A key turned in the door and she entered wordlessly. It always started this way, their meetings. Always in his study, the space he made his own. Alistair watched her sit by the fire place, feet curled up under herself.
She was stunning, his mage, a striking woman that captivated him still. When they first met she hated him, she said. Thea Amell, the heroine of Ferelden, was not what people expected her to be; Alistair was still surprised by her despite the years they had together.
A petite woman, she was quiet and unassuming in her day to day dealings in the palace. Thea still retained some of her stocky muscle leftover from her Grey Warden training, and would spar with Alistair out of boredom, even if she had to resort to "cheating" with magic.
Thea had cut her coppery brown hair short again, annoyed at the length bothering her face. She wasn't one for ceremony, even though she was his Councillor now. "You got that look," his mage said calmly, a knowing smile on her lips. She looked sad, shrewdly aware they did this regardless of the consequences.
"I always have that look around you," Alistair replied.
Standing up she laughed, watching as his eye followed the lines of her curves as she stretched. He couldn't help himself and feet propelled him forward, driven by his own slow-burning lust for the woman he still obsessed over. "Alistair-" she started, his hands suddenly on her.
"You drive me crazy still," he whispered against her ear as he finally dragged her down to the floor, unlacing her robes quickly. As she put her hands over his shoulders Thea smiled sadly again, turning her head so he wouldn't see it.
"Daft man," she replied, widening her legs so his weight would balance against her.
There was no pretence of gentleness and love here, her smallclothes were shoved aside. It was lust and need, a wanting that filled him until he ached. "Only for you," he murmured, rocking his body against hers.
Thea leant her head against the floor, always silent. She watched the ceiling quietly as she bit her lip, refusing to look him in the eye. Why was she doing this, why was she here…
Their tryst did not go unnoticed, however.
Erlina listened from the study balcony, dressed in camouflaged leathers to hide her in the shadows, confirming what she already guessed at. With a grimace she raised her head slightly, risking a glance into the darkened room. The Councillor was there with the King, the pair of them grunting like dogs in the kennels still.
She had seen enough. Carefully Erlina crept along, leaping to the other balcony fluidly with a cat-like grace only her kind possessed, aiming for her feet to land silently.
Caution made her creep along the empty library hesitantly, heart beating fast. Here she had to be careful, and return to the linen closest where her lady-in-waiting uniform was waiting to change quickly. Opening the door quietly she gazed through the crack, urging a pair of guards silently to loop around the corridor so she could move.
As she reached her destination she methodically stripped, stuffing her leathers in a basket under a pile of laundry. One last adjust of the folds of her dress and she finally exited, a pile of linen in her hands as an excuse for being there.
She was watched, however. The blonde Antivan that hung around the palace like a shadow was leaning against the wall opposite, arms crossed in a smirk. "Good evening," he replied casually. "Lovely night, is it not? I Couldn't help but go out and get some fresh air, I suggest you do the same… Unless you already have, perhaps? Who knows."
"I have to get back to 'er majesty the Queen," Erlina said, gesturing to the pile of linen in her hands. "I must not keep her waiting." As she walked past her fellow elf, her arm was grabbed.
Erlina shook, trembling against Zevran's hold. The Antivan appraised her with ruthless eyes, amber gaze calculating. "Such a good little actress, cara."
"Let me go," she protested, adrenaline still raging at being caught. "My mistress will not be 'appy you have your paws on me."
Zevran chuckled, pushing slowly away from her. "I know what you are, my dear. Don't play coy with me. I'm watching your game as it's amusing, but as soon as I find you crossing the line of where you shouldn't, need I remind you what I am?"
She raised her chin and looked at him, this Antivan. She was no fool; she knew he was Chancellor Amell's confidante. Zevran dealt with certain situations subtly enough that Erlina herself could only catch the bare skeleton of what he had done.
Erlina fluttered her eyelashes and played every inch the wavering maiden, all swept gaze and docile demeanour. Her duplicity was effortless, years of playing the contrite little elf everyone expected her to be. "I… I do not know what you mean, Ser. Please, I must go."
He chuckled, making a show of bowing. "I'll let you go back to darning your mistress's dresses, or whatever it is Orlesian handmaidens do for royalty, hmm? Forgive me for frightening you, cara."
Carefully she breathed out when she was convinced he was gone, a hand on her chest. Erlina hoped her reconnaissance armour would be picked up and recovered by the washerwoman she bribed for the purpose, intent on hiding her crime. Finally the elf slipped back into the shadows to reach the bolthole used by servants, getting through the palace quickly.
Queen Anora waited for her, her hair already down. "Erlina," she said curtly, a brush in hands as the elf slipped in through the hidden door to her room. "You are late."
The elf went to her, flushed and embarrassed at her tardiness. "I am sorry, your majesty," and she bowed. "I was-"
"It's no matter," Anora responded with a dismissive gesture, still fraught with agony at the waiting. "I understand."
"May I?" Erlina gestured to the brush in her hand. Nodding once, Anora handed it over, hands primly resting on the cold marble of the dresser. "There has been, an, ah, alteration to King Alistair's routine. His relationship, I mean."
She looked at her spymistress, blue eyes steadily considering what was in front of her. "Such as?" She said, watching as the elf maid brushed her long, blond hair free of tangles.
"I… I am sorry, your majesty. It appears that… That Chancellor Amell and King Alistair are in a tryst of sorts."
Anora's eyes flickered briefly to the door that connected the King and the Queen's bedrooms, usually locked. Arlina followed the gaze, watching as the woman in front of her righted herself as quickly with a decisive shrug. "Right. Of course."
"I had 'eard enough to confirm it. They were, ah, most… fervent."
Pain shot through her chest, another betrayal. Anora gripped the side of her dresser, then made a show of running her small hands along the edge, trailing fingers in the gold flecked grooves. It was a wedding present, this dresser. From the Empress of Orlais, of all people.
"That will be all, Erlina. Unless there is something else you have to say?" She replied.
"No… Other then, perhaps, the Antivan that works for Amell is far more of a player then I thought. He will need watching."
"See to it, then, though I insist on watching only. I trust you have the right people to put in place?"
"Yes, I-"
"Spare me the details. That will be all, Erlina."
She could see the sympathy in her spymistress' face, green eyes warm in compassion at the distant queen separate from her people-pleasing husband. Anora did not want pity, however, and looked away, trying not to raise her voice in dismissal.
With a final curtsey Erlina left, leaving the Queen alone with her thoughts. Carefully Anora pushed her blonde hair over one shoulder, fiddling with the dresser to keep her hands busy. Here was the necklace Cailan gave to her on their three year anniversary. Here was the wooden box her Grandfather carved for her when she was five, and used to hold her dollies instead of her writing things. Somewhere hidden were the letters from her Mother and Father when she was a teenager, educated far away from Gwaren in the city.
They insisted she was cultured and taught how to be the lady her ancestry could not give, their pretty common-blooded daughter. "Show them all what you can do," Loghain had said. "You have something they don't have, my girl. Use it wisely."
Her Father. It was approaching the two year reminder of his death. Why did events always happen together?
She started top open the drawers, looking for the letters. It was no surprise a gift from the Empress of Orlais would hold secrets as well as her perfume and pins, and Anora irritably discovered there were too many drawers to keep clandestine little items. As she searched, her hand touched something cold and smooth; with a frown she hefted the heavy item out, unsure what it was.
Holding it against the lamplight, she realised it was a snow globe, covered slightly in the dust of the dresser the servants did not reach. Anora shook it slightly so the flecks of gold leaf fluttered around the ceramic figurines of herself and Cailan, a bauble made in celebration of their wedding.
It was a visual reminder of what she was, even if it looked nothing like her. Somehow the artist had got Cailan's smile right; she was the pretty blonde wife in the fairytale dress, nothing more, a shadow to the King.
Anora remembered that dress the most that day, a heavy, embroidered velvet thing weighed down by the gold mesh and sapphire jewels of the bodice. It was unusually hot, the spring date of her first wedding. Anora was worried she would faint under the burden of her robes, paranoid she would trip up on her skirts as she walked up the steps to the Sister blessing their ceremony.
It was odd what you could recall from the biggest events of your life; she could remember an eldery Arl falling asleep at the ceremony from the heat and the food served at the banquet, but not what she said to Cailan. Her first husband thought Anora knew nothing of his dalliances and disastrous political attempts, the good, quiet little wife. Betrayal was easy to master when she knew it was coming, however. She knew it was coming again, the second time around.
Grimly she left the snow globe on the table and gathered her writing things, pushing aside her jewels and pomades. She was too fraught to sleep and would deal with her sentiments through political distaste. There were letters to write to power-mongering merchants and nobility to soothe, and she would do so to keep her mind from thinking thoughts that would only undo her.
A soft knock on the main stance of the door connecting to her husband's sounded, and she startled in irritation. She was in no mood to deal with him, not now, refusing to turn around as it opened.
"What do you want?" She said irritably, pen in hands. Ink stained her fingertips, a clumsy habit she could not grow out of.
"Don't be like that."
Hands placed themselves on her shoulders and she looked up in the mirror at them. They were oddly scarred and beaten things, evidence of the hard work of being a Grey Warden. They had touched her before and her body had betrayed her, as it was doing now.
Lust, she hated it. It made her thoughts cloudy and inconsistent, biting through what her head was telling her. "Don't," she said throatily. A soft mouth kissing behind her ear was doing what a thousand I'm sorry's and forgive me's could not.
"I've always loved it when your wore your hair down." Kneeling now her thighs were parted, those rough hands trailing a line from her ankle to her knee. "When I saw it for the first time I couldn't speak, the dumb idiot you expected me to be."
"What- do you…" And she gasped, a kiss placed inside the delicate flesh of her thigh. She was no warrior, the Queen. Though she was curved and beautiful, her skin was free of the scars and marks her lover had, a contrast to her own.
Anora put her hand on a toned shoulder, intent on stopping this. "Come to bed."
"I have to finish these letters-"
"You don't."
So she followed, despite herself. The covers were already pulled back and she allowed her nightdress to be pulled away, another kiss at her throat. "Why did you do it?" Anora finally gasped, calloused hands roaming her body once more.
The hands stilled on her, and Anora rolled over then, finally facing the source of her irritation. A steady hazel gaze greeted her apologetically, begging for absolution. "Forgive me. It's not that I can't help myself, I just… I'm never good with words, but you know why I do it. Oh, forgive me. Especially when you look at me like this, please… Forgive me."
"How can I? You stink of another, it's all over you. Leave me alone for a week. Can you grant me that? You'll find I do not bend to your every whim, despite what power you think you have." Anora turned on her side, body tight in fear and trapped by her own desire.
They were frozen, the pair of them, both lost at the duty of what they were and the desires they had. Tentatively a hand reached for her again, searching in desperation.
Thea Amell loved her Queen, had always loved her. Anora buried her head suddenly in her shoulder, feeling the dampness of her hair. "At least you washed before you came crawling into my bed," she replied snippily.
"I don't like doing it," Thea replied. Unable to resist she kissed her lover again, pulling the other woman's body against the curves of her own. Leaning over slightly, she whispered into Anora's ear, husky voice plaintive. "But it's necessary."
"You lie back and think of Ferelden? That I doubt," she replied sarcastically. Anora's body betrayed her again and she found herself rolling over, allowing a gentle mouth and tender hands better contact in their exploration.
"He's an idiot, but a needed idiot. The people love him."
"The people love free holidays and no taxes. What they need is entirely different."
It was an old argument the lovers had, one they always went back to. She controlled and dictated to the King in a way his Queen could not, using Alistair's obsession and history with Thea as a type of restraint.
The mage ran a hand along a soft thigh and pressed her lips against a creamy shoulder, intent on changing the subject. "Zevran is watching Erlina, by the way. What she is reporting to the Empress is fairly interesting. I wouldn't be surprised if the fat little Orlesian cow will write to the King separately, and soon."
"I thought as much," Anora replied, rolling over slightly. "I thought that business was left to rot in Ostagar, but perhaps not. Your pet Antivan trustworthy?"
"Very much so."
Anora kissed Thea suddenly then. The younger woman grinned in surprise, her mouth forced open with a tongue. Breathlessly the mage responded, glad to see the spark, the strength that made her so hopelessly obsessed and devoted to the woman she worshipped.
"What will I do with you?" The Queen asked, rolling over on top of her. Thea looked up, touching exposed skin like it was carved ivory, a rare, delicate artefact completely justified of adoration.
"I can think of several things, my love."
Anora allowed herself a smile, a beautiful thing that. Leaning down she lifted the last of the mage's clothing away, unbound hair leaving a tickling trail. "Then let's start with your forgiveness, shall we? I can think of a suitable penitence, certainly."
"I knew you would." Wordlessly the mage was tumbled and she responded in laughter, kissed again so breathlessly. Skin was against skin once more and Thea was thankful, forcing every touch and taste to memory.
They did not have many moments, the Queen and her Chancellor. The palace was watched from all sides, but lust could not be controlled. While Thea spoon-fed Alistair affection and told him: yes love, listen to Anora, she yearned from the shadow of the throne, watching her steely queen deal with the politics of their country ruthlessly.
Alistair was turning into the golden child like Cailan had been, the poster boy of Kingly conviction. He had a way with people that made them follow, a familiar ease that her former husband lacked. Handsome in his shiny armour while his pretty, cold Queen waited loyally by his side they were formidable. It was what Ferelden needed, the pair of them rebuilding a fractured and tainted land from seemingly nothing.
The trysts with her lover and the clandestine nature of it only Anora, Zevran and Thea knew about, and they intended to keep it that way. It was not much, it was never enough… But it was a price they paid for their affair, an entwining band neither could give up.
Anora would deal with her hand in her Loghain's death forever, an added sting to her burdens. That her thoughts would be constantly entangled with her Father's murderer she resented in part, but could not shift the blame solely on Thea.
It was a tangled web they were all caught in, a trail of deceit and lust neither escape from. One day perhaps Alistair would know. Thea loved him, in her own way, easily charmed as the rest of the country was with his charisma. But Anora owned her thoughts and soul, bound as she was to the woman she obsessed over.
"Duty does not choose," Anora mumbled to her, both of them curled in a mass of limbs, bodies gleaming with sweat. How Thea wanted to wake up next to her lover, to do the stupid, inconsequential things lovers did… Duty, however, would not allow such frivolities.
Despondently she rose, pulling the bedclothes around her Queen. Anora looked her over sadly, blonde hair bathed in the glow of the candle. "Neither does lust," Thea replied, snuffing out the light with her magic, vowing they would meet again, and soon.