Ice Box
by Cryptographic DeLurk
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Day -72
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Anora would later be ashamed to admit that she had been relieved to hear word from Val Royeaux at the time.
It had been a humid day in mid summer. There were still geese lazing in the pond in the Denerim Palace Garden, resting before the flight north for the winter. And Anora had a view of them and the Mabari kennels from the office where she took her correspondence. It was a comfortable room with plush rugs and wooden shelves, a table where she had a bowl each of dewy, plump cherries and fresh roasted almonds, and solitude, because some people didn't run countries where assassination attempts were on the table every hour of every day.
She hadn't quite expected Empress Celene to be so keen to accept her invitation to treat, especially in Anora's own land on Anora's own terms. Even if, as the Empress acknowledged, a visit to the Amaranthine Coast was a convenient stopover between her visit to Antiva and her return to Halamshiral to winter. Anora felt, entirely due to her own folly, a sense of accomplishment.
There was of course no guarantee as to how negotiations would proceed from this point, but a direct line to the Empress seemed highly preferable to juggling correspondence between the impossibly naïve Duchess Monette de Lydes (almost all of which was penned by her caretaker, the Reverend Mother Renette) and the equally useless Arl of Edgehall. Celene was someone Anora could deal with. And someone who seemed as eager as she to avoid the inevitability of occupation and siegecraft that would otherwise occur.
We said previously Anora would later be ashamed to admit that she had been relieved to hear from Val Royeaux. Only really it was more that Anora would have been ashamed, if only she'd had anyone to communicate her satisfaction to at the time.
The truth was, in spite of her desire for such, Anora found herself at a loss for someone to brag to about this latest victory in diplomacy. Ser Cauthrien's head was full of military strategy, troop movements, honour, and little else. In the same way, Treasurer Varley's head was full of taxation rates, market values, the gold standard, and little else. It was how Anora preferred it, of course. It was why she trusted them as advisors when she trusted very few. But they were not intellectual equals who could appreciate the nuance of a carefully penned set of political banter, and attempting to explain it to them would only invite them to use their own crude methodologies to solve problems Anora already had in hand.
So there were no witnesses to Anora's self satisfaction that day. She simply contacted hospitality, told them for whom they would be preparing The Lodge that autumn, and left them to sort out the incurring gossip for themselves.
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Days -62 thru -46
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Word spread. Missives began to pour into the capital. Anora anticipated most of them. One from every Bann and Arl and Teryn.
To the attention of Her Majesty, Queen Anora,
On account of the upcoming visit of Empress Celene Valmont of Orlais, need I remind you of the tentative position of the Bannorn in relation to the disputed territory, or its importance in the economy and livelihood of all of Ferelden.
[This went on for another several paragraphs. Anora thought Arl Eamon Guerrin had quite a lot to say about farming for someone who had probably spent less time holding a spade in all his life than Anora had spent holding an axe in her childhood in Gwaren.]
As you will recall, my wife, Arlessa Isolde Guerrin née Dupont, has some familiarity with Orlesian politics, and 'The Game' as it were, and may be an invaluable asset to your-
[At this point, Anora ceased reading the letter, per se, and began instead to search its contents for hints on how best to compose a polite dismissal. The last thing she needed was Arlessa Isolde sticking her nose in this affair on Eamon's behalf.]
Another missive. This one from the ruling Queen and Paragon of Orzammar:
Queen Anora,
I trust that you will ensure supply lines between Orzammar and Ferelden remain open, even and especially in the event of armed conflict in the Frostbacks. You'd prefer the darkspawn remain downside of my kingdom, I'm sure. Let's keep it that way.
[Queen Aeducan meaningfully left out that her people were likely to starve without Ferelden bread. Anora had to admit that focusing on the darkspawn did make an impression, though. Memories of the Fifth Blight ran deep.]
I'm sticking my neck out for you, getting your Ferelden Circles lyrium under the Chantry's great big nose. And it's not even the first time I've stuck my neck out for you, if you'll remember the business with Howe. I expect a little reciprocation here.
[Anora remembered. She supposed she'd left the Hero of Ferelden quite a few favours to cash in.]
And then the obligatory letter from Weisshaupt:
Anora,
I know you don't need your old father clucking at you like a fussing hen-
[He then proceeded, of course, to do just that.]
I say this now as someone who has worked for Orlais, and worked for Orlesians. Many seem good people, and perhaps many are, but no matter. They say a tiger never changes its stripes, but if a lion had them neither would it. Work with them, be civil if you must, but never, ever trust-
[The letter rambled and continued. Anora studied it as an interesting pathology. Her father was, quite frankly, the keenest man she knew and had ever known. And that still came through so clear whenever he talked of the Wardens and the Archdemons and their battle strategies. But it intermingled seamlessly with a paranoia that seemed more demonic and fantastical than grounded in prudence and good sense.]
[Anora did not quite have the heart to tell him that he had raised her into someone endlessly more like an Empress or Duchess than his mother or father.]
These were all expected missives. What was not expected was the influx of petty notes from Empress Celene herself.
They had begun arriving a week after the first letter accepting Anora's invitation, and continued arriving every day or other day until Anora had thirteen of them by the start of Kingsway. And they were not written in the same beautifully scribed dictation as the first letter accepting Anora's invitation, but scrawled in an ugly chicken scratch over rolls of parchment too long for the sentences.
It seems like I will be in your care in less than a month. I can only hope you're as pleased about it as everyone back home.
By the by- Don't bother writing back, my Queen. I should be on the high seas before there's a chance for any missives to return. Also everyone keeps talking of raiders. An uneventful voyage would be preferred.
Do you know how insufferably humid summers in Antiva are? You wouldn't want to take a gander at my vacation wardrobe right now. Or perhaps you would? For the purposes of negotiation, naturally.
And I take it there will be accomodations for my Chevaliers and the rest of the entourage. I would list the minor noble houses each of them hails from, but I suppose you're less likely than I am to remember all the names.
I was visiting the zoological garden in Antiva City today, and saw a beast that looked cross between a dog and a hare. I couldn't decide who or what it reminded me of, but perhaps it was you, since I returned to the rooms provided me and wrote this promptly.
I would write more, but I have also been provided with a pair of slippers so soft I'm falling to sleep as I sit at the desk. Perhaps you should look into some slippers for yourself?
I haven't kept you apprised of the business in Antiva, naturally. But allow me to share my small success. Pay off a few crows and send out a few bards and- voilà! The defenestration was the coup de grâce!
Not that you would know what the Orlesian script means. I suppose you'll have to send it to a translator.
This was a sample of the kind of trash that comprised Celene's notes, and then the final one came, as abruptly as the first.
Your Majesty,
We're setting out to sea tomorrow, and I won't be sending ravens out to be pecked to death by gulls, or writing on a swaying boat for that matter. So this is the last you'll hear from me before you've heard from me in person, it seems.
I have a request. I have a memory of a Ferelden trader once, encountered who knows where, who had these marvelous little bars of sandalwood soap. Only good for a dozen uses - perfect for travel - with such a marvelous smell. If you would consider looking into the matter for me?
Empress Valmont
Anora looked quite askance at the letter. It and the others had already been sent to a cryptographer, to potentially decipher some sort of code. But he had come back suggesting they be forwarded to a sanatorium.
It was a bit chilly that morning, for the first time in a while, and a servant came by to start a fire in the hearth. And, as she took her breakfast, Anora looked through the notes once more, trying to decipher the weight of each petty insult. And when she was done, she rose from her seat, scoffed at the presumption of sandalwood soup, and chucked all thirteen into the fire.
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Day -5
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The day of the Empress's arrival arrived sooner than Anora expected, and yet the day itself dragged like an Orlesian ball gown.
It was just before midday when the Empress's banners were sighted in the ocean, and from then it was nearly five hours waiting on Amaranthine's docks with the welcoming party, watching the ship flit back and forth and ever closer into view.
Anora spent the time speaking with Constable Aiden, who kept her well apprised of the latest movements of the Wardens at the Vigil. The continued presence of Rendon Howe's firstborn at Vigil's Keep disturbed Anora, although as far as she could tell he'd never made any personal claim to the surrounding Arling, and Constable Aiden had little to report on the subject. The talk petered out into that of smuggler activity, crop production, petitions by Amaranthine's Chantry, and the charity work of a woman named Melisse, before dying entirely.
Anora began to wonder, quite uncharitably, if the ship was taking its sweet time getting to port on purpose. She decided to have a lie down.
When she was awoken, the ship had already come in, and Anora immediately put herself to task discussing things with the Empress's captain and her own harbourmaster. Although, it seemed her presence was hardly necessary. They appeared to have reached an easy agreement about the docking and the supplies that would need replenishing for the ship's return to the Dales. Anora hoped it was a portent for the ease of the rest of the visit.
When she went to seek out the Empress, Anora discovered she had already retreated to the coach that had been provided for her. It was sunset, and the days had shortened only slightly since they'd passed the equinox. But it was still early enough it seemed unlikely the Empress had retired for the night, and Anora sought her out.
Anora (and her knights) found Celene (and her Chevaliers and soubrettes). Celene was still in her day clothes, complete with a fashionable pair of boots covered in sludge fresh from the docks. But it struck Anora that, although she refused to shiver, Celene was underdressed in her silk shawl, where Anora was wearing a light wool, finely sewn and dyed and trimmed with fur.
Anora might have said that Orlais had certainly shipped enough Ferelden wool out of Amaranthine port during the occupation, for Celene not to be wearing any.
She did not.
They exchanged the expected greeting.
"It's a day's coach ride to The Lodge from here." Anora eyed the elevated bed set behind Celene on the coach, lavishly dyed pillows and sheets and comforts. "I trust everything is to your liking and comfort?"
"Did you receive my letters?" Celene asked, with an arch of one eyebrow and a powdered expanse of neck. "I was hoping for those little bars of sandalwood soap."
Anora blinked in a vexation that she hoped read as surprise. "My apologies," she said. "Your letter must have been misplaced."
Celene might have said that Anora need find a better postmaster, or she could have one assigned to her.
She did not.
"A pity," Celene said. "But I am sure my visit will continue in comfort."
Anora agreed, and retreated to her own coach for the night. Well rested from her earlier nap, she read by candlelight into the night. No histories or treatises, but a relaxing bit of prose. And even then, she fell to sleep long before her coachman could, to the gentle sway of the carriage.
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Day -3
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The Lodge was an estate in the coastal mountain range in Northern Ferelden, set west and a little south of the City of Amaranthine. Set upon a system of abandoned mining tunnels, it was part of a larger territory gifted to a Warden Commander Gaspar Asturian during the Glory Age, and then reclaimed (in part) by the Ferelden Crown during the Storm Age. It was not currently within the boundaries of any Arling, and served as a mountain retreat for the royal family.
Which was only Anora at this point in time, if anyone was paying attention.
The Lodge had struck Anora as an ideal place to conduct negotiations, when trying to determine a location where she and the Empress were unlikely to be interrupted by surprise visits by the local Bans. And, besides, Anora was quite fond of The Lodge, as it reminded her of the old estate in Gwaren, without necessitating travel across hundreds of miles of Blight ravaged Ferelden to get there.
The main entrance opened into a great feasting hall with polished wooden benches, warm woven rugs, a wide hearth, and antlers and other hunting trophies mounted to the walls. But the rooms on the upper floors were more delicate, with softer patterned floral designs in the furniture and walls, and filled with marvels of craft and innovation – not only Ferelden or dwarven in make, but from all over Thedas. And most rooms had balconies overlooking the great lawn to the front of The Lodge – rich green grass covered in intermittent patches of week old snow and the forest behind them.
"It is what I expected," Celene said with a small smile, as she arranged a few seasoned peas on her spoon. "It has a certain rustic charm."
Celene had propped up along the wooden bench in the feast hall, not only between her soubrettes and Chevaliers, but with what seemed like an entire cupboard's worth of wools and linens wrapped about her. Anora privately thought she was overdoing it. It wasn't really that cold, especially not from within the Lodge itself.
Anora cut a fine line across the steak she'd been given – a breaded lamb cutlet and poured with light gravy. Hospitality had found a chef who specialised in classic Ferelden cuisine cooked in an Orlesian style, and thought this might be in the spirit of the current visit. Anora was not quite sure she liked the taste.
Anora set her knife and fork down. "There's a drawing room upstairs where I've laid out a map of the disputed territory, and records and correspondence of the principle allotments and economies involved. If you are interested, I can see that your Radiance is given the tour after lunch."
"Business already?" Celene asked, arching her eyebrow and the pearly expanse of her neck once more. "I have always appreciated your straightforwardness, your Majesty. But we have only just arrived. There is no need to rush, is there? Not until we've recovered from the journey here, and had our first hunt at least?"
Anora supposed she was rather well known for cutting directly to the chase. But it wouldn't do to appear overeager to resolve matters. "Of course, your Radiance," she offered with a gracious incline of her head. "Take your time."
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Day -1
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The wet ground sunk up the edges of Anora's boots as she and her men followed their team of Mabari through the grounds. They proceeded to an elevated stretch above a forest stream, and Anora stood and watched as the Mabari toyed and cornered the herd of elk that had gathered about it.
The druffalo were not often found this far north and this far east, so elk and bears were about the best a hunter might hope to slay. Anora raised an arm, and commanded the small team of archers at her side. She would have participated directly, but the skills her father had taught her were better suited for close range combat – sword and shield and dagger.
" Most of her hunting team is dogs. Dogs and bitches. "
Anora did not turn her head. But her eyes darted to where Celene stood in front of her Chevaliers, perhaps twenty paces across the precipice before the valley. Anora had noticed that Celene kept more people around her, and that they were far more chatty than the knights Anora kept.
" I suppose it's true what they say about Ferelden women, " one of them was saying in nasally Orlesian, only just loud enough for Anora to catch. " Would rather have a dog in their bed than a man. "
" Dog lords, " the other Chevalier huffed. " And yet I don't think you'd say no to seeing her squeal under one. "
It was difficult to feel threatened by people so impotent. And Anora did not take correspondence in Orlesian, for it was to her benefit that few knew she understood the language. But she was still grateful, at first, when Celene spoke up.
" Stop it ," she said sharply, more loudly than her men had been talking. " Where is your Chevalier's honour?! " she demanded. And then she spoiled it. " You should have no need to insult those beneath you. "
Celene scoffed and arched her head away from the Chevaliers as she stepped sideways. But the heel of her boot caught uneven against the grass, and her torso bobbed as she stumbled ever so slightly. In Anora's direction, and yet still many paces away.
Anora realised, too late, that she had turned to look at Celene. And Celene's eyes seized hers. They were very blue, sharp and icy and more vivid than Anora's.
Celene pressed a smile to her lips, nodded, and spoke in common. "You've downed the largest buck in the herd, I see."
Anora turned back to the stream and the elk and where her hunters were arranging the fallen animal on a cart to pull back up the hill.
One of the Mabari, Gallant, came bounding towards her, with blood on his mouth and a playful look in his eye. He stopped in front of Anora, bounding in a circle and wagging his tail and looking, quite clearly, for praise.
Anora considered a second. But only a second. She did not have a Mabari bonded to her, the way some did, but she had inherited her father's soft touch for the creatures. She wasn't ashamed of that. She would not cow away from being Ferelden.
She reached a hand to scratch behind Gallant's ears and rub lightly over his head. And then crouched down to ruffle the fur on his shoulders.
Gallant barked excitedly and licked a stripe up her face, directly over her lips.
Anora wiped her face with the back of her glove and, as she did so, Celene's Chevaliers laughed.
But only for a moment.
" It is beneath you, " Celene snarled. Her sneer would have suited a Mabari itself. " Especially when she is besting us at the hunt. "
…
It would be a day before the elk and deer and bear from the hunt could be properly butchered and prepared. Anora confronted Celene over a dinner of bread and watercress soup.
"I think we should discuss what we met here to discuss," Anora said. "Tomorrow. In the drawing room. At noon."
Celene hesitated, a spoonful of soup halfway to her mouth. Reflected against it, her blue eyes looked green.
"An hour after noon," she said.
Anora decided if this was the extent of Celene's one-up-manship, she could live with it.
"If that suits your Radiance better," Anora agreed with a small nod.
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Day 0
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Anora was surprised to find that, for all the people that always seemed to be with Celene, she seemed to have as few whose opinions she deferred to as Anora. No advisors, confidants, just people who stood at the wall as Anora and Celene threw papers and pens and pawns over a map.
"Should have left the place buried in the snow," Celene huffed.
"Well, nobody's about to forget where it is now," Anora said. "The fortress will be occupied whether we wish it or not. It's drawn hundreds of pilgrims this year alone. And, with the Inquisition disbanded and the Chantry silent, it falls on us to reach an agreement."
"The fortress may be impenetrable, but it is also indefensible," Celene said. "No food or natural resources for fifty miles in any direction, and a nightmare to run supplies to."
"Then I take it, you don't mind conceding it to Ferelden," Anora said crisply.
Celene huffed a little laugh. They both knew the fortress had value, both symbolic and practical, beyond any of its faults.
The ebb and flow continued. Anora made an offer. Five million sovereigns to be paid over five years.
"You will make that back within the year," Celene said.
"Will I?" Anora challenged. "It seems to me I'll be losing money, while manning and feeding an indefensible fortress."
They continued a while, hammering out terms. Anora came to the conclusion that gold did not interest the Empress, and came back with mining rights in the rest of the Frostbacks, military support against the darkspawn or Nevarra, privileged trading rights with Orzammar.
Celene batted away each suggestion in turn, sometimes taking long tangents to entertain the idea of different exchanges and hammering out their terms, before reneging last minute.
Anora felt her frustrations peak, although she had a very good handle on how not to show it.
"It seems you have something else in mind," she said. "I would appreciate if her Radiance would share it with me."
Celene frowned and her eyes flicked sideways.
"Is it the Chantry?" Anora asked. She already knew that the Empress had far less to lose if the Chantry decided to step back in and reclaim the fortress at this point. But perhaps Celene was actively seeking the Divine's good favour.
"I could say the same for you," Celene said. "It will be you that needs a bargaining chip against the Chantry, since you've angered them by pushing them out from your temples and Circles."
"Perhaps I need it less than you," Anora said. "They have less influence where they aren't."
"I still think you're a fool for that," Celene chuckled. It was mildly alarming. Overfamiliar. "The Chantry has staying power."
"The Maker has staying power," Anora corrected. "I think Ferelden 's mages, and Ferelden 's anti-magic soldiers, and Ferelden 's chanters can understand that, even without diverting a stipend to the Grand Cathedral." Anora shook her head. "The Chantry nearly collapsed not even a year ago. If there was ever a time to push back, it's now."
And yet Celene wasn't entirely wrong. Anora didn't know if it would be Divine Victoria or Divine Victoria's successor, but if the Chantry regained even half its former strength there was no reason to believe they wouldn't call an Exalted March on Ferelden.
All the more reason Anora could not give this up.
Celene was tracing a picture of a sunburst over the map, where Haven used to be.
"Ten million sovereigns," Anora said.
Celene shook her head slightly, and reached for a bowl of candied almonds. She spread them out over the map, filling in lakes and rivers.
"I was under the impression you wanted to avoid war," Anora said.
"I do," Celene said disinterestedly, as she picked a few almonds from Lake Calenhad.
"Then make a counteroffer in good faith!" Anora commanded. "Skyhold can not possibly be this important to Orlais! Not unless you're planning to invade!"
Celene's expression was rather blank. Her eyes flicked up, down to Anora's navel, and then aside.
"Are you quite serious?!" Anora demanded. "You said you wanted to avoid war!"
"I do," Celene said. "But who am I to say what path Orlais will tread down?"
"The Empress!" Anora answered. "You are the Empress!"
"Why is Skyhold so important to you, then?" Celene shrugged. "Should I accuse you of wanting it as a strategic position for the invasion of Orlais?"
"You know full well Ferelden isn't going to lead a land march against the Dales!" Anora snapped. It was absurd, and they both knew it. It wasn't Ferelden occupying Orlais less than fifty years prior. It wasn't Ferelden housing the organisation that led the Marches on Rivain.
"I cannot just speak for myself," Celene says. "I must do what's best for Orlais. Not just the Orlais of today or tomorrow. But the Orlais I hope still stands at the dawn of the next age."
Anora thought that sounded like a pile of nug shit.
"I do not think we are getting anywhere today," Celene said.
Anora did not entirely agree, but she made sure not to let Celene in on that detail. She called off the meeting, suggested they retire for the evening, and contacted the chef to let them know she'd be dining alone in her quarters that night.
Anora knew one thing. So long as Celene was not interested in treating, Anora would rather be the one occupying Skyhold than the one laying siege to it. And she would write to Ser Cauthrien to arrange it, if it still seemed like the correct course of action come morning.
The irony struck Anora, that she and Celene were here at The Lodge in the coastal mountains of Amaranthine, deciding the fate of a fortress in the Frostbacks several hundred miles away.
Anora slept and woke up only once in the night – barely long enough to understand the sound of the wind and pounding hail – before she rolled over and fell back to sleep. And it wasn't until morning came that she understood that no letters would be leaving the Lodge that morning.
The weather had changed, the storm had not stopped, and they were well and truly snowed in.
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Day 2
..
Anora had left it to her servants to explain the situation and protocol to Celene. She was not in the mind to see the Empress, and so did not run into her until the following day when Celene sought her out.
There was little to do but sit and wait out the storm, but Anora stood off The Lodge's back patio, near the door to the kitchens, and supervised as her workers shoveled snow and took a pick to the icy ground.
Anora was wearing a thick winter coat of layered fennec fur, and it seemed that Celene had finally reached a happy medium in her own dress, and was wearing something similar.
"So what are your men doing?" Celene asked.
Anora was feeling wary from the meeting two days before. But there was no point in antagonising Celene, who was still her guest and who she'd be stuck entertaining for the foreseeable future.
"Digging for a cold cellar. Or an ice box." And when Celene still appeared confused, she added. "The temperature is more constant underground, to keep fruits and vegetables fresh. And meat is kept freshest on ice." Anora sniffed. "This isn't suitable weather for hunting, so it's necessary to make do with what we have."
Celene peered down to where the men were digging and blinked widely. Perplexed. "Huh?"
Anora stood and did not intend to say much else.
But at that point Celene took a collection of candied almonds from her pocket, and reached across where Anora's men were ferrying fruits and vegetables and took an apple for herself. And Anora could not help but fix her with a judgemental stare.
"What are you doing?" Anora asked.
"What am I doing?" Celene repeated, around a mouthful of almonds.
"We're rationing food," Anora could not help but snap. It had been unexpected this early in autumn but- "The snowstorm could last for weeks. Our supply lines from Amaranthine are completely cut off."
Celene blinked and chewed more slowly around the almonds. She swallowed. "So you really don't know how long it will be? …There are certainly a lot of people here at your Lodge… People and dogs…"
Anora sincerely hoped Celene was not suggesting they eat their Mabaris. "Yes," Anora agreed, swiping the apple from Celene's hand. "And I intend to make sure that none of them come even close to starving."
She walked forward, to place the apple back with the baskets headed to the cellar. But when she turned back around, it seemed Celene had already retreated inside.
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Day 3
..
If Anora had known she was going to be spending so much of this retreat sitting about and not negotiating for Ferelden's border, she would have brought something more to read. As it was, she was sitting in the antechamber to her quarters, looking over records on the Llomerryn Accords and Storm Age Chantry history and the same crime novel she'd read during the trip up to The Lodge.
The only real appeal to the activity was solitude, and that was ruined when Empress Celene deigned to call on her. She entered the antechamber with all her soubrettes and Chevaliers, which necessitated the precipitation of Anora's own knights in from the hallway. There could be no peace in a room of nearly a dozen.
"Would you care for a game of backgammon, your Majesty?" Celene asked.
Anora folded her book neatly on her lap, and smiled. "Would you care to discuss Skyhold, your Radiance?"
Anora wondered if she sounded as petulant as she felt. But Celene did not let on either way. She arched her neck, and spoke after a moment's silence. "There's not much more to say about it, is there? You cannot let me have Skyhold. And I cannot let you have Skyhold. We do what we must."
Anora sighed and sent someone for the backgammon board.
Celene waited, as her soubrettes set up the board. And Anora thought she was finished with the topic at hand, when the corner of her lip wobbled and curled smugly. "I am sure you have realised. It would suit me better to siege than be besieged. Only to buy time for the Chanty's probable involvement… And I am sure the opposite is true for you." Celene rolled high and moved her pieces far across the board. "But perhaps you will win. Who knows how long Skyhold can withstand siege, given enough ice boxes."
Anora had indeed realised the probable course they were set upon played at least as much into Celene's hand as it did hers. But Celene's words barely warranted response. Anora was not in the mood for mockery any more than she was in the mood for idle, circular chatter.
Anora rolled snake eyes and used it to strategically knock Celene's game piece back on the board.
Celene's soubrettes giggled.
They rolled a few more rounds.
Celene's eyes narrowed. "You really dislike company, Queen Anora? You prefer quiet?"
Anora inhaled deeply. "It isn't that I dislike it," she said. "Only some of us don't enjoy the flattering company of those we consider 'beneath us'."
Celene's expression was mild, and Anora wanted to ruin it.
"Some of us," Anora continued, "don't prefer the affections of servants we've known since childhood, who have been groomed to do nothing but simper, and flatter," Anora tilted her head. "And lie," she enunciated, dragging her tongue over her teeth.
Celene's nose had begun to look rather pinched, and Anora was quite impressed. She wouldn't have thought Celene so unprepared for such criticism, not when her history with Marquise Briala was something of an open secret.
"Some of us understand our positions," Anora said. "That a relationship of unequals is not worth having. And are not so insecure as to need the mindless praise and company of sycophants."
Anora was quite sure she had upset more than one person in the room, but there was only one whose opinion really mattered. And it was quite a delight to have made Celene frown. An actual frown – ugly and raw – instead of the kind that floated across the stage of an Orlesian opera house.
"And you are really so alone at the top?" Celene said, face cracked and uncontrolled. "What arrogance. There is a reason Cailin thought you cold. You don't really want a relationship of equals. You're too afraid of being challenged."
Anora knew on some level that Celene was shooting in the dark, and Anora would have sooner been alone than made to babysit a second Cailin. But she'd hit close enough to the bone regardless.
(Because it wasn't really that Cauthrien would not have understood Anora if she'd deigned to explain herself. It was that Anora had pushed her away rather than invite her to disagree.)
Anora was going to tell the Empress to leave, but it seemed Celene was a step ahead of her.
Celene stood suddenly, with an uncomfortable jerk of her shoulders. "I think we are done, here," she said, before shooing her soubrettes out of the room with an uncharacteristic look of disgust, and hurrying to follow after.
Anora was left behind with her knights, waiting for instruction, and a half completed game of backgammon. And the only consolation was that Anora clearly wasn't the only one afraid of being challenged.
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Day 6
..
Outside, the storm had finally let up, although this was not the reprieve one might have thought. Further clouds on the horizon seemed to indicate this was far from the end of Anora's difficulties. And the temporary ceasefire of flurrying snow only made it clear that its banks had piled a metre and a half high as far as the eye could see. It barred The Lodge's doors, seemingly keen on trapping everyone inside.
Anora entertained discussion with the manager of The Lodge, and they evaluated the best way to make use of this in conjunction with plans already set to motion.
There was a Warden outpost not far from The Lodge, built over the same set of abandoned mining tunnels, and the mile or three they would have to travel to impose upon their neighbours was manageable in a way that a trip to Amaranthine wasn't.
It was decided it was best to use the mining tunnels connected to the Lodge's basement, rather than attempt to dig out the entire overland passage to the outpost – and who knew when the snow flurries would resume? But if they were able to make a break for the surface near it, it would certainly be more polite to enter through the Warden's front door than their cellar.
Anora had studied the tunnel maps, set the plans, and picked a scouting team for the expedition. She was standing in the basement corridor – an out of the way thing in the northwest corner of The Lodge, which served no purpose but to hold the barricade that led underground – when the messenger she'd sent to relay her afternoon absence from The Lodge returned sputtering.
He'd gotten out only a few sentences, before Celene and the Chevaliers and the soubrettes flurried the corridor.
"You're leaving?" Celene demanded. "Why? Where are you going?"
Anora levelled the messenger with an irritated look. Had it not been his job to relay this information to the Empress?
She had judged too soon, though. As she imparted the information directly, Anora realised by Celene's unsurprise and look of grim determination, that Celene simply wished to hear the news from Anora's own lips.
Celene arched her neck. "One might accuse you of seeking to escape this place, while I remain trapped behind."
"I cannot imagine the weather is so far improved a mere three miles to the east," Anora said.
"You cannot go alone. You will send my men to scout with yours, and bring me to negotiate with the Wardens."
Anora said this was terribly unseamly behaviour for a guest. The visit to the Wardens was for no purpose more exciting than trading for some extra lumber, root vegetables, and a few sacks of beans. If all went well, Anora would be back before the evening.
"I do not think you understand the ties that exist between House Valmont and the Wardens. It is imperative that I be there for the negotiations with them."
Anora could not quite believe the Empress's audacity – to think the woman thought the historical ties between her house and the Order of the Grey was more persuasive than Anora's direct involvement in the Fifth Blight and the Battle of Denerim. And regarding Ferelden Wardens no less.
It took less energy to argue though. If Celene wanted to put her retainers in harm's way just to be there while Anora haggled for firewood, who was Anora to stop her?
Anora sent a few of her soldiers back to the main part of The Lodge, and bid the rest to work with Celene's Chevaliers the best they could. And she stood to the side while the barricade was torn down, and the tunnels opened up.
The tunnels were moist and dark, lit unevenly by old runes and fluorescent patches of deep mushrooms. Anora and Celene waited near the entrance, as a scouting party was sent ahead to clear the path. And they moved ahead in uneven stretches, as the mouths of diverging tunnels were covered and shut and the area cleared ahead. It was dull and dreary work, but Anora saw to it with confidence and unwavering regality, and her demeanour spurred her men at their task.
"It's quite warm down here, isn't it?" Celene grimaced, as she paced over patches of mushroom and stagnant pools of water. "I didn't think it would be so warm down here." She tugged at the fennec fur coat, she was still wearing.
Anora had forgone her fennec fur for something more versatile, and waited for the scouts' signal leaning against the side of an old mining cart. "It's underground," she answered. "The temperature is stable once you're down far enough."
"Well, someone ought to have told me," Celene snipped. She peeled off the fennec fur, revealing a sheen of sweat across her skin. The dress had a tastelessly low neckline, Anora thought. That was why she couldn't look away.
Celene was saying something more, and now looking to Anora for answers.
"Excuse me?" Anora asked. "Would you mind repeating that?"
Celene seemed peeved, but repeated herself as she handed the fennec fur off to one of the soubrettes that she couldn't be persuaded to leave behind.
"I said- If it's so warm here, why don't you send your men down here to sleep, instead of negotiating with the Wardens to heat your lodge for them?"
As if on cue, the scout returned. "Darkspawn attack ahead, your Majesty. Only a few stragglers. We've taken them out, and cleared the way, but best hurry in case more show up. There are no fatalities on our end, but a few are injured-" He glanced anxiously sideways. "-including the Empress's man."
Celene bristled with offence.
"Do you think the wounds are blighted?" Anora asked, striding forward to follow the scout to the next safepoint in the tunnels.
"It doesn't seem so, your Majesty. But no way to say for sure at this early stage."
"You may have gotten Renard killed!" Celene hissed, as she ran up beside Anora.
Anora ignored her. "And we're how many junctions before we've reached the Wardens?"
"Two or three, we think, your Majesty," the scout answered.
"Have you considered the offense-" Celene bubbled, "-if my Chevalier is killed during a diplomatic visit to your estate?"
Anora rounded on her. "You're the one who insisted on travelling these tunnels instead of waiting patiently at The Lodge!"
"You left me no choice!" Celene said acerbically. "You thought to abandon me in a frozen cabin, while you went to scheme with the Wardens!"
Anora took a deep breath. "There was to be no abandonment, nor scheming."
"And what proof is there of this?" Celene asked. "Only your word it is that not the actions of a loyal Ferelden dog?"
"I think your words would be better met with metal," Anora hissed.
"A duel?" Celene said. "Name your champion then?"
"I hardly need one matching up against those as incompetent as your horsemen !" Anora snarled, intentionally bastardising the Orlesian title in the common tongue.
"Renard might be dying of the blight because of your own incompetence and-"
At this point Celene tripped over a puddle of groundwater, and it was only by the good grace of Anora's scout that she was caught before she tumbled face first on the dirt and stone in the mining tunnels.
Anora used this opportunity to walk ahead to the opposite wall of the tunnel, as far from Celene as she could get.
The only show of the Empress's good sense was that she did not pursue.
They made the rest of the way through the tunnels in silence. And they were silenced further by the soaking sleet they walked out to on the other side, only a few hundred metres from the gates of Soldier's Peak.
Anora's men went ahead to call on the Wardens, and Anora was feeling impatient enough to walk the hastily shoveled path in order to speak directly with the Peak's groundskeeper.
The man was struggling to unstick the crank for the gate.
"You've shovelled the courtyard," Anora said, in lieu of the introductions her advisors had no doubt passed on.
"It's too cold to be outside for long, your Majesty. But everyone needs some fresh air at least." Levi Dryden huffed, as he struggled to unstick the crank for the entry gate. "Don't worry, your Majesty. We're well stocked for snowstorms here at the Peak, and I keep extra for trading besides. We'll get you set up with some spare lumber and rations and have you back at your lodge soon enough."
Anora was still eyeing the courtyard behind the gate – weapon stands and training grounds. "And the use of your duelling circle?" Anora asked. "Is that for trade?"
Levi Dryden seemed stunned momentarily speechless. "Closed for the season, your Majesty, I'm afraid."
Anora pursed her lips. "Hmm. Understandably." In truth, she doubted Celene would be foolish enough to insist on satisfaction for the offenses they'd hurled. The Empress had few allies here, and less if she risked her Chevaliers in pointless duels.
Levi Dryden finally managed to free the block in the crank, and he studied Anora's face carefully. "My apologies," he finally said. "I know the weather sours one's mood."
Anora wiped her scowl into a carefully neutral expression. It had been a rude and presumptive thing for the man to say, but Ferelden was indebted to him for his aid here, and beggers couldn't be choosers.
And that was when Celene stomped right up to Anora's side, looked Levi Dryden straight in the eye, and asked in the most unbothered tone if he happened to have any candied almonds.
.
.
Day 7
..
The trip back to The Lodge passed without incident, and Anora was pleased the next day to have their supplies restored, and a new book – The Black Fox of Orlais: Man or Myth? – from the Senior Warden at the Peak, who had gifted it to her after an off colour joke about how if he hadn't gotten to reading it in two centuries, he was unlikely to now.
She sat on the loveseat in the anteroom to her chambers, reading, content to let the difficulties of the previous day ebb away from conscious thought, when she caught sight of some movement outside.
After a long considered moment, Anora stood to check to peer outside the balcony.
Snow had been shovelled off the landing at the front of The Lodge, in a neat line before the giant white expanse of covered lawn. And Anora saw Celene pacing the edge of it, bundled tight in her coat.
Her Chevaliers shadowed her steps, and seemed to be trying to convince her of something, when Celene turned and pounded gloved fists against the wall of ice, nearly as tall as she, that surrounded the landing. She continued this way – in the manner of a tantrum – until one of the Chevalier's reached for her shoulder and she swiped him viciously away.
She turned her eyes up at that moment, and perhaps caught Anora spying on her, or perhaps not. It was difficult to tell with the frenetic exasperation Celene was radiating. And then she stormed back into The Lodge.
Anora bit her lip. She strode back to the loveseat, reopened her book, and was content to forget the scene she had just witnessed and the strange discomfort it left. But she could not be entirely surprised when the knights stationed outside her chamber announced the Empress's presence.
Anora sighed, as Celene and all her soubrettes and Chevaliers piled into the room.
Celene was wearing a serene expression, hastily plastered over whatever frenzy had been there before.
"Your Majesty," she said.
"Your Radiance," Anora replied boredly. She pointedly did not set her book aside.
"I was thinking about the lack of entertainment here at this estate," Celene said. "Is it always so terribly dull here in Ferelden?"
"You have my apologies, Empress." This was not the correct form of address. "I did not anticipate a week in a snowstorm with a woman who refuses to see to the dispute I invited her here to settle."
"And I think that speaks very poorly of you, Queen." Celene smiled. "So you admit you anticipated the snowstorm part?"
"Indeed," Anora agreed, idly turning the page to her book. "I am gifted with supernatural control over the weather, and have chosen to use my gift to torture myself with the company of a complete madwoman."
This elicited a few offended gasps from Celene's soubrettes, but Celene held them off with an imperious wave of her hand. "Perhaps it is the only way you could admit to wanting company at all."
Anora slammed her book shut on her finger. "Why do you insist on pestering me?" she demanded.
"Because I'm all alone in this Maker-forsaken place, and you're the only one that seems to have any idea what's going on!" Celene shouted.
It seemed an utter irony that Celene talked about being alone when she was at all times shadowed by half a dozen attendants. But, before Anora really had time to pick that apart, Celene pulled at her hair and sputtered and wailed.
Nobody seemed to know what to do. Fat tears were rolling down the Empress's face. And though she had screwed her mouth shut and fallen silent, she was most clearly distressed. And her two Chevaliers and every one of her soubrettes stood utterly silent.
And Anora thought of how mortified she would be, if she broke down like that in front of anyone. And she understood, intimately, that it was better to be alone than with the people Celene surrounded herself with.
Some of the soubrettes had snapped from their reverie and were offering placations that Celene batted away angrily. But Anora dog-earred the page in her book, and set it flat against her loveseat. Before stepping brusquely forward to shield Celene from their view. Anora was surprised by how quickly the Empress latched onto her arms.
"Out of the room," Anora said in her most commanding voice. She raised her chin, and arched her eyes over the soubrettes, the knights, and Chevaliers, so there would be no question who she was addressing. "All of you. Leave us."
Anora's knights were among the first to leave, perhaps recognising the severeness of her tone and what it meant. And Anora was sufficiently imposing to scare away Celene's soubrettes, but the Chevaliers remained, clearly hesitant, and of course unwilling to be commanded by a foriegn queen.
Celene seemed to have the presence of mind to realise this. She grabbed at Anora's sleeve, and twisted the smooth sheepskin. She looked at the floor when she said it. " Go ."
Still, they hesitated. One, with light blonde hair and a shy expression, finally spoke in a soft sing-songy Orlesian. " Your Radiance… It isn't safe… This is Anora Mac Tir, daughter of Loghain Mac Tir. She's said to have led the Ferelden Army in the Battle of Denerim personally, on horseback, with sword and shield in hand. "
There was quite a lot packed into those sentences. That Anora was a barbarian dog lord war queen was one of them, sure. But Anora was surprised to find herself flattered they thought her capable of regicide.
Celene sighed, with a little whimper tagged on at the end. " Leave, " she repeated.
" Your Radiance- "
Anora cut this off. "You would ignore a direct order from your Empress?" she asked, making sure to sound more amused than critical.
It did its job shaming them. The second Chevalier prompted the first one, and they both saluted and left.
It felt vaguely anticlimactic. "I don't know if a better Chevalier would have left sooner, or stayed?"
Celene sniffled. "Stayed," she answered. "Michel would have."
Anora took her word for it.
Celene blinked harshly. She reached her fingers up, and collected peeling clots of face cream from under her eyes. "You were right about me," she said. "I thought them beneath me. I looked down on them, and demanded loyalty when I had none for them in return. It was my place, as Empress – embodiment of all Orlais. But I wanted their company anyhow, so I let them simper," Celene laughed. "And flatter." This chuckle sounded more like a sob. "And lie."
Well, yes. Anora knew that without being told. But it seemed ungracious to say so. Instead, she smoothed where Celene was wrinkling their sleeves, and reached forward to unravel where Celene's hair had been curled and pinned in an elaborate wreath. As she ran her fingers across Celene's scalp, Anora realised the roots were still wet, and cold.
"Come sit beside me," Anora said, tugging Celene up from under her arms.
Celene acquiesced, and followed Anora to the loveseat.
Anora sat her on the left side, and then walked to the anteroom's wood stove, where a fire was burning and a basin of water had been set over its top to heat. Anora dug for a handkerchief and dipped the edge, before going to sit next to Celene. With her left hand, Anora reached for Celene's hands in her lap, pinned them together, and held them out of the way. With her right hand she reached up to dab Celene's face with the handkerchief. Celene cooperated, blinking her eyes and leaning slightly forward, as Anora wiped her tears and peeled off layers of white smudged face powder.
Celene looked older somehow without it. But also younger. More wrinkles on her face, but more healthy in colour too.
"I have been through worse than this," Celene said. "But I was not alone then, the way I am now. And I thought people needed me back then. Now I see they do not."
Anora thought this was rather melodramatic. "You are the Empress of Orlais," she said. It should have been self explanatory.
"Briala told me to go abroad," Celene said. "I told her that she would struggle holding the title I had given her, seeing to the everyday affairs of Orlais, playing The Grand Game alone and without support. She told me to go, that she didn't need me… I thought to take her at her word, show by example how wrong she was." Celene laughed. "So far, our time apart has proven her more correct than me. Nobody needs me. Nobody will come for me. And now I'm going to die trapped in a Ferelden ice box."
There were certainly a lot of things one might respond to, within Celene's little speech, but Anora couldn't help scoff at the last part. "You're not going to die."
Celene did not look particularly reassured.
Anora lifted her head and spoke down to her. "I suppose I can't say for sure about you, although I would be surprised if this wasn't a few days from a full blown international incident. But I know Ferelden needs me. And I know I have people who will come for me, if I'm trapped up here too long. And I would be nothing if not a terrible host, if I let you die here. It's a winter storm come early, not a death sentence."
Celene kept her eyes down on her own lap, where Anora had pinned her hands.
Anora rattled them. "Look at me."
Celene looked at her, eyes blue like water.
"You're not going to die," Anora said. "I won't let you."
Anora held her hands and held her eyes for a long moment, as firmly and absolutely as she could. And then let go.
Celene leaned back and closed her eyes.
Anora's copy of The Black Fox of Orlais had gotten wedged somewhere between Celene's bottom and the back of the loveseat, and Anora dislodged it as delicately as she could and returned to reading. But within a few minutes, Celene had begun snoring softly, and Anora felt herself lulled by the sound. So she too reclined and rested. And the only interruption there was the rest of the day, was a runner coming in to deliver lumber and feed the fire in the anteroom stove.
.
.
Day 8
..
The Lodge was running out of lumber, even with the extra provisions provided by the Peak. It remained difficult to engineer an exit out into the snowy wilderness, and then difficult to gather more than kindling.
Anora ordered most of the Lodge closed. Workers, attendants, and managers of all stripes were to move their bedding into the great feasting hall, which would be warmed even when the other rooms were not. The kennel and kitchen in the basement were likewise to be heated. And a handful of suites for the nobility on the upper levels, towards the centre of the building directly above the feast hall on the first floor, to best consolidate warmth.
Anora was, of course, unaffected by this rearrangement. As Celene would have been. But it seemed oddly within the spirit of the day that Celene appeared to want to consolidate quarters. She seemed keen to stay in the anteroom of Anora's chambers and, while Anora sent orders downstairs for the conservation of the estate's lumber, Celene gave orders to have some particular effects moved from elsewhere in The Lodge to Anora's rooms.
It was well known that Celene was a great patron of the arts, but Anora had not known that the Empress had cultivated some rudimentary skills in the performance arts herself. Anora scholarship had largely been in the realm of history, statecraft, economics, and whatever practical skills in battle and survival her father had taken to teaching her. It hadn't occurred to Anora that the Empress, at some tender age, might have been corralled through music lessons.
Celene played a little on a harp. And then on a dwarven music box filled with keys, that Anora only had a vague sense of how to use. Little ditties and melodies, rather than grander songs. At some point, she began to play a rendition of Andraste's Mabari, and laughed when Anora's nose wrinkled at the mockery.
"You come by your love of the arts naturally, then?" Anora asked, between songs.
"Ah," Celene sighed. "If the Sunburst Throne thinks it is its duty to spread the Chant across all of Thedas, then I would say that of my throne is to spread the glorious art and culture of Orlais." She continued, before Anora had the chance to roll her eyes. "I suppose in another life, I might have liked to be a virtuoso."
Anora had never considered another life, as such. Leadership suited her. She was Queen, as she had always meant to be.
Celene started another tune across the keyboard.
The music was a better thing to have follow Celene around than the constant whinging and whining about Marquise Briala, which had started at breakfast, paused as she'd seen to her music, and resumed soon as the servant came to the door with a tray for lunch.
"Feh! How far would she have made it without my sponsorship?" Celene ranted, as she buttered a roll of bread. "Even now I back her claim as Marquise of the Dales!"
Anora supposed she had invited this into her life when she had stooped to throwing sordid gossip in Celene's face. She stirred a bowl of soup, made with shredded elk meat, barley, and too much melted snow. It appeared the chef, with their peculiar talent for inventive fusions of cooking style, had no particular talent in making lean rations seem more flavourful and appealing than they were.
"And now she's taken up with some Tevinter social climber," Celene huffed. "Even if you ignore the scandal of it – A Tevinter?! – it is someone who can be no better to her than she was to me."
Anora sighed.
"Oh, am I boring you?" Celene did not appear at all apologetic. "I suppose if you had any tales of your own love affairs to share…" Celene tittered. The implication was quite obviously that she didn't think Anora had any.
Anora smiled. "Perhaps I simply think it is rude of you to go on about another woman, when there is one sitting right in front of you. It was a terrible habit of Cailin's as well."
Too forward? Anora wondered. Perhaps it had given Celene the wrong idea. Perhaps Anora had wanted it to. She was glad at any rate, that this seemed to steal all the words out of the Empress's mouth.
.
.
Day 9
..
It was late. It was time for Celene to retreat from Anora's anteroom, and return to the chambers provided her.
Instead she blazed ahead, following Anora into her private room. "It is so cold," Celene was saying.
It was not. The room was well heated, enough to make Anora's brow sweat. "Stop it."
"Why should I?" Celene asked. "If it is cold, one should say so."
"It isn't cold."
Celene hovered, looking across cabinets, the shelf of Anora's small reading collection, and the empty desk where Anora would have taken her correspondence if she had any to attend to. "We should stay together. To conserve heat."
She said this with an arching brow. A small smirk. Anora wondered if this was how things went with Cailin's affairs – laden in innuendo, indirect, but in a fashion only a slavering idiot wouldn't understand. Or maybe it was simply an Orlesian thing.
It was snowing again outside, more piling up on the floes of ice that already refused to melt.
"I'm going to die," Celene said melodramatically. "I'm going to freeze to death in this barbaric place."
"You aren't going to die," Anora said irritably. Celene really wasn't winning any points with her talk of barbarism.
"There's no end to this storm," Celene protested. "The snow has been higher than my shoulder outside the door for days."
"I've told you already," Anora snorted. "If it lasts much longer, they'll send a team of mages from Denerim and use fire to melt us out."
Celene scoffed. Clearly she did not have the faith that Anora did. She batted her eyes and tried her best pleading voice. "It's cold. We should conserve our warmth."
"Stop it," Anora commanded sharply.
Celene might have protested, or simply left, had Anora not held her eye as she sat down on the side of the bed. She crossed her arms over her chest, and one leg over the other. And she sat up very straight and tilted her head, so it seemed she was looking down on Celene even when the other woman was standing.
"If you want to go to bed with me, you will ask me properly and directly as would suit my station."
Anora waited.
For a long moment Celene didn't move. But then she bent down on her knees on the floor next to Anora's bedside, placed her cheek softly against Anora's lap, and begged most directly. And Anora ran her nails along Celene's brow, down the side of her face, took hold of her under the chin, and said that would do.
.
.
Day ∞
..
Celene's eyes were cold again, like the icicles collecting on the window pane. She looked outside over the endless expanse of snow.
Anora wondered if, somewhere in the distance, she saw the firestorm from the mages Anora had told her would come melt the snow?
Celene's hair was down and, whatever else she said, Anora would know she wasn't cold. Because she had pulled her robe only half over her, and her right breast was bare and prickled to the air.
Anora blinked her eyes open wider, and pressed herself up from where she'd fallen asleep on her stomach. She crossed her legs underneath her as she sat, and rolled her hair in her hands, twirling it behind her head and out of the way.
Celene took notice of the movement, and addressed Anora in a tone that was crisp and businesslike. "I believe I have found a solution to our problem," she said.
"Oh?" Anora asked, disinterested. "Which one?"
"Skyhold," Celene answered. "It is what you invited me here to discuss," she tutted, as if Anora was the one who needed the reminder.
Anora harrumphed, as she pulled the blankets around her sitting form. She somehow didn't think they'd ever be getting back to that topic. But she wasn't displeased. "Oh? Out with it then? What is this solution you intend?"
"You know I thought I would try it with Cailin once – give Ferelden and Orlais a proper unification. In a purely political fashion, of course, but still… We get married," she said with sudden fervour. "Have the wedding at Skyhold. Then Skyhold is yours, and it is mine, and there is no need to fight over it."
Anora held back a laugh. "You're quite mad," she accused. "What problems is this meant to solve?"
Certainly not the threat of Orlesian taxation, armed disputes at the border, or the centralised Chantry apparatus attempting to butt into Ferelden affairs. Not to mention the disruption it would cause in every issue from public opinion to the negotiation of land and labour laws between Orlais's serfdom and Ferelden's freeholders.
It didn't even solve any of their personal problems – Anora's isolation. Whatever could be said to describe Celene's issues with Marquise Briala.
Neither of them had an heir, and this union was unlikely to birth one.
"I think we fit well together," Celene preened. "Very compatible."
Anora snaked her hands out from under the blankets and grabbed for Celene's waist. She seized the other woman. Celene giggled as Anora spoke into her hair. "Maybe." Maybe it would have been worth it to announce an engagement to Celene just to see the letters she'd receive in response from Redcliffe, Orzammar, Weisshaupt.
They spoke of it no more for the time being. It wasn't as if it really mattered, not when they wouldn't be sending out letters or orders today anyhow. There wasn't anything for Anora to do but stay in bed, and hold Celene, and wait for the snow to thaw.
.
.
Fin.