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To Be King

Coronation

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There was more fanfare than he expected as the two of them entered the throne room. Trumpets blared, people cheered, and the roaring wave of sound that washed over him reminded him of the battle cries and crash of a battlefield charge. Except without the immediate danger of death and dismemberment.

As he felt the eyes of all the assembled settle on him, Alistair actually wished he was leading the charge into another battle rather than walking into what lay ahead. At least then he would know what he was doing. Why had he agreed to this again?

He glanced towards Anora who stood at his side, looking as beautiful and poised as always. To be expected, of course. She had already been queen once before, and was technically still queen now, so she was used to things like this. Things that Alistair was aware of but hadn't considered believably possible in his future.

Perhaps sensing his gaze, she turned and smiled at him, and for a moment he thought it genuine. But then he noticed how the smile did not quite reach her eyes. Those calculating crystal blue orbs behind which shone a keen intellect and a hardness born out of practicality. Why had she agreed to this again?

Before he could delve too deeply into deciphering her reasons, she narrowed her eyes at him ever so slightly and motioned subtly towards the thrones on the raised platform at the far end of the room.

Right. There was a coronation to get over with first. He supposed figuring out how he got himself into this mess and what he was going to do about it could wait. It wasn't like he had been agonizing over it the last week since the conclusion of the Battle of Denerim already anyway.

The crowd continued to cheer, though the volume had lessened from the initial overexuberance they displayed. Either that, or he had already gotten used to the loudness of the room. He wasn't entirely sure.

They marched forward together, though they maintained a respectable distance apart. Alistair was arrayed in his golden royal armor, specially forged for him by the combined efforts of the Royal Ferelden Blacksmiths and the dwarves of Orzammar, while Anora wore an ornately beautiful red and pink dress lined and highlighted with gold, made by the skilled hands of master seamstresses both human and elven.

They looked every bit the King and Queen of Ferelden that they ought to be, minus the crowns. Though that would be addressed in but a few moments.

The walk to the thrones was arguably the longest walk of Alistair's life. At one point, he even thought that he might have gotten stuck in the Fade somehow given that the end of the room seemed not to get any closer. But eventually, they reached the stairs, and he realized then that his heart was pounding away like a woodpecker struggling to break free from within his chest.

His legs felt stiff as he climbed the steps one at a time. In his growing panic he tried to reach for Anora's hand, the closest thing he could latch onto for even some minor comfort and reassurance, and for a split second she held it. Then, as if realizing what was happening, she wrenched her hand away and swatted his own aside even though it was encased in an armored gauntlet.

Once he arrived at the top, he stared at the thrones that sat side-by-side and gulped. They looked larger than he imagined. Had they always been that big?

The corners of his lips tugged down, and he was glad at least that the vast crowd arrayed behind him could not see his face. Even Alistair knew that it would not do for his future subjects to see him like this. He got rid of the frown and glanced at Anora once again, but she was staring resolutely ahead at her own throne, her face a mask of determination.

Motion in the corner of his eye drew his attention to the Grand Cleric Elemena, the highest-ranking member of the Chantry in the kingdom. She drew closer to the two royals and, taking his cue from Anora who already began to kneel, Alistair quickly dropped to one knee.

The crowd suddenly quieted, leaving a ringing in Alistair's ears.

Elemena raised her hand over him first, and then Anora, invoking the blessings of the Maker upon them and imparting a few words of wisdom while she was at it. She finished by voicing the hope that they would lead Ferelden into a new age of peace and prosperity.

Then she motioned to some priestesses standing off to the side who brought forth the finely crafted royal crowns resting on plush felt pillows. Placing one crown on each of their heads, the Grand Cleric stepped back and with big smile loudly declared them the official monarchs of the Kingdom of Ferelden.

Alistair took a sharp intake of breath as once more the crowd roared with approval and thunderous applause. His heart thudded hard against his chest.

Again, Anora was the first to move, with Alistair following her to their feet as they turned and beheld all the people packed into the spacious throne room. Every one of them looked at the two royals with genuine happiness and hope.

Both king and queen raised their hands to wave at the people. Their people. And despite all that had transpired thus far, with the weight of both the crown and the armor pressing against him, and the sights and sounds of his cheering subjects, Alistair could not help but feel like an impostor.

Now that he was one, what did it really mean to be king?