It can't be the same rose, but it may as well be. I can imagine it weaved in her hair still. Her smile... I only saw it a handful of times.
I lean over and reach for it but I don't dare touch the thing, lest it burst into dust. I was expecting trinkets, a letter maybe. A lock of her hair, if I could be so romantic. This is... too much.
"She gave this to you," I mutter.
Zevran turns away. "Yes."
"Did she tell you what it was?"
"That it was a rose? Or it was a message?"
I glower at him. "What is it you know?"
Zevran gives pause. "That she wished to... say goodbye."
The only way a king can lick his wounds and still be king is to become impassive and stoic. I've gotten pretty good at it over the years, I think, but now it's harder than usual to look like I don't care. My hands are shaking a bit. I lean back in my seat, still staring at the rose. Like a corpse in a coffin.
"Jia... would you take our guest to his room? I'll send for him later."
"My King," she mutters, approaching Zevran's side. She bows, motioning for him to stand and follow. Zevran gives me heavy eyes, like I was shoving him back in the dungeons or something.
"I don't intend to let you go," I say matter-of-factually, as if he'd asked me a stupid question. "But don't think you can ask for anything and get it—you're a guest, but you're not my friend. Jia, make sure he doesn't get pampered."
Giving this sardonic bow—well, sardonic-looking in my eyes—he turns and leaves the room with Jia. Now all I'm left with is that rose. This ashen, derelict rose.
If I spent the previous weeks brooding, I spent these past few days in absolute misery. To see me at my audience chamber was... disastrous. And you can imagine how much of a fan Anora was of that.
She sweeps into my room like a witch with wings. "And where exactly do you get off dismissing half the cases brought to you?" she snaps.
"On the basis that most of their problems should have been taken up with my sergeant before coming to me," I drawled. Really, what is the point of appointing middle men if people jump to the end of the line all the time?
Anora didn't have a remark. I turn to entice one from her when my head snaps right 'round—the slap not registering 'til well after the sting kicks in.
"What has gotten into you?" Her voice is so low and threatening that my stomach gives a little lurch. "This is... beyond pathetic! Do I have to relieve you of your duties?"
"No. I could relieve you of your tongue, though, if you'd care to continue," I say, rubbing at my cheek.
Her eyes darken to a level never before seen. "You dare threaten me?" she growls. "I am the one trying to keep your rule in check. You make such a mockery of the crown that people laugh at you daily, and all you do is sit in your room and mope about—whatever it is you have to mope about!"
She never knew. I intend to keep it that way. "I don't have to explain myself to you."
"No! Apparently you don't have to do anything!" She turns and marches back out of the room, not bothering to turn and face me as she says: "This is not about you or I, dear husband, this is about Ferelden."
As the door closes, it echoes, and I slowly slouch down in my chair. Wasn't that quite the throw back? This isn't about you and me, if ever such a thing existed. This is about you and Ferelden. Damn her, Anora was right. Just like she was right. Bigger things were always at play.
I bolt to my feet and go to my drawing desk. Reports are scattered over it like forgotten notes. I rifle through them until I find an inventory of traded goods at the docks. Each receipt is dated, and I flip through them until I find the the date I'm looking for. Sixty-three days or so. The only ship to dock anywhere near then is one from Antiva. My eyes widen as I stare at it. I knew it. That's where she is.
With a destination in mind, I look for the report on the country sent to me weeks ago by our diplomat—the one I was prepared to examine before Zevran knocked at my door and subsequently stomped my life to tatters. Reading through the report, it's clear to me that there's an opening; something to be done for international affairs in Ferelden. And an opening for me. Who says what's best for the country can't serve its king just as well?
I run through the halls, looking for Anora. All the servants are baffled at my energy, some darting their eyes here and there in fear that I might hurt my queen instead of just talk to her. But I have a plan, and I want her to pour some of her wisdom into it.
When finally I find my wife in her precious library (scouring maps, of course), I nearly shout, "I want to make a royal address in Antiva."
Anora straightens slowly and turns toward me, the ghost of disapproval on her face. "You what?"
"Right now there is civil unrest," I explain, waving the report about like an excited child at a game of Capture the Flag. "People are none to pleased that yet another bastard king has taken the throne who is no different from the rest. According to these findings, martial law has taken over the capital and taxes are soaring higher every day. It won't be long until the plump king has an accident and another one takes his place."
Anora stares at me impatiently. I stare back. "And?" she snaps, waving her hand at me to explain further.
"Antiva is a main supplier of luxuries and trading goods; if the current trend were allowed to continue, there would be an eventual crash, and the entire country will eat itself up. What I wish to do is propose a free trade treaty and advances for Antivans to work in Ferelden."
I didn't think she'd be pleased with my planning skills. I wasn't wrong. "You are proposing to hire foreign workers for Ferelden?" she asks. Rebuttal is already ringing in her tone.
I nod, unperturbed. "Since the mass exodus, our lands have recovered, but not the population necessary to rebuild."
"And what of the Fereldens who fled to the Free Marches? You do not intend to pay their way back to their homes?"
As much as I feel guilty for it, I shake my head. "It's been ten years. They've moved on and settled down. Besides, offer homes for a few and all will want passage, accommodation, and financial assistance. Trying to re-root Fereldens will debt the crown for decades more. It is more to the country's interests to improve affairs in Antiva and stabilize conditions here."
I may keel over and die, could looks kill. "Have you truly grown heartless over these years?"
Throwing her heated eyes, I say, "Have you grown soft?"
Anora sighs and knocks over a map marker. "I suppose... you're right. As much as I hate to admit it. It's what needs to be done." She waves her assistant forward. "Arrange for word to be sent to King Marcel XIV of a royal visit. Nothing extravagant; a quiet meeting. Make preparations to be off as soon as we receive word back from him." Her assistant (what was his name? Charlie? Chandler?) takes a bow and leaves briskly.
"What other affairs do we have to discuss?" she asks.
"None at present."
"Good. I presume you will let our counsellors know?"
"I'll send word immediately."
She nods. As she returns to her maps and I turn to leave, she calls my name. "I'm glad to have you back," she offers. I only nod and go.
It hits me full-force when I return to my chambers: I'm actually making headway. I just may find her again.
Zevran wouldn't tell me where our friend was and I was starting to realize he never would. But I wouldn't toss him to the winds so easily; after realizing I couldn't put him back in the dungeons, and I certainly couldn't keep him cooped up in my castle forever, I decided to... how to put it? Hire him. That's a term he'd be familiar with, anyway.
"Are you sure, Alistair?" he asks after I make my proposal. "I feel the public may not take kindly to enlisting a prisoner in your ranks."
"I learned that the public often doesn't like the stink of my shit, either," I rebut, "but that doesn't stop me from using my chamberpot."
His lips twitch. "Are you comparing me to your waste?"
"No." I turn and look at him. "I'm telling you that no one could change my mind: I want you to be on the royal guard."
"Well... such an offer cannot be denied, but I must ask... why?"
I'm not sure if he'll accept if I tell him why first, so I press, "I need your word, Zevran—will you be my man?"
He looks utterly baffled, but shrugs and nods. "Yes, if you wish it so."
"Good." I huff and stand up, starting to pace. I can't be on eye level with him if I'm going to be honest. "I need an old Crow to fend off the flock; Anora and I will be travelling to Antiva, and we need protection."
Something dark crosses Zevran's face. "You know the Crows still search for me there. I will be a target as much as you."
"Not if you're not recognizable. No, we give you an alias, a disguise, and a dozen men to command, and soon you're no different than the next hired hand," I say. "And... should anything happen to you, or to I and Anora, then Antiva will have effectively ended a beneficial alliance to their people, and will sorely suffer from the losses."
That didn't assuage the Antivan. He folds his arms over his chest defensively. "What reason have you for going to Antiva?"
"To propose a trade of skilled workers and a tariff relief," I say simply.
His eyes... he doesn't trust me. "Is that all?"
"Yes." No.
Zevran is still stiff when he replies, "Then my life is yours, until forfeit."
I snort. "Isn't that along the lines of what you told her?"
"Yes. And it still holds true."
I don't know whether or not to feel nervous about that. "We leave within the month. Until then, you'll be master at arms for new recruits. Do you accept?"
He only nods. Zevran always has a comment for almost everything.
He's on to me.
