he had a brother and that information had been withheld from him. When Maric disappeared Cailan wanted to bring you to court despite the risks but you were already being trained as a templar and he knew he could not risk upsetting the Grand Cleric. He was going to wait till you took your vows and then request you be assigned to his personal guard to protect him from apostates and blood magic.
"But before that happened you were recruited into the Grey Wardens. He could not understand why the Maker seemed determined to keep you two apart. Then the blight... He stayed close to the Grey Wardens to get close to you without anyone suspecting anything." Alistair turned away from her and stared at the wall.
"When you came into the room just now, I thought that you reminded me of Cailan but... in truth you remind me of Maric. I know that you cannot think very well of him given your situation but... he was a good man and a good king although he too never wanted to be." Alistair seemed completely lost in thought, then he turned back to her, as if suddenly remembering she was there. He smiled a sad smile.
"Thank you, Anora." He turned to go and then stopped. "Oh, I almost forgot." He pulled out a small package. He unwrapped it to reveal a sweet roll. "They are very good. The best in the city they tell me." She took the roll from him.
"Thank you." She said sadly.
"Good bye, Anora." He said with finality and stepped through the door.
She set the roll down on the table and went back to the window. She looked long at the rising moon. One last night. The cold air stung her face. It might snow tonight. She closed the window and walked back to the chair closest to the fire. She looked around the room, stared into each shadow, listened but heard only her own breathing and the crackle of the fire.
"You may as well come out and have a seat. I do not plan on doing anything for a while yet and I would like the company." She looked back over the room. In the far corner, there was a being standing eerily still. It was dark with a hood pulled low over what she hoped was a face. The being stepped forward and pulled back the hood to reveal a handsome elf, blond with a tattoo on his face.
"Ah, you must forgive me." He said in a charming accent. "I did not mean to disturb you. I must be getting rusty to be spotted so easily."
"No, rest assured your skills are impressive. I did not spot you. I just figured that Ali... the king would not leave my death to my whim. As he says no one, and that includes him, benefit from my execution." She said.
"Then I must remember to chastise myself for being lured out of hiding, tricked as it were, so easily. May I?" He indicated the chair closest to him.
"Please. May I get you some wine?" She asked, comforted by the tokens of hospitality.
"I hope you will not take offense if I refuse, given that you have been given very deadly poison." He sat down. She looked to the bottle and picked it up. The glass was nearly black and full.
"It is really? Or is it perhaps just sleeping potion, to knock me out and allow you to finish the job?"
"Either way, you are correct in that I am here to make sure you do not live for your execution." He admitted without apology.
"Is this a professional contract or a personal favor?" She asked.
"Both in fact."
"I could pay you to let me live, to free me." She said with a glimmer of hope.
"Ah, my dear lady. Some things cannot be bought."
"And your loyalty is one of those things?" She asked in disbelief.
"Oh, no. That can be bought, quite cheaply I am ashamed to admit but... friendship, a place I am welcome, those are luxuries one simply cannot buy and ones I am not used to nor willing to part with for something as easy to gain as coin."
"I figured not but... worth asking." She sighed and then picked up the roll from the small table and smelled it. Fresh and still very slightly warm. "I have wanted one of these for so long, that I hesitate to eat it for fear that there is no way it could come close to what I imagine."
"It will not go uneaten if you wish to not spoil the dream." She smiled.
"He is a kind man." She said.
"Yes, he has a kind heart, but it has been tempered by recent trials and the experience of the last years. I would not have thought him capable of it but iron is not so impressive yet it makes steel when tested. He may prove to be the same." She pulled the roll apart, smelling the bread and baked fruit, savoring each moment. She placed the bite into her mouth. It was delicious, better than she had even imagined. Perhaps in part because she knew it was the last thing she was likely to enjoy. She took another bite.
She looked at the small bottle on the table, at the assassin sitting across from her. Death was so certain, so close but even yet, it was hard for her to admit defeat, to simply give up. Was it courage or its lack that made her hold on to the smallest or even nonexistent hope? She could have sworn loyalty to him at the landsmeet. She could have played the safe bet and perhaps lived, but she had gambled and lost. She was not used to losing and didn't like it at all. She wondered, was she simply so used to winning, to getting everything she wanted that then she could not believe that she could lose? That even now she could not accept that she had lost?
She put the last bit of roll into her mouth. No, she decided, she would not make this easy for him. This was her throne and she could fight for it. She took the small bottle and looked to the elf and threw it to the stone wall. The bottle shattered on the stone.
"I see." the elf said seemingly unconcerned.
"No, I shall not simply concede defeat." She stood up filled with indignity at his suggestion that she submit to his judgment, relinquish her throne without a fight. "We will see if he has the courage to execute me. The banns will not stand for it! I tell you. I..." She was lightheaded, dizzy. She just needed to catch her breath...
Zevran watched as Anora lost consciousness, slipping gently to the floor. He noted with professional disinterest as her breathing slowed and finally stopped. He walked over to the shattered remains of the bottle and wondered to himself how the dwarves can stand to drink that stuff. He opened the window to allow the night air to get rid of the smell. All must seem right for the guards to discover in the morning. Not even a hint of anything amiss. That was best, that was professionalism. No one can talk since no one knows anything. A nice clean kill, the best kind.
Guard Report: Prisoner 26672 human female was found dead on floor of cell by morning guards. No signs of foul play or that she took own life. Her body burned. No mourners.