A/N: This piece was written for the Seven Deadly Sins of Anora challenge on Livejournal. It takes place in the universe of my main epic fic, Terrible Beauty. You can read more of the details I mention about Cailan and Anora's wedding there.
I wrote this outtake with the intent to have it make sense to anyone familiar with DA:O. Please let me know if/where it falls short, so I can do better next time. :)
- Odie
.oOo.
Anora
Even here, through the thick stone walls and windows barred and sealed with thick squares of murky green glass, she could hear the pealing of the Chantry bells.
Every Chantry in Denerim rang out the news, proclaiming that the union between Theirin and Cousland was now bound and sanctified in the eyes of the Maker. They had rung those self-same bells six years ago, when she and Cailan had made the same vows to one another, at the same altar in the same chantry. Or at least she presumed that to be so. It wasn't as if she had been informed of the details of their wedding plans, and that was probably for the best. It would have been impossible to restrain herself when the topic of Elisara's pre-nuptial party arose.
Cailan had confirmed to her the needle of truth within the haystack of rumors. Elisara's whereabouts that night before their wedding had been the hot gossip of their wedding ball that burned its way through the assemblage like wildfire. Anora had been well aware that Cailan and his attendants had rented out Denerim's finest whore-house for the entire night, and she had bitten her lip and smiled, as was expected. What she had not expected was that Elisara would rebuff her elegant gathering for Cailan's celebration of male debauchery.
"She is such a child," Anora muttered to the wooden rafters above her modest bed. After spending six months in the same room, she no longer cared that it was a sign of madness to talk to one's self. "A spoiled, hedonistic, willful child!" And now that child ruled Ferelden. alongside a stranger in Cailan's armor. She squeezed her forehead with her hand, closing her eyes in frustration.
The Landsmeet adored Elisara, if the way they were eating out of her hand during Father's trial was any indication. The masses most likely slavered madly with awe-struck hero-worship whenever she walked the streets or addressed them. Thinking about the revelry they would carry out in honor of her being wed to Calenhad's embarrassment of a descendant made her stomach churn. People would parade and cheer their names in the streets, countless kegs of beer and wine would be emptied, and many a child conceived in inebriated celebration.
Why those drunken fools got all the luck, Anora would never, ever understand.
She hated them all. The lords of Bannorn, Arl Eamon, Maric's by-blow, even Cailan for running off and dying on her. She had tried to hard to hold the nation together in the tumultuous state her former husband had left it in. The Maker may have cursed her in other ways, but she was good at navigating the pitfalls ruling a nation put in front of her. How else had she managed run the country for five years single-handed? Learning the foibles of the various banns and arls, knowing how to play them off of each other and in the end still get what she wanted. And yet, for all her successes, they all scorned her for the one thing she had tried the hardest at and still failed.
She had made every effort to draw Cailan to her bed, and was often successful, for all the good it had done her. Using all the tricks in the book, she had tried, month after month, year after year, to conceive an heir to Calenhad's legacy. Expensive creams and reagents to fight the lines of stress ruling left on her face. Luxurious and beautiful clothing, including those frilly scratchy underthings that Erlina had ordered sent from Orlais. Even the cook had helped her on occasion, serving her husband certain foods said to increase ardor when she requested it. And yet something so simple, so base, so essential to the human condition had remained beyond her grasp. The Maker was cruel, indeed.
All those sodden peasants... the midwives would be in high demand before the year turned again. They bread like rats, yet she, a teyrn's daughter yet one mere generation removed from such base stock, was denied even a drop of their fertility. Just watch, she thought bitterly, that spoiled brat will count herself among the pregnant mobs three seasons from now, positively glowing with her own sense of self-importance.
Finally, blissfully, the ringing of the bells subsided, but Anora's seething anger continued to rage within her. Calling to the guard stationed outside her door, she demanded a bottle of strong spirits and a kettle of strong elfroot tea. Dulling her mind into a dreamless sleep had become her sole consolation during her confinement. She intended to take advantage of this now, before Elisara or Alistair denied her this freedom as well.
.oOo.
The bottle had granted her two days of blissful blurriness. She drank the elfroot tea, cold and stale, when she awoke from her stupor to a pounding headache, only to begin the process again once she could see and think properly. As she poured herself the last measure of amber liquid, a strange hammering intruded on Anora's solitude.
"Anora, I wish to speak to you," came the muffled voice from the other side of the door. What did she want? Shouldn't she be off teaching her bumbling Templar how best to serve her wanton desires?
"You hold the key, Your Majesty," Anora replied bitterly. "You can bloody well enter whenever you so choose."
"I would prefer your consent over your fatalistic compliance."
Had she been practicing her grown-up words in preparation for her new role? How droll. "As you say. Please enter, Your Majesty. You honor me with your presence."
The guard fumbled with the locks and entered the room before Her Rose Red Majesty, holding the door open as he stood at attention.
Anora couldn't help but laugh. "You got married, in front of the Maker and all of Ferelden, with hair dyed to match the color of a cherry? Andraste save us all." Clearly, her attempts at maturity were just an act. This was the self-same child whom she had known all these years, who reveled in her whims like a fool in a traveling circus.
"It is good to see you again, cousin," Elisara said, refusing to acknowledge her scorn. She forced a cheeriness into her tone, as if to imply they had simply been apart these past months rather than playing the roles of prisoner and jailor.
"Spare me your pleasantries, Elisara," Anora snapped back before finishing off her drink in one large swallow. "I have none for you. I am out of refreshments, you see." She slammed her drinking glass on the rough-hewn table to accentuate her point.
"Perhaps I should come back later, when you are more... refreshed?" Elisara asked archly. "Your Grace appears not to have slept well."
Anora scowled. The whore was learning. Not well enough, not by a longshot, but some progress was better than none, she supposed. "You are ever so kind to notice. And it's 'Your Grace' now, is it? Charming. Now, if you would be so kind as to inform me why you have come to me after months of withering silence, I would be most grateful."
The newly minted queen at least had the decency to look ashamed. "Please, Anora, listen to me," Elisara pleaded. "I am sorry for the fact that you have been imprisoned here for so long, I truly am."
"Too busy slaying dragons while teaching the lords of the Bannorn to dance in lockstep, I presume? Think nothing of it."
"You have every right to be upset," Elisara continued. "Alistair was quite firm however, that you were to be allowed no visitors. I would hope that you will take into account the fact that my first act as queen has been to work toward clearing the Mac Tir name and restoring your rights."
"Restoring my rights?" Anora fumed, jerking herself to her feet. "The only rights I care about are the ones you now hold! You had sworn your support to me and my claim to the throne! I was a fool to trust in the respect I thought you had for me. After I denounce my father in front of the Landsmeet, simply to embolden your claims against him, I might add, you proceed to sic your pet bastard on him and have him executed!" She gesticulated wildly as she spoke. "My father, for all that he needed to be removed from power, was fighting for what he saw as right for Ferelden. He deserved a better fate than a public execution!"
She leaned over, forcing her gaze to meet that of the bitch-queen. Did she look afraid? Did her nose wrinkle just a tad in disgust? "Do not think that the Bannorn will always love you, just because they call you 'Hero'. They can turn on the Hero of Ferelden just as quickly as they turned against the Hero of River Dane."
Elisara frowned. The poor girl looked positively confused by her words. "Your advice is well noted. But the past is past, and I come to speak to you of your future, if you will hear me out."
Sitting down hard in the uncomfortable wooden chair, Anora laughed a short snort of a laugh. "Fine, for it appears that I am indeed your captive audience. I will make no promises, however."
"I called for the Landsmeet to convene while the lords of the Bannorn are still assembled here in Denerim. I take it from your glib words earlier you know of the wedding?"
"These walls are thick, but not soundproof. I wonder, do you think it may have been the some of the same Chantry bell-ringers pulling the ropes as were there six years ago?"
"I am prepared to put forward a proposal," Elisara continued forcefully, "that you be granted back the teyrnir of Gwaren, including all its lands and incomes."
"I had guessed as much with the 'Your Grace' nonsense. I also would then hazard a guess that my part of the deal would be to offer my unwavering allegiance to King Alistair and his magnanimous Queen?
"Is such a fate worse than being kept here forever? Or perhaps moved to seclusion in an isolated Chantry? You could always be sent to help in building the newly proposed abbey, high in the Frostbacks near the resting place of Andraste?"
"Is that truly an option?" Anora asked, eyes narrowed.
"Probably not," Elisara agreed. "The laborers would go on strike if they had to deal with your difficult attitude every day."
"How dare you lecture me about attitude!" Anora shouted, furious beyond measure.
"Nevertheless, the offer stands. Swear fealty to Alistair, and you shall receive your freedom and your father's lands and titles back."
Anora stared at this girl, this mockery of a queen, and it was all she could do not to explode in an fiery rage.
Elisara continued when Anora did not respond. "You will be kept under strict watch, of course. A contingent of the Royal Guardsmen will be stationed in Gwaren for the foreseeable future, the personnel rotating every six months or so. Your personal attendants will be supplied by the crown as well, and they will monitor your activities and your correspondences. In time, if there is no indication of treachery..."
"Unbelievable!" Anora fumed. Elisara's arrogance simply could not be borne any longer. "It was my father that you found guilty of treason, not I. I have done nothing but serve this country and its people faithfully, and yet you hold his perceived sins against me."
"Anora, be reasonable."
"Reasonable! Reasonable would have been letting my father live, living out his life in service to the country he so adored. What you offer me would have been a reasonable offer to him, quite generous in fact. But your petty, vindictive husband simply couldn't see beyond his own selfish desires." She paused then, reflecting for a scant moment. "You two make quite the pair, I must say."
"The Bannorn would not allow my proposal to be implemented without such measures being in place."
"Alistair is not 'the Bannorn'."
"These are our terms," Elisara said sharply, her green eyes hard as stone. "Work with me to have it accepted by the Landsmeet, or rot here in this room or one like it in a secluded monastery. The choice is yours." With that, she turned abruptly toward the door.
The injustice of the offer was truly insufferable. And yet...
"Elisara, wait."
The shameless queen stopped near the door frame, glancing over her shoulder with a chill in her gaze. "Yes?"
"I... will consider your offer." She could feel the shade of her father over her shoulder, crossing his arms and scowling at her.
"Very good," Elisara replied with a curt nod. "I intend to present my proposal to the Landsmeet tomorrow morning. Can I trust you enough to stand beside me and keep your tongue appropriate?"
"You can. I swear upon my honor as my father's daughter."
Elisara smiled ruefully. "I won't mention that last part to Alistair."
"You have my eternal thanks."
"Randolph," Elisara said, turning to the guard. "I will be sending a maid here tomorrow morning, to provide Her Grace with assistance in dressing for the Landsmeet. Inform your relief and ensure they pass on this message."
"Yes, Your Majesty," the guard replied. His reverent tone made the hair raise on the back of Anora's neck.
"Oh, and Anora," Elisara continued, turning back to face her. "It would not do at all to present yourself to the Landsmeet cloaked in Eau du Cognac."
The guard slammed the door shut, denying Anora the chance to snap out an appropriate retort.
Before it even registered in her conscious mind, Anora reached over and grabbed the empty liquor bottle. It made a most impressive crash as it broke against the far wall. She almost threw the drinking glass as well, but gut instinct stayed her hand. They would send her more spirits, but perhaps not a new glass. After all, it would be unladylike to drink straight from the bottle.
She would take the child queen's offer, as much as it made her choke on her sense of righteousness. It was more than her father had received after all, and any modicum of freedom would provide her with opportunity. It would take time and enough patience to fill a dwarven mine, but for now Anora would play this game with the girl who had once seen her as a mentor. Sometime, somewhere, she or her moon-eyed bastard would make a misstep. It was not a matter of if, it was a matter of when.
When that happened, Anora would make sure she was there, ready to take back what was truly hers.
.oOo.