Right, so I tried something new, and I've always wanted to experiment with the dynamics of a Anora-Alistair marriage, so... This is the result. I'm curious how I did, so if you have any thoughts, feel free to share!
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There were times when Anora truly despised Alistair's noble character- his noble sentiments, coupled with his stubbornness, often lead to highly unwanted complications. On more than one occasion, when confronted with dealing with those complications, she found herself wishing he were the naïve boy-king people often assumed he was, and thus more susceptible to her manipulation.
That would have been easier.
As always, the reality was always more complicated.
Alistair was as dedicated to the crown as one could hope, he was a quick learner and continued to impress with his ability to adapt even under the most unfavourable of circumstances. He was also, by no means -no matter how much he liked to embrace the role- a fool.
He was unquestionably noble; kind to a fault, as some have said. Usually, Anora was inclined to agree to that- though never publicly, which would cast doubt onto their already suspect marriage. The fact remained that the new king did not know how to bend his principles for the sake of politics, loudly dismissing the thought of such a thing. Nor did he, apparently, possess the strength to turn a blind eye in matters of the court of less than high moral standard. The queen scoffed at this, acquainted all too well with the ugly truths of life. Not everyone could be saved, not every injustice could be righted, or starving child offered help- not even if one wore the crown of a country. He himself probably realised that as well, but it did not deter him from trying.
Many nobles looked at the queen in disapproval when such things happened, much to her dismay. She was, after all, just as displeased as they- if not more so- when her husband missed the feast of a ceremony to run and visit the city's slums in peasant clothes. "To help." he'd say, and she would only see another Cailan driven by a wish to prove himself a hero just as strong. If people had known the two of them like she did, there would have never been talk of illegitimacy when Alistair was proposed as king. To her, it was painfully obvious he was Cailan's brother. The similarities made her more than uneasy. Granted, Cailan's taste for heroics were more about the dangers and glory of a good fight, than about the elves in the Alienage or the lack of food thanks to the recent Blight. But Alistair was not usually opposed to that other kind of endeavour, either.
In any case, to blame Anora for not stopping his small campaigns was simply absurd.
Indeed, Anora did not encourage such behaviours in her husband, and was plenty bothered by Alistair's unwillingness to cooperate most days.
Of course, that affirmation also implied that there were times when she did not mind it, a presumption not entirely without merit that she came to realise quite soon into their marriage, much to her own surprise.
(Secretly, so deep down even she had a hard time seeing it, she also could not help but admire his devotion, to both his country and his moral code, if only in the slightest measure.)
Unlike Cailan, Alistair truly tried and managed- mostly- to help. It was heartening for people to see their king so eager to aid them with their plights and listen to their troubles, and he never once came back with the wish to gloat about his deeds. She was always informed of what exactly those deeds were by the guards loyal to her long before the time he came see her, and it was perplexing how little of his admittedly good, generous work he told her about. When people kept things to themselves, it was not usually the admirable acts they choose to hide, but rather the opposite. She could truthfully say had never been lied to in the way he lied before, an impressive thing indeed.
He had insisted the bruises on his legs were because he'd fallen off his horse on the way back to the castle, despite the fact he had never fallen off his horse in recorded history.
(Sir Brann informed her the king had gotten them in his rush to save a boy from a rabid dog just outside the city limits. The man had no reason to lie.)
Yes, her husband was truly something, and the poorest liar she'd ever seen, although that might be excusable, given the circles she grew up in.
For some unfathomable reason, she didn't think less of him for it- quite the opposite.
Naturally, she never commented on it. She had seen many times over the effect that compliments, even ones given reluctantly, could have on a man's ego. And the last time Anora had offered Alister anything resembling praise he had pestered her with jabs about it for days.
She wondered, though, about the fact that she had never seen him smile so often until that time or since (did he really smile so rarely since they wed? That was upsetting for some reason), and about the moment she started to notice such things. She hadn't cared enough to worry for someone since Cailan, and for Alistair to make her almost feel such- ah, but that was preposterous! Such trouble simply because she'd told him he looked presentable before the meeting with Arl Eamon some weeks before. It had been a simple, cold observation, not an elegy to his beauty- even if he had looked reasonably better than 'presentable'.
She also wondered later, briefly, how many others have been more honest and generous with words at the feast they attended that night, if only because of the way he smiled when he guided her away after all was over.
(Surely, her words could not have been the cause for his many smiles for the days that followed.)
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"I should hurt him." She muttered, wrestling with her skirts to climb into the carriage without sullying them. The steps to climb, few as they were, were damp and somehow muddy, and she could not exactly see them properly in the dim light of dusk. She had grown too accustomed to being escorted by Alistair, it seemed.
Her heavy over-skirts threatened to spill from her lithe fingers, and she tightened her hold to prevent it. Anora knew she ought to ask one of the guards to help her, but she had too much pride to do such a thing. Everyone waited for her to climb inside for them to leave, but no one, not even her dear handmaid, commented. It would not be their place, especially with her in such a sour mood.
Alistair was late.
He was late for the naming of the newest Arl of West Hills.
He was late for taking the carriage with her.
He was late, and the last time she'd seen him, he had assured her that the city's forces would wipe out the bandits recently settled around the West Road, though he only took three guards with him.
She vowed to hate him for eternity should it be discovered that the king was killed by bandits and dumped in a ditch somewhere. And even if that was not the case, the fact that he was still late, and forcing her to make an entrance before the other nobles alone, remained a valid reason for her anger.
'Such a thing would never happen were she a better wife', they would silently accuse again at the festivities.
Somehow, she did not think they were right.
Alistair was far too stubborn for her to control, whatever way she tried to do it. Playing a good wife would gain her little, or cost her all.
They might have been right about it not helping that Anora was not amongst his favourite people, though they'd managed to remain civil for quite a while. (The responsibilities and burdens of rebuilding a country helped to that end, ironically enough.)
Irrelevant- why was she stalling? It wasn't as though she had to climb a mountain, and it was surely not because she feared meeting the court unescorted. Her fingers hurt.
"Wait! Hold it, I'm back!" She heard, and the gates opened noisily. "I'm here." There was commotion and some murmuring between the servants as they parted ways to let him pass, and Anora dared let her grip loosen.
(So that was why.)
Anora frowned as to not show any relief at the loud calls of her husband. Alistair came running down the stairs with his shirt half untucked and his red hair damp and wild. Evidently, he had just managed to bath away the dirt he was always covered in after his trips before appearing, and had dressed in a rush.
She was still glad to see him despite herself, and silently waited for him outside the carriage, one foot on a wooden step.
"Forgive me, Anora, I know I said I'd be back on time." He apologised almost sheepishly, and she was forced to bite down the harsh remarks she'd prepared for him. It was unreasonable how his sincerity could placate her, so she said nothing to assure him of her mood and simply placed her arm on his elbow.
As if it would help put the whole situation behind them, he jumped to help her, getting her inside with ease. She straightened her clothes as she lowered herself onto the comfortable bench and motioned firmly for the carriage to go at once- the castle's walls disappeared from view slowly as they sat silently and tensely.
Anora knew Alistair was nervous about her reaction to his carelessness, and she let him worry and fidget and agonise, since he deserved the discomfort.
"The Arl had prepared a special banquet for your benefit especially." She commented easily, but with enough strength that he could not disregard them for simple chatter. "I do not appreciate being put in such embarrassing situations. Don't make such foolish mistakes again."
Alistair inhaled slowly, and she could feel his eyes on the back of her head as she kept hers to the window.
Carefully ordinary, she offered one last aside. "I've been informed he'd even imported fine cheese from the Anderfels for the occasion by the Lady Dayn herself."
And with that, Alistair knew his misbehaviour was forgiven- or at least put out of mind.
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Arl Gallagher Wulff was not generally one for such grand public displays, but Anora supposed the Blight had a way of making people do stranger things than throw a party to celebrate the restoration of peace. The Arl himself had lost two sons to the chaos, and for a brief moment his Arling as well- it was only proper that he wished to show his gratitude, and he was-and had always been- a powerful man and a valuable ally. The queen was more than pleased that he was so openly supportive of Alistair's -and by extension her- rule.
The gathering was larger than expected either way, and Anora was grateful that Alistair managed to make himself look more put together on the way to the Arl's estate near Denerim, thankfully spared from darkspawn.
"You weren't kidding about the cheese." Said Alistair, and she could just see his fingers twitching to reach for some. He managed to refrain until after the Arl greeted them, to his credit, although the manner in which he ate it was far from proper for a man of his standing. Anora was confident she was not supposed to find that endearing, and blamed her odd behaviour on the oddity of the man at the centre of it.
The queen allowed herself to mingle with the nobles and made sure to pay close attention to any information that could potentially be used later, as she always did.
Bann Alfstanna commented on her healthy complexion, and inquired if the king had anything to do with it, as they were still in their first year of marriage. It was not an ill-intentioned comment. The woman had no particular care for Anora, and it was not as though she'd openly asked her if 'They were working on an heir yet,' as some have done before. Yet it reminded her of the precarious situation she was in all the same. In a few short years she would enter her thirties, after all, and she had no child of her own. The sadness of the possibility that she might be infertile was trying enough for any woman, even without all her life's work in the balance, or the fate of a country.
Her smiles proved much more difficult to maintain after that conversation, but she was well-practiced in doing so. It was not 'easy'- that was not the word she would use- but it was familiar.
She took part in apparently meaningless conversation, occasionally spying on Alistair to see how he was faring- he was doing surprisingly well considering how the evening started- and listened patiently when necessary.
She tired quickly of the game, though, and waited until it was appropriate to excuse herself to find her husband when the hour was late enough for them to go. The man would miss the food, but he would be glad to be rid of the rest.
Or not.
The young Lady Izot, it seemed, had managed to talk with Alistair alone, just before Anora came to tell him they should make their departure for the night, and Anora was well-aware of the way the woman looked at her husband. He was a handsome- and most powerful- man. When the brunette managed to make him laugh- he had such a sound laugh, one could hear it from rooms away- Anora knew she should have carefully stepped aside. She knew that game as well, and it was always better that she did not make a scene if her husband happened to extend his favour to another woman.
Cailan had had his women too, after all, and while there had been months since their wedding and Alistair had never showed any interest in anyone before, she had no reason not to expect it- she could only hope he could be discreet in handling the affair, if nothing else.
Anora's impulsive nature –one of her traits that made her both formidable and liable to weakness - betrayed her before she realised it, and she found herself cutting into their conversation before she could stop herself.
Alistair seemed somehow reluctant to leave the lovely brunette, and it twisted something in Anora's gut to confirm her suspicion. The first time Cailan had given himself away like that it had hurt too, though she wondered why with Alistair it was the same.
Not 'why he too was weak' in the way men sometimes were, but 'why she felt betrayed' when it happened. With Cailan she had been able to make peace with his transgressions early on, and he, she had loved.
She supposed it was exactly because of the way Alistair was different- even if Cailan had the royal upbringing, he was never quite as morally righteous as Alistair. Perhaps, in a small way, she had expected more from a man who cared so much for the wellbeing of his people- of the actual persons under him- and not for his image and achievements in the world. Although, she supposed, one hardly needs more fame or acknowledgement after having helped stop a Blight and slay an Archdemon.
None who knew the details of how their union came to pass could possibly expect Alistair to honour their vows as though he loved her, least of all Anora (and she never did)- but it would have been something characteristic of him, and him only, to do so anyway.
He'd never had any desire for the marriage, or even the crown. He got them both.
Daughter of a man he loathed, not purely innocent herself (she bemoaned her choice to turn against the Wardens and her now-husband at the Landsmeet too many times to count, and she feared he would never forget what she'd done). As one who'd offered him nothing other than mistrust and coldness, she often wondered grimly for what reasons he had agreed to the arrangement in the first place.
If it was for the purpose of peace, or becoming king, she could have served him just as well with her death – as some loudly demanded- or cast out of the Fereldan court.
Of course, her experience was useful, as Alistair himself said to her one occasion. Nonetheless, it seemed unlikely that he would sacrifice so much of his happiness for a slightly more united Fereldan, when he could have achieved similar result by himself, thanks to his role in recent history and his alliance with the Wardens.
She remembered her wedding day- the second one. It had been a tense ordeal, one she bore through with less dignity than was proper, all the while cursing her fate. She'd sold her hand in marriage to preserve her position, and she had done so willingly, but she had not wished for it. It had been necessary, though, for herself and –at the risk of sounding prideful and arrogant- for Fereldan as well.
She also remembered how Alistair had tried to hold her hand during the ceremony, and the brutality with which she refused to allow it. There was little wonder he would seek affection elsewhere, then or later, when she could not give him any. It had been her decision from the start, of course, as she had learned all too well how blind affection could render a person. It was not a weakness she could afford again. Not when Alistair was proving to be far more dedicated to his responsibilities as king than Cailan ever cared to be, and no matter how he claimed to dislike his new role at first.
It became apparent to Anora the only reason Alistair thought so at the outset, was simply because he thought himself unfit to rule, lacking her experience or Cailan's easy charm and way with people. He was learning though, and shaping himself to be a good, capable king.
It made things infinitely harder than she'd expected. They've been announced as equal partners in the marriage, so it was no longer in his power to cast her away. She did not feel assured by that. It still seemed possible, if not probable, that she would be discarded once Fereldan had a proper king and she was no longer needed. It had been his brother's right, once. It was the reason the news of Cailan's plans with Empress Celene disturbed her so deeply.
She had thought she could always count on Alistair's nobility, at least in avoiding a repeat of that, but could she?
(Hadn't she also thought she could count on Cailan's love and respect for her, too?)
Alistair had refused her on their wedding night and claimed a room for himself in another wing of the castle that first time, and for the next weeks after. She had been relieved at first, although it had hurt her pride still that he would find her so undesirable.
His hesitance to share her bed and consummate their marriage had not been unexpected, though. Alistair proved himself not above letting his emotions get the best of him, despite his complete, unwavering dedication to Fereldan, and he was not pleased with a marriage to someone such as she.
When they did consummate their union, it had felt strange and far too new- to both of them.
Cailan had somehow been a better lover, she suspected, but it had been far too long since he'd paid her such attentions for her to remember clearly. She had been far too focused on the fact that her new husband was naked before her- too lost in the implications of the act- to pay attention to the way everything felt. And perhaps, this time she could have a child. (The thought invaded her mind too fiercely to banish it straight away, or the hope that came with it.)
With that out of the way and the two of them irrevocably married, everything changed, however slightly.
Alistair came to her bed every night, though he rarely touched her. Unlike Cailan, who slept besides her only sporadically, and started missing longer and longer periods of time after their first two years of marriage, only to almost stop visiting altogether sometime in their fourth one, Alistair came every day.
It was absurdly mundane and even intrusive on some level, since she was used to her privacy. It was the royal bedroom, she reasoned, she could hardly ask him why he did it, or to stop sleeping there, and he gave the impression of not noticing anything amiss with their new routine.
As if he did not know the usual order of things in the castle.
Perhaps not.
Still, he came to their bed every night, even if that bed was hers alone for so long- a husband's privilege no longer desired. It had… made her happy, in a strange sort of way, almost appreciated. Recognised.
She was the queen; his body beside hers was her privilege. The warmth of him at her back was hers to feel, as well as the heat of his needs, should he came to her to fulfill them. Because she could have both, she was above any other body in a sea of women willing to serve him. It was with her that he woke up; she was the one who knew he sometime snored, and how to do so that he stopped. Her privileges alone, a wife's privileges.
"I think it would be rude to leave just yet."
Or, again, perhaps not.
"You can go socialise some more- I'll be along as soon as I've finished talking with the lady." He didn't sound angry, but he spoke firmly. Whatever he had struggled with before, he had made up his mind about staying. Clearly, she had been bested. Lady Izot knew it too.
The queen nodded wordlessly, protesting further would be useless and would embarrass them all.
It did not seem fair. He was her husband. He shared her bed. He asked for her advice. Had she read too much into it?
She seems she had. How unwise of her- she would make a fool of herself by forgetting what marriage to a king entitled.
She corrected her mistake immediately, with a tight smile and a swift departure.
(He was her King. It was always fair. It was within his rights.)
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"Your Majesty." Her handmaiden greeted, her head slightly bowed.
"Tell the carriage driver to wait by the horses for now, my husband wishes to stay a while more." She paused, considering her next order. "Bring me another cup of wine too, Erlina."
"Yes, my queen, right away." She did not linger, and Anora was grateful. Sometimes, Erlina saw too much of what Anora did not want seen, and the queen did not feel like taking the extra precautions to prevent that at the time.
When she had her wine, Anora simply dismissed the elf and allowed her features to fall back into an expression of calm boredom. She made sure not to brood or think too hard on what had happened or what it would mean for her marriage should Alistair take a mistress. (It was too unlikely he would discard the woman after just one night).
No, that would be Anora getting ahead of herself, especially considering Alistair had not actually done anything yet.
"We can go now."
Anora raised an eyebrow when he approached her only a quarter of an hour later.
"You shall return to the castle for the night, then?" Somehow, she imagined he might quietly ask her to leave without him and send for a carriage to bring him back later. It pleased her that he wanted to make his departure with her, yet she worried what that meant as well, and particularity if Lady Izot would join them.
Maker, she hoped that was not the case, and that he would arrange for that carriage for her, instead. Anora could tolerate many things if necessary, but she would rather not see her husband stealing glances at the woman while she sat beside him.
"Of course, why wouldn't I?" He almost sounded puzzled that she'd asked, which meant he either hadn't thought the question through or he didn't see why his personal affairs would intervene with his usual schedule. Anora quickly ended the conversation there. She had no desire to know which of those it was.
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Alistair did not join her in their room immediately after they reached the castle, as the chief of the guards he'd assigned to clear the West Road earlier had returned and came to report. Anora accepted Alistair's mumbled apologies with cold politeness and simply went on to start her nightly routine so she could sleep.
The day had been long and trying and she did not particularly care if he thought her rude.
She considered changing the tapestries once Alistair moved out of the bedchamber while she bathed. The ones that hung at the moment were a bright blue Anora personally detested, but Alistair loved. He had been the one to choose them, after all. She didn't argue about it only because he seemed to like them so much. He had the habit of letting his eyes linger on them while he thought.
(Secretly, she thought it was because the colour reminded him so much of the Grey Wardens.)
After she was done bathing and changing she dismissed the maids, as well as Erlina. If she was fortunate, Anora would have a couple of hours of solitude before Alistair came back.
In a week or two, she might have a lot more than that.
It could be for the best, she had grown too used to his company.
She sat to brush her hair at the vanity, like she always did. The movements were easy and calming for the mind. Her long blonde hair poured down her back in waves because of the strict braids she'd pulled it in and she took great care to straighten every curl as she worked. Tomorrow, she would go through the process again, as it would not be proper for the Queen to wear her hair down like a commoner. It was an exercise that bred perseverance.
She counted as she went- one hundred movements for every strand of hair. Sometimes it took hours.
He came back when she was half-way done. If he thought less of her for seeing her while she put herself together, he never commented.
Not that she ever commented when she happened to notice dark circles under his eyes, or even darker whispers muttered in his sleep.
When he went to shed his clothes without sparing her a glance, she resumed counting.
"You seem upset." Normally, his hesitancy to voice such things carried in his voice, but he did not seem unsure as he spoke this time. It was a simple sentence, spoken frankly.
She wanted to reply that he seemed awfully concerned for someone who had happily ignored and completely disregarded her the entire day, but that would have been far too telling. Alistair had the talent of being perceptive at the most inopportune of moments, and she would rather not endanger exposing the extent or the origin of her discontent to him.
"You are imagining it." She assured, with just a bit too much steel.
"Anora." He frowned, and she frowned in return. She refused to be chastised by him. "I am not imagining it."
"Should that be true, what good it would do to talk about it?"
He opened his mouth to answer, closed it, frustrated, and pursed his lips.
"My point exactly." She restarted her count. Alistair sighed and sat himself heavily on the bed, his pants and shirt still the unchanged, his hand through his hair.
"Maker, Anora, we're married, we could at least try to be civil to each other." He didn't sound angry, just tired, and Anora found she felt much like he did. She put away her comb and gathered her still messy mass of hair over one shoulder as she turned to face him properly.
"It's nothing I have any right to be upset over." She finally confessed. Her tone, she was very careful, was cool and dismissive. "Nor is it anything you can do something about."
That was a lie, of course. He was the only one who could do anything about it, yet he would not do it. She would not ask it of him, even if he would listen.
It would hardly do to take away what he wanted- what he sometimes needed. He was too valuable to do him such an injustice. Too commendable.
She was not that bitter yet.
Anora would not ask him to sacrifice everything- even such a simple, ordinary pleasure, the pleasure women like Lady Izot could provide. (Nor did she have the right to.)
Alistair was loud, still new in being king and vulnerable to having his kindness taken advantage of in court; he sometimes acted without thinking things through or completely disregarded the laws of propriety- but he did not shirk his duties, as Cailan used to do, and he was a good king, or on his way to being one.
If he needed something to help him cope with all the pressure, and if that something happened to be a mistress of two, so be it.
Just because she wanted more- respect as a wife, a woman, not just as a queen-
No, that had nothing to do with the arrangement between them and the Warden- she could not ask for more. She wouldn't.
She was not that bitter.
"You can forget about it."
"Way to make a man feel useless, I'll say." His lips curled slightly upwards as he joked. Months earlier, she would have taken that as a sign of impertinence, but she recognised he was only trying to ease the tension settled around them. It still annoyed her, but she'd learnt to allow it; sometimes it helped. "If you're certain, I'll mind my own business. Just tell me if it's my fault you're mad- I feel it's my fault somehow."
She exhaled slowly. "I'm fine." She meant to say she would be, as soon as she recollected herself.
It was just the first time it hurt, she tried to convince herself.
Sometimes that helped, too.
He furrowed his eyebrows but kept back any other comment, instead remembering he should undress.
(He really was a beautiful man.)
She was perfectly happy to share him with Lady Izot, it didn't really make any difference. She would still have him occasionally, or when he needed political pointers.
It was fine, she told herself again.
It still did not work.
Sometimes; sometimes it helped. Not all times, obviously. She gave up and went to the bed.
Alistair moved over to let her settle in- he was on her side of the bed, after all- and finished changing.
"Lady Izot is not your typical noble's daughter, is she?"
"No, not really." She answered without thought. Anora wondered where he was going with it, and just how transparent she was. "Why do you ask?"
He chuckled and put one a clean shirt. "She asked the oddest questions. I half-suspect she's planning to run away from her father and go live in the wilds. I really hope she didn't eye one of those Avvar near her father's land, though that would explain a lot of her- no, never mind."
That…was not what she'd expected.
"Pardon?"
He narrowed his eyes in thought as he recalled the conversation. "She wanted to know about the consequences of marrying without her father's approval, and about the legitimacy of such an act- particularly if the man was not Fereldan." He shook his head. "I would've really preferred she asked you, but she thought you wouldn't take kindly to having your time wasted so."
The woman said nothing, did nothing- she laid in bed until he joined her. Alistair didn't bother her with any more talk, mistakenly blaming her lack of response on tiredness.
Anora couldn't really fight the intensity of her relief, though. When he shifted in his sleep, hours later, and pulled her close to his chest, she did not grunt in displeasure, like she often did.
When they woke in the morning, she did not pull away first.
When he kissed her chastely in greeting, she couldn't quite ignore the warmth in her bones. She knew he needed the closeness; that he didn't really think about it when he kissed her anymore. Because she knew, she'd allowed it in the first place. It was mostly for his benefit.
He needed it, but maybe she needed it too.
The warmth pointed towards that.
And… should it be revealed she was the one who benefited most from the embrace? He might not even mind.
("To help."- and gone with a grin. He lived not for, but through, his good deeds.)
She didn't know what to think about that. He really was too noble. Dangerous, foolishly, lovably generous, noble by design. (Giving just because he could; giving her everything because his upright mind-set told him an act and a ceremony gave her- the one who'd scorned him, and used him, and disregarded him- the right to it. Giving her so much, when she was already greedy.)
No. For this, he would get something in return. She'd make sure of it.
If she could be selfish there, so could he.
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"Anora- I mean- what are you doing?" She slid her hand further under his clothes and felt the muscles quiver, just like his voice.
She mouthed a -"Good morning, husband.", against his skin.
"Oh."
She smiled.
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In case anyone is wondering, lady Izot is real, she really is the daughter of Arl Gallagher Wulff, and she does have an interesting story regarding eloping and an Avvar man. You can go check, if you don't believe me.
Also, lots of thanks to my Beta, insatiablecuriosity, I never would have got this to sound right without your wonderful work. :)