A Brief explanatory section
This fic features a female city elf warden, who romanced Alistair. All companions were recruited, and the ritual was completed by Alistair. Alistair was made king at the landsmeet, and Anora was imprisoned. Loghain was executed by Alistair. The Warden is Bann of the Alienage, and has continued her relationship with Alistair. The events of Awakening are several years in the past.
Someone was going to find their secret passage eventually, Hermione Tabris decided, as she paused behind the full length portrait of her in full armour, sliding aside the eyes to check the king was alone in his private quarters.
As usual, he was.
At his desk, an ornate construction of ancestral heartwood inlaid with dragonthorn, whitewood and gold, with multiple tiered drawers forming each pedestal, and a small, hidden compartment containing the royal brandy flask concealed under the work surface, her lover, King Alistair, was poring over a large document, which, from the colour of the parchment, she suspected was the latest dispatch from the heavily fortified Ferelden embassy in Orlais, as it used a slightly yellowed parchment, with a seam sown into the top in the form of a set of irregular triangles.
Without pausing, she slid aside her portrait, smiling as always at the slightly more interesting image on the other side of the panel, which showed a very different warden to the main portrait, or at least what the armour hid. As always when planning a liaison, she was in a low cut tavern maid's outfit, made from a combination of fine linen and drakeskin, fastened with a single button at the back.
When he heard the portrait grate open, Alistair turned around, seeing the familiar sight of his elven lover as she pivoted the portrait around to reveal what was under the armour. Then she moved into his arms, holding him close, and allowing the tensions of running both the grey wardens and an alienage to spill out as tears, reminding him of the damaged young woman he'd first seen at Ostagar, before she had undergone the Joining. Although she hadn't ever admitted it, she'd been uncomfortable around humans, and she'd been keeping one hand permanently wrapped around the hilt of her curved elven sword, with her shoulders hunched inwards. When she'd met his eyes for the first time, however, the hazel orbs had been surprisingly bright, and he'd been lost the instant he looked at her whole face, adorned with elegant, faded and swirling woad based tattoos, and surprisingly beautiful, although some others might have called it plain or homely.
Gently, almost unconsciously, he traced one of those swirling lines, his touch soothing away fear and anguish, before she melted into his arms, allowing him to be the strong one, allowing him to set the pace, to control her, and to take her places she'd only dreamt of while they were apart.
After they were spent, they lay together, basking in shared pleasure, holding each other close. Soon though, talk turned to other matters.
"Have you dealt with Anora yet?" the elf asked, running a tender hand along a pale scar Alistair had taken in battle north of Ostagar, on their way north to Lothering.
"Why should I?" Alistair asked, confused as to the sudden change of topic.
"Because if you do not, someone will come along and proclaim her queen, in time, declare you a usurper and criminal, then tear Ferelden in half trying to place her on your throne, with them as her consort. Or they'll have an assassin kill her and blame you for it, then seize the throne at the head of an uprising."
"Why have you been thinking about all of this, suddenly?" he asked, before gently pinching one of her nipples, trying to move matters back towards a less serious topic.
"I've been reading a book on Orlesian politics. This sort of thing is like hawking over there. Everyone does it, everyone knows about it, everyone enjoys it."
"And you think I should…"
"Dispose of her."
"That is a rather callous way to talk about ending the life of another hum… another person."
"As long as she is alive, she is a threat to your kingdom."
"Hermione, if you kill her and anyone finds out, I'll be facing calls for your beheading from all sides of the room, including Arl Eamon and Fergus Cousland, never mind Loghain's former supporters."
"I was planning to make it look like an accident."
"Oh, right. A convenient accident, I'm sure they'll fall for that." Alistair replied, knowing he wasn't in any danger from the woman who'd killed Vaughn Kendells by cutting off his penis and scrotum, then leaving him to bleed to death.
An elbow in his stomach reminded him that although she loved him, that didn't mean she wouldn't hurt him, in play of course.
"How many flights of steps does the tower you've got her locked up in have?" the warden asked, not to be put off from her plan.
"Twenty or so. Old stone ones for the most part, tight and narrow, poorly lit and with somewhat uneven footing…"
"You see what I'm getting at." She asked, as her lover tailed off, realising the opportunity.
"I can't authorise you to kill her. But if she should fall down several flights of steep stone stairs and break her neck or something, I won't have a problem with it."
"I understand your majesty." She said. "I've got a meeting with the elder and our current sister, so I need to get back."
"Ah. Go on then. Be sure to enjoy yourself with the paperwork."
Her look suggested grave peril, before she reluctantly pulled on her dress and left.
Several Days Later…
He was beginning to regret his decision to allow a group of enterprising tradesmen and dwarves to set up a printing press in the city, Alistair decided, as he read the latest set of rumours about him and the 'Hero of Ferelden'. "She has a name." he muttered to himself, gritting his teeth at the constant raking over of the coals. It was useful enough for finding out which servants were trustworthy, as periodically two or three of the cities garrison of Grey Wardens would dress up in 'newsy' clothes, and start buying drinks in the taverns nearby, looking for gossipers and those who would offer to get someone into the palace to investigate rumours for themselves. When he got to the next paragraph, however, it was a very different sort of story.
"Former Queen breaks neck in tower fall." He read, curious. "The former queen of Ferelden, Anora Mac Tir, has died in an accident, according to official sources. The queen, who was in her thirties, is believed to have fallen down several flights of steps in the tower to which King Alistair ordered her confined during the landsmeet. She was found by the Warden Commander of Ferelden, Hermione Tabris…" Alistair read, omitting several lines of extraneous rumours about their relationship. "According to officials, she is believed to have broken her neck during the fall, as a result of striking the walls and stairs, before coming to rest halfway down the tower. According to Warden Commander Tabris, the former queen met her at the top of the stairs, before overbalancing while greeting her and falling. When asked to comment on…" Alistair broke off reading, before hurrying to the entrance of the landsmeet, knowing that a debate on tithes for the grey wardens had been scheduled.
When Alistair caught up with his lover, she was marching out of the landsmeet chambers in the traditional level of dudgeon associated with a member of the lower classes finding out, for the umpteenth time, that the nobility mostly exists to justify doing so. Most who'd never seen the landsmeet in session thought it to be a body of responsible noblemen who wanted to do the right thing. It wouldn't have been the first time she'd punched one of them in the face, if the looks of several highly offended noblemen storming out of the hall were anything to go by.
"What was it this time, darling?" He asked, wrapping his arms around her from behind, feeling her armour underneath the elven robe she wore for meetings.
"One of the pampered little sods thought I should help him arrange a marriage with one of the more desirable members of my fief. I suggested he by her a few drinks, or perhaps find some darkspawn for her to fight alongside him."
"He didn't take it well?"
"He threw the first punch!" She said. "I only threw about five back at him."
"Darling, while I applaud your demonstration of conflict resolution, I think next time just hit the little sod once." Her lover told her, his voice serious. "Punch him across the room by all means, but don't repeat the blow unless provoked."
"Your wish is my command." She deadpanned, smiling slightly.
"While I'd like nothing better than to take you up on that, right now, I need to know what happened up the black tower."
"I wanted to visit her. I dug some wine out of the cellar, a decent Orlesian vintage, and took it up to her. While she was welcoming me to the top floor of the tower, she slipped and fell past me down the stairs."
"Her neck did break during the fall, right?" He asked, nervously.
"Of course it did." She comforted him, before whispering in his ear; "Chambers, now."
Once they were safely ensconced in the highly secure, magically warded chamber, with three locked doors, a heavily decorated stone corridor and eight heavily armed grey wardens outside the furthest door and therefore between them and certain highly trusted members of the landsmeet and bannorn, they got down to business.
"Did she break her neck in the fall?" Alistair repeated.
"It was broken in two places by the time she landed." Hermione replied, smiling slightly. "So yes, she did."
"Did you help matters along slightly?" Her lover asked, knowingly. "I mean, I know a broken neck is a common injury sustained falling down
"I may have ensured she'd suffer a neck breakage." She said, smirking slightly.
"Was she dead before she fell?"
"I don't know. Her neck was certainly broken, however."
"If someone with a suspicious mind were to examine her body, would he find any evidence she was murdered?"
"They'd find evidence of a variety of recreational substances, including Cantacbo and lyrium. I was providing the caterers for her accommodation, and they were drawn from organised crime rings originating in Tevinter and Orlais. They were told to put some packets in her food by an individual they believed to be working for the local underworld. There will be no leads, no evidence and no proof I killed her."
"I think we need to discuss your punishment." Alistair said, before reaching behind his pillow.