The Setting Moon and the Rising Sun
The darkened clouds still hung over Val Royeaux, but their rough hues had a filthy greyish brown about them due to the sun being out, and there were signs of dampening. Thin beams of sunlight were flickering in and out of existence through these clouds. Though it was still dismally dour, this was the closest thing Aldanon came to natural light in a long time, and he savoured it the moment he was a safe distance away from the burning warehouse that was Marjolaine's lair. Though the shock of all that occurred was still fresh in his mind, the relief was stronger than anything else. The relief of being able to breath the free, flowing fresh air. The signs of battle were all around him; seven of the knights had fallen in battle with the mercenaries, and those of the enemy who had followed them were strewn about the alleyway leading to the building. The survivors had taken camp a few hundred yards away to rest. The others rushed ahead of him to rest, but Aldanon stopped and turned to look at the burning ruin of the warehouse. The uproar of the fire was quickly joined by crackling of breaking wood, all within view of the warehouse stared at length as it crashed to the ground, and thus reduced to ashes. This was Marjolaine's tomb, the end of the darkspawn sortie and the demonic invasion, and more importantly; Argeles' pyre. Everyone looked on sombrely and in forlorn; Argeles was usually something of a hardened, unforgiving sort, but he placed his loyalty to all within his knowing; the wardens believed he had the ability to put the others before himself, they were glad that his hard shell carried a noble soul. Now another life hung in the balance.
Aldanon rushed to Anora's side, blood streaming from her dagger wound like a red tide, her skin was growing ever paler. He took her weakened form in her arms, trying to gently wake her up. And she did, if only just. She breathed heavily from the pain that took hold from the wound, but a smile of acceptance appeared on her face in spite of it all, he seemed content, knowing that she had lived a successful life in politics and served Ferelden to the best of her abilities, and that she had a husband who could carry the mantle of leadership.
"Dying in your arms," she breathed wryly, but smiled, "how romantic." Aldanon looked at her painfully.
"You're not dying, don't be stupid, it's only a dagger, Wynne come here and help us!" he uttered frantically.
"I can't; the poison in the dagger is now in her system, I could not cure it," Wynne said resignedly, a tear forming in her eye, Aldanon stared at her pleadingly. "Even if I could, the process would cause her great pain that might kill her from shock. I'm just too exhausted and drained, I even had to call on the spirit to help her. We had to fight more of them when we ran, and the knights were dying and they needed healing too. I had to make a choice, Aldanon, and I've made it." her voice broke, and Aldanon softened at her words but hardened again.
"We're not giving up on her just like that, use the magic, come on!" he urged Wynne, but Anora took over.
"Then I guess you don't know good advice when you see it, if she refuses then I'm content." Her voice slipped into a peaceful whisper. Aldanon stared at her, aghast, was he the only one who wanted her to live?
"Heal her. Just heal her." He urged Wynne, but received nothing; "Please, Please! Just heal her! Come on!" Aldanon compelled to her, much louder this time, his face contorted with desperation, but still – nothing.
"You don't need me to survive to ensure Ferelden progresses in one piece." Anora murmured softly.
"But you've got to, come on," Aldanon croaked, tears forming in his eyes, "it can't end like this. We had such plans, you and me, all we could have done. We were going to form the great Ferelden fleet, enough to rival the Antivan Armada, and the formation of Denerim's second university. We were going to form our own branch of the Andrastian Chantry, in Ferelden." Anora stared at him, amazed of his memory of her ambitions, blood beginning to trickle from her mouth, "You were Ferelden's true leader. I'm no king, just a soldier on the throne." he continued to look deep into her, as if his eyes were pleading to her to hold on, he turned to his companions.
"HEAL HER!!!" he exploded out in desperation, only realising too late what he sounded like, what he was saying and what he looked like to his companions when he yelled out. He hid his face from their eyes in shame, and from Wynne's cross, offended, scolding face that was enough to humble even the highest noble.
"Aldanon, politics don't make a king alone," Anora said ever so weakly, and growing weaker "you've shown me that it takes more than a sharp mind and quick tongue to rule, you have all the qualities of a fine king, you can give people hope, you have a heart to make the right decisions, and you showed me when it's right to dispense justice.... So, from this hour henceforth, I hereby pronounce you - Aldanon Cousland - King of Ferelden. I transfer all powers, both political and regal, unto you. I would have bowed you, my husband... my warden... my king." with her last breath of 'king', Queen Anora Mac Tir was no more. Aldanon knelt over her cold body, his armour shaking as his hands gave way and dropped her limp head to the ground. Anora lay with the blood from the dagger wound gushing out and draining all colour from her skin. All the meanness, taciturnity, discontent and the ceaseless ambition were all gone from her face. Her deceptively fair appearance now harboured a peaceful look, one that did not reflect her nature, which was purged all of the foul qualities that people associated with her. It also seemed that after years of a harsh political life, she was finally at peace. He took his hands slowly away from Anora's deceased form and stepped backwards, still absorbing the unbelievable reality; Anora gave up her pride as she died. Behind him his friends and peers knelt on one knee before the new King of Ferelden.
'King of Ferelden'. As a boy growing up in Highever, it was a title Aldanon merely would dream about and battle Fergus over all across the Castle. He would have never have believed it of someone told him told him that he would actually ascend to the throne of Ferelden. His role as king-consort was a favour on Alistair's behalf, as well as taking advantage of his own status as a noble, and because he knew Anora since childhood. Like Anora would remind him several times, he was only near the throne, and wielded little political power. He was excited to come close to the throne, and misunderstood Alistair's loathing to the idea. Now, he understood perfectly.
"Stop bowing before me," Aldanon said firmly to his knights, "I'm not king, and Maker knows I shouldn't be."
"Anora declared you king upon her deathbed, Aldanon" Ser Perth stated adamantly, yet with strong, renewed respect for Aldanon. "Therefore we will honour her last request. If you will not take the throne, then who will?"
"I don't know. Arl Alistair? I'm sure Eamon will be eager to put him on the throne." Aldanon supposed hopefully.
"Are you mad, Aldanon?" Zevran asked incredulously, "Imagine the things you could do as the country's king. I thought this was something you always wanted. Honestly, there's no pleasing you Fereldans."
"I'm already thinking about them right now." Aldanon said with a heavily ironic voice. "And yes I did want to be king. But then six months at Anora's side completely changed all that, I was content to remain where I was."
"Aldanon, perhaps we can settle this matter about being king, and Anora's death later?" Wynne broached over the rest the group with a slightly calmed manner. When she came forth, Aldanon became sombre and apologetic.
"Wynne, I owe you an apology for my shouting at you, you were exhausted and it was uncalled for. I am sorry."
"Don't mention it, I already know you're sorry" she said in her usual gentle manner, which suddenly flushed with joy. "But come, there's someone who wants to see you." Aldanon looked at her in confusion, but then the memory stuck him; Leliana. He followed Wynne hurriedly to the furthest part of the temporary camp, the notion of meeting Leliana again made his stomach somersault and shake about. And then, he beheld her. She was lying on a bed of wolf and rabbit pelts provided by Elanea, and was being nuzzled by Schmooples and Max. When he saw her in full, and not in the thick of battle for the first time, he convinced himself he was a fool to have ignored her beauty at first. Of course, her time in Val Royeaux was an opportunity to shrug off the features that came to her in Ferelden and embrace Orlesian ideals of beauty; longer, redder hair, skin with a stronger tint of gold, her light features emanating a sweet grace. Seeing this undeniably beautiful sight sent Aldanon's heart racing, he was indeed nervous to see her again in spite of his usual boldness, he felt like Alistair with a lady companion. Wynne hid her amusement at his shyness, an abashed look from Aldanon kept her from chuckling.
"Come now, Aldanon, are you not excited to see her again?" she teased him, but Aldanon had already stepped down next to Leliana's sleeping form and taken off his gauntlets, gently lifting her head up. Slowly and sleepily her eyes came open, she raised her hand to her head to gently feel it. At first she couldn't quite believe the world around her, like she was in the Fade. But the contrast of things both fair and foul ended that. She was back.
And then, Leliana's eyes met Aldanon's. As if the Maker himself was watching over them, the Sun burst through the clouds over the city, in spite of the battle to the west. The foul wind from the west turned from bitter cold to pleasantly cool and carried natural freshness across the city, a respite from the heat of battle and fire. All caught beneath the sun were restored in hope and belief that good could triumph. The result of this herald of the Maker, Leliana's fair skin shone with unparalleled brilliance and life, her deep, insightful blue eyes radiated a heavenly grace and sparkled with a rising joy, and her flowing scarlet hair glowed in the light. Aldanon was caught under the Sun as well, his dark brown hair now appeared rich and deep, and in spite of his recent battle and the poor condition he was in, he conveyed a kingly might that Leliana had never seen in him before. For a while they remained silent, fully transfixed by each other, and the others held silent and contemplative witness.
"It's fantastic to see you again, Leli." Aldanon blurted out unexpectedly, quickly biting his lip to silence himself.
"Aldanon... I -" Leliana tried to say after a while, when a familiar snuffling sound reached her ears. It was Schmooples; the nug clambered onto her and nuzzled her lovingly, she took the nug in her arms and sat up. "You saved me and Schmooples from Marjolaine." she said in a quiet voice ardent with gratitude. His cheeks flushed as he tried to search for the appropriate words which reflected him justly, but all of the sudden she'd thrust herself into his arms. He smiled as this new feeling of her warmth and affection surged through him.
"Don't mention it." he said modestly, they swayed as their embrace endured. All of the sudden, she started laughing lightly and quietly, the effect of her soft, lyrical voice made all the world seem that much more pleasant. Aldanon had discovered something that wasn't there before. Before anything else could happen, Aldanon's eyes opened, in the distance there was a pitch-black raven in the clearing sky. It's intelligent eyes locked held an anger in them. Suddenly all inside him turned cold. He knew what this meant; it was Morrigan.
