A/N: Italics are flashbacks.

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Blind Devotion

Head held high…but not arrogantly. Escort impressive…but not intimidating. Clothing the finest money could buy…but not gaudy. Retinue respectful…but not fawning. Pace quick…but not scurrying. Expression serene…but not dismissive. Perfect.

Knowing she would have to be satisfied with mere human perfection Anora walked down the palace's broad stairs and onto the paving stones of the square that fronted the seat of Ferelden politics. Passing the serried ranks of her personal guard Anora strode towards the ponderously opening palace gates as her retinue fell in behind their queen. Voice expertly pitched to be lost in Denerim's street noise and inaudible by anyone more than a yard away from her Anora whispered to her shadowing handmaiden, "I hated this ritual the first time round and it has certainly not gotten less onerous the second time."

"My lady, surely you find it a relief to be able to waste…I mean devote…an entire day to peaceful, uninterrupted religious rituals rather than facing the many demands of ruling a nation?"

"Erlina, you are possessed of a tongue sharp enough to cut yourself with."

"Thank you, my lady." Erlina responded as silence fell between the irritated royal and her handmaiden.

"Maker's balls." Anora moaned several minutes later, the coarse, soldier's oath learned from her father bringing tears to her eyes which were quickly blinked away. "I swear the Chantry makes this sort of ritual up solely to vex the Crown."

"Quite possibly so, my lady." Erlina said simply, knowing that in this sour mood Anora did not actually care about her response.

"See, look at that! I even ordered the street swept but all it took was one peasant driving his cart through after the sweepers pass and I'm forced to dodge ox excrement while still trying to maintain a royal bearing. Damn it, this is precisely why I always use carriages."

"At least there hasn't been a sudden rain squall this time. Remember how your white purification robes last time…"

"Yes, that is enough, Erlina, I do not wish to recall that particular event." Anora hissed as she avoided the offending bovine waste with the grace of one trained by imported Orlesian dance instructors, "Thank you for putting this into perspective."

"My pleasure, Your Majesty."

"Erlina, you only call me Majesty when you're going to tell me something I don't want to hear." Anora stated, "You know I appreciate your observations so please, out with it already."

"As you wish, Your Majesty. I can't help but notice that you seem far more displeased with this procession than you did before your wedding to Cailan. I was wondering if there is something else that bothers you."

"It is simply that I now fully understand what this ritual entails."

"Of course, Your Majesty." Erlina responded blandly as a brewing silence fell between the two women.

Voice heavy with brittle sarcasm Anora suddenly broke the silence, "What do you think, Erlina, will I be struck down for this blasphemy?"

"Blasphemy, my lady?"

"This robe. Surely it's a sin to wear virginal white to your second purification ritual." prompted by Erlina's expertly held silence Anora continued after a quick glance about to reassure herself that no one was close enough to overhear her whispers, "You know what they did last time. The hours spent kneeling on stones as I prayed for forgiveness, the ritual burning of a lock of my hair strand by strand after each prayer to cleanse me just as Andraste had been purified by fire before joining the Maker. And that was only the opening act. The real show was the embarrassing examinations the priestesses carried out to ensure my virginity, fertility, and general health. How am I to pass such tests after already being married once? A marriage, incidentally, that produced no children even as it consumed the prime years of my life. I am the queen and must maintain the aura of royalty that is the cornerstone of the Crown; how can I do that when tradition demands I submit to the Chantry's time-honored humiliation?"

"Perhaps you'll simply have to burn more a larger lock of hair this time, my lady."

"Perhaps." Anora agreed, a brief smile tugging at her carefully composed mask.

Soon after the unexpected, oxen produced obstacle course Anora's procession began climbing a small hill that stood midway between the palace and Denerim's cathedral. Cresting the rise Anora halted her escort taking the opportunity to survey her capital from this vantage point which, aside from the tower of Fort Drakon, possessed the best view of the city.

"It's so sad." Erlina whispered as she gazed out over the city's ruins.

Nodding mutely Anora's icy, blue eyes studied the tattered city as her mind remembered the sights she had witnessed in the Blight's immediate aftermath.

Walking confidently through the grim hallways of Fort Drakon Anora neared the main hall's heavy, wooden doors. Slowing as her ears perked at the muffled sounds coming from behind the gate Anora steeled herself for what she knew lay beyond the rapidly approaching door. Nodding at the two glassy-eyed guards who stood by the doorway Anora swallowed hard as they reluctantly moved to open the sole barrier that stood between them and the horrors beyond. Pausing in his movement one of the guards gave Anora and her handmaiden's clean, expensive clothing a questioning look, "You two don't look like healers, ma'am. Are you sure you want to go in there?"

"It is a Queen's duty to see to those that suffer under her command."

Seeing the blank looks of the two guards and Anora's growing irritation at their inaction Erlina quickly interrupted the unnecessary standoff, "From your heraldry I see that you men are from Redcliffe, no? So I assume you have never seen Queen Anora and would not recognize her…but you might recognize the royal seal."

Holding her hand out, the golden signet ring shining dully in the torchlight, Anora was disappointed at lack of instant, abject contrition in the guards' expressions as they simply looked at each other resignedly and turned back to the doors. The doors swinging open before her Anora cursed her squeamishness as she blanched at the sudden assault on her senses, though her embarrassment was reduced as she noticed the two guards already wan faces grow even paler. Forcing her feet forwards, steadied inconspicuously by Erlina's guiding hand on her elbow, she walked into the awaiting maelstrom.

Moving down the central aisle that ran the length of the hall Anora kept her eyes fixed on the door at the opposite end and away from the sights that surrounded her as she frantically tried to acclimate to the aura of suffering which raged about her. The noises, however, were horrible enough on their own that her imagination did not struggle to supply accompanying images to the sounds. Crashing against her eardrums a low, distressed murmur filled Anora's hearing as its volume ebbed and flowed in macabre imitation of the surf that pounded the shorelines of Gwaren.

Layered atop this base of suffering were further sounds that stabbed at Anora's composure. There were the shrill cries of unbearable agony, the guttural grunts of a warrior attempting to master the pain, the panicked pleas of those fearing death, the gasping and coughing of someone struggling to breath through blood filled lungs. But more horrible than all of those sounds were the abrupt silences. Her ear drawn irresistibly by the louder notes of agony that rose above the background suffering Anora felt her carefully guarded composure slipping not when a new cry rang out but rather each time one of those notes ended. The gasping, growling, crying, begging, screaming all meant that a man or woman was alive, suffering but alive. The sudden absence of these noises ended seemed to create an unbearable cacophony of silence as Anora hoped the abruptly quiet sufferer had simply surrendered to merciful unconsciousness.

Hope, however, had no purchase in this room as human suffering hammered at every sense. Like her ears Anora's nose also wandered the room against her will; dragging her tongue along for the ride as the two senses worked in tandem to further pull her under the sea of despair she was struggling to stay afloat in. Suffusing the air, heavy in every breath she took, the coppery taste of blood and the sour smell of human waste turned Anora's stomach. A turning which rapidly became a wringing, cramping sensation as she passed a patch of air that carried the bitter taste of bile to her mouth and the stench of vomit to her nose.

Mastering her suddenly racing breath Anora's heart fell completely as she heard a quiet voice reach up tentatively to her battered ears, "Help, please help me. I can't die, my wife and children are waiting for me at home. Please help me."

Willing herself to take her eyes off the haven represented by the distant doorway Anora reluctantly began turning to face the speaker. Forced to leave the safety of their previous tunnel vision Anora's eyes swept across the room as she turned observing, in Anora's mind, far too many of the details surrounding her. Stretched out before her in a grim parody of carpeting the bodies of men and women alternately writhed slowly and jerked spasmodically where they lay. No order prevailed as bodies were strewn haphazardly about the room in a tableau of the dead and dying. The lucky ones lay on makeshift stretchers or beds of soiled cloth but the majority lay on the hard, stone floor or leaned painfully against walls and crates.

Picking their way among the bodies several types of people were active. The majority of these were unwounded soldiers, though in many cases only unwounded compared to the bodies on the floor, who were desperately trying to help a friend they had brought to this charnel house. Scattered here and there a mage wandered, their normally bright robes stained with blood and other filth, casting healing spells on the most grievously wounded. Also hovering over the injured were what the guard must have meant by healers, a catchall phrase for the surgeons, nurses, dentists, veterinarians, midwives…anyone with the slightest medical knowledge.

Choking back another wave of nausea as she saw an elderly man expertly pin a groaning woman's arm down by sitting on her shoulder Anora stared in morbid fascination, unable to tear her eyes away from the unfolding scene. Placing a block of wood between the woman's teeth the man pulled out a sharp knife and worked it between the bloodstained scale armor that covered the arm he was restraining. Quickly cutting the obstructing metal free from its leather backing the man motioned for his assistant, a lad whose pimpled face was not yet out of puberty, to hold the soldier's lower arm. The block falling from her mouth as she began frantically thrashing about the soldier's groans reaching a crescendo of agonized screaming that hurt Anora's ears as the youth firmly pressed the mangled remains of her lower arm to the floor Picking up a second knife the man brought the serrated edge down to the woman's forearm right above where her arm became a bloody mass of mingled bone, flesh, and shattered armor. Ignoring the screams the man sliced through flesh until he hit bone. Exchanging the knife for a bloodstained saw the man began cutting through the soldier's forearm with quick, practiced strokes that caused the screaming to reach a new, keening height.

Finally wrenching her eyes away from the scene, though not in the manner she intended, Anora bent double and vomited. Her retching ceasing Anora stood; gaze involuntarily drawn back to the amputation by the sudden, echoing silence that had replaced the cries of the injured woman. Standing above the body the old man wiped the bloody saw off on his even bloodier shirt and moved to the next patient. Taking a moment before hurrying after his jaded elder the youthful aide leaned over the woman and closed her eyelids, his mouth whispering a brief prayer, before also moving on to the next person.

"Please, my Queen, help me."

Startled out of her horrified reverie Anora looked down at the speaker. Propped against a water barrel the soldier looked at her imploringly with pain filled eyes that peered up at her from under a mat greying hair that was plastered against his fever dampened forehead. Kneeling in front of the man Anora recognized the double bears rampant of the King's guard emblazoned on his tattered, gore encrusted tabard. Taking a cup of water from Erlina who had filled it from the nearby barrel Anora tilted the knight's head back and brought the liquid to his lips as she supported his head.

"Thank…you, Your Majesty." the old soldier managed to gasp between coughs as his parched throat choked on the water.

Handing the now empty vessel back to her handmaiden Anora forced a smile through her welling tears, "Tell me, ser, what is your name."

"Driscol, Your Majesty."

"And I see from the device you wear that you serve in the King's guard." Anora stated, the unspoken question of his escape from Ostagar hovering in the air.

"No, my Queen, my service ended long ago. I served King Maric and had happily set my arms aside years ago in exchange for settling down running a tavern by the docks and raising my children."

Tearing a strip of cloth from her dress Anora dampened it in the cup Erlina had refilled. Wiping the cooling cloth against the man's fever heated skin Anora continued, "The docks were largely untouched by the horde. Your service accomplished its goal and kept your family safe. Now, Ser Driscol, tell me where you are hurt and I shall do what I can to help you."

"I am beyond help, Your Majesty." lifting his arm, the pain of the effort clear on his face, Driscol exposed his side where a tear in his chain mail slowly oozed a thick, yellow pus.

"Erlina, support his arm." Anora ordered, pleased her voice had managed to stay unshaken despite her dread at what must lie beneath the concealing armor. Forcing her hands to move Anora slid the hauberk over Driscoll's head revealing the padding he wore underneath. Using a small knife Erlina handed her Anora sliced the padded jerkin open to reveal the wound. Breathing a small sigh of relief at the sight of the small, almost bloodless cut, Anora moved to wipe away the pus to reveal the wound's true extent.

"No! Your Majesty, stop. Do not touch it."

Ignoring Driscol's protests as some sort of hindering, misplaced, masculine pride Anora continued moving her hand towards the wound, "I need to see if the blade slid between your ribs or not…"

Wrenching his arm away form Erlina's steadying grasp Driscol toppled to the floor. Lying there breathing heavily at the exertion Driscol looked up at the queen's confused face, "The wound did not pierce my ribcage. I am dying because it was a poisoned blade the cursed shriek pierced me with. Do not touch the wound for I do not know whether any poison remains there and I will not risk you being exposed to it."

"Poison?" Erlina inquired, confusion clear in her voice, "How long have you been here? Most poisons would not result in a fever like this soon after being administered."

"I've lain here since the Fort was taken."

"But that was almost two days ago!" Erlina gasped.

"Erlina, stay with him; I will find a healer who knows of poisons." Anora commanded as she stood and moved swiftly through the nightmarish room.

Returning quickly with a harried looking mage Anora pointed at Driscol, "Tend to him."

"As you wish, Majesty."

Wiping at Driscol's weeping wound with a cloth he quickly discarded lest it contaminate him the mage watched as more pus immediately flowed from the wound's infection reddened edges. "I am sorry, Ser, but I'm afraid the infection is too far spread for me to heal. Had it been caught earlier…"

"What do you mean?" Anora demanded, voice unpleasantly shrill in her own ears.

"Medicine and magic cannot heal this now. Prayer is the best hope at this point." The mage responded wearily, clearly hating the oft-used words.

"Prayer…" looking up from the doomed man Anora noticed for the first time the dozens of chanting figures that stood atop several raised, wooden platforms that lined the makeshift field hospital.

Grunting as Erlina and the mage helped him sit back up Driscol looked at Anora, "Thank you, My Queen. It has been an honor to serve Ferelden. Now go, help others not yet beyond hope."

Laying her hands on his shoulders Anora leaned forwards placing a light kiss on the veteran soldier's fever dampened forehead. Pulling back she looked firmly into his fever clouded eyes with her own clear, steely gaze, "Ser Driscol, may you find favor in the Maker's sight." As the words left her mouth the agony etched on the soldier's face fell away as his recent exertions sent him into the soft embrace of unconsciousness.

"Mage," Anora called out, her voice eerily emotionless, "Are there many in similar straits to Ser Driscol here."

"You mean lying untended? Yes, there are simply not enough mages and healers to help everyone."

"I see. Thank you for helping me here, you may return to your other duties." Turning to her handmaiden Anora noticed the tears running down the elf's face, "Erlina, stop weeping. Tears help no one but yourself and of all those in this wretched place we have the least need of comfort."

"Yes, your Majesty." the elf sniffled as she wiped angrily at the tracks in her makeup wondering at the queen's sudden composure.

"Come, there are many that need our help."

Striding through the human detritus that littered the blood slicked floor Anora ignored the pitiful pleas that reached her ears as she walked past dozens of suffering soldiers. Following in the queen's wake Erlina looked helplessly at the broken men and women her mistress was blithely ignoring. Swallowing the sorrow that blocked her throat Erlina gathered her courage, "Your Majesty, should we not help one of these poor souls?"

Not bothering to slow her pace to look at her handmaiden Anora responded as the pair reached the stairs to one of the raised platforms, "I am a poor nurse, Erlina, having no training and little natural aptitude. I am, however, an excellent ruler and I shall ease the suffering of many by remembering that fact. Erlina, look at the fools standing on top of this platform. All Chantry sisters have at least a working knowledge of medicine and yet here they stand wasting that precious skill as they chant useless blessings to the dying rather than attempting to ensure that these soldiers do not require such benedictions."

Mounting the stairs Anora swept up to a sister who stood administering indiscriminate blessings with her arms outstretched over the room's horrific suffering. Grabbing the chanter's shoulder Anora spun the woman around interrupting her recitation of the Chant.

"Sister, enough of your endless prayers. Get down off this pulpit and see to it that as few of these unfortunates will actually need those blessings as is humanly possible." anger building further as the woman did not immediately obey Anora's fraying temper snapped, "Now, worm! See to the wounded or I promise you will join them."

Fleeing the blonde's anger, something in Anora's voice informing the sister that these were not empty threats, the chanter ran down the stairs and began tending to a soldier who had a broken bone protruding from his thigh. Satisfied at this Anora scanned the remaining sisters who stood on the platform eyeing her as one would a potentially rabid stray. Spotting the more elaborate robes of a reverend mother Anora walked up the older woman as acolytes scattered before her implacable advance.

Voice perfectly pitched to cut commandingly through the room's din Anora issued her orders with the confidence of one groomed for the throne her whole life, "Your Reverence, I expect you to lead your sisters off this tower and out among the suffering this instant."

Eyes flashing with the treacherous fires of apocalyptic expectation the mother responded, "But, Your Majesty, we must prepare the souls of the dying…"

"Silence, fool. You are murders, all of you, and unless you atone for that sin I will see you executed."

"Murderers! What do you mean by this, this baseless…"

"Brave men and women lie below, you have the means to help yet do nothing. Your failure to help is a sin and I will hold you responsible for every unnecessary death in this room."

"In these times death is merely a pleasant release…"

"There will be nothing pleasant about the death I will give you." Anora snarled as she turned to Erlina, "Go back to the Fort's gates where we left my escort and bring them here."

Recognizing the same rage in Anora's expression that had seen her father emerge victorious against all foes save one Erlina hurried to obey; Anora's haranguing of the useless reverend mother following her as she raced for the doorway. Returning several minutes later with a score of elite guardsmen clanking through the halls behind her Erlina rushed through the doorway; and came to an abrupt halt. The platforms lining the hall were all bare as several dozen chantry brothers and sisters now moved among the injured dressing wounds and removing the dead on stretchers. Standing atop a crate in the very center of the hall stood Anora surrounded by a gaggle of healers, mages, and the relatively healthy soldiers. Approaching her mistress Erlina's keen hearing heard Anora's words rising clearly above the background sounds of human suffering.

"Briac, you and the other mages look at every soul in here. Heal those in need of immediate aid and ignore those you deem can wait. Ser Cerdwin, have the able bodied soldiers follow the mages moving the patients as they tell you to. Those that need immediate surgery take to where the doctors and veterinarians are working over in the corner. Those that are deemed able to wait place along the east wall; Mother Saraid, your sisters will tend to them there. The dead take out of here and place in the armory for now."

"Yes, Your Majesty" the ragtag group chorused.

The cluster of exhausted, blood spattered people surrounding her scattering with a fresh sense of purpose Anora looked up to observe the organization of her tiny realm. Catching sight of Erlina and the approaching guardsmen Anora called out to the guard captain, "Ser Mylor, have half your troop help move the wounded." Gesturing to where a small knot of furious looking sisters stood apart from the bustling activity Anora continued, "The other half will escort those prisoners to the palace where I want them held until I, and only I, order them released."

Watching in disgust as her guard ushered the chantry sisters towards the door Anora's lip curled at their frenzied proclamations, "The darkspawn are the Maker's scourge. We deserve this suffering for our transgressions. There is no true happiness on this world; only pain and loss. Ignore the prisons of your flesh and look instead to your souls. Only through Andraste can we be forgiven."

A ripple of unease spread out in their wake as the dire ravings burrowed into the small doubts indigenous to every soul and found fertile ground to grow in. Watching as the surrounding people looked between her and the arrested clerics Anora felt her control of the situation slipping. Projecting her voice so that it reached every corner of the hall and reverberated in everyone's mind Anora called out, "Wretches! How dare you condemn those who suffer here with visions of damnation? For it is written, 'Blessed are they who stand before the corrupt and the wicked and do not falter. Blessed are the peacekeepers, the champions of the just. Blessed are the righteous, the lights in the shadow. In their blood the Maker's will is written.' Here, right here in this room surrounding you is the blood of the righteous that the Maker has used to write us all a message. A message of hope. Life, with all its accompanying hope and despair, joy and pain, is ours so long as men and women such as these are willing to fight for it. Be gone from here, harpies, for these brave souls fought for our lives and now we shall fight for theirs regardless of your lunatic ravings."

Pushed out of the room by suddenly disdainful guards the last, half-hearted predictions of doom shouted by the arrested contingent of clerics fell on deaf ears as the room around them resumed its purposeful activity under Anora's watchful eye. Rolling up her silk sleeves Anora stepped down from her crate and began moving among the numberless wounded that crowded the room. Smiling to her handmaiden Anora whispered, "Religion is a double edged sword, something the wielders of it often forget."

Looking over her city Anora's vision swept across Denerim's wounds. Vast swathes of the city lay ruined; smoking as fires continued smoldering in crumbled buildings. The river Hafter's course was full of debris, from charred beams to gas bloated corpses, as it lethargically emptied its refuse into the sea. Outside the sundered city walls endless fields of squalid, makeshift tents sat where the city's surviving population huddled every night as they rested from frantically trying to repair their homes before winter's deadly arrival.

Looking at her handmaiden Anora finally responded, "No, this is not a sad sight. It is a despicable one. This is just like in Fort Drakon, Erlina, and the culprit is the same."

Gesturing towards their destination Anora drew the elf's attention to the where the damaged spire of Denerim's cathedral loomed over the stricken city. The fire-blackened tower reached into the sky surrounded by intricate scaffolding upon which scores of tiny figures scuttled about. "That building is being rebuilt in marble and gold while the homes of my subjects are patched with wattle and daub. The Chantry controls wealth second only to the Crown but does not expend its monies on anything other than its own aggrandizement. I am currently emptying the royal coffers as I loan money to merchants, nobles, even peasants needing seed money in an attempt to stave off Ferelden's complete economic collapse. All the Chantry offers, meanwhile, are two gold here, and fifty silver there on its Chanter's boards as its storeroom bulge with grain and gold."

Arm sweeping to encompass the growing shanty town and ruined city Anora's voice hardened, "They neglect the basic needs of my people as they build grandiose edifices that are supposed to reflect the Maker's glory but in which I see only humanity's omnipresent greed and lust for power and status. I need their wealth, Erlina, and for my people's sake I will have it."

Resuming her measure pace Anora moved down the hill towards the cathedral and her religious observances.

Aedan spun about; his wooden sword smashing into the practice dummy's neck with faultless precision. Shaking the sweat from his eyes he set down the sword and turned to face the entrance as he heard the familiar, halting steps his brother now walked with coming down the hall. Not waiting for Fergus to show himself Aedan called out, "Brother, come in. It's always a pleasure to see you."

"Heard me limping along, eh?" Fergus said wryly as he stepped through the open doorway.

"Oh no, I could smell you."

"Some Warden thing?"

"Not really, not unless you're a darkspawn. It's more you reeking of that nauseating incense they're always burning in the palace chantry that alerted me. No wonder Initiates are celibate with all the time they spend in that smelly air."

"Then you'll be pleased to hear that I do not intend on joining the Chantry."

"Very pleased indeed, Fergus. Why, if you don't mind me asking, did you finally decide this?"

"I spoke with Leliana and what she said rang true. I've though about my motivations in joining the Chantry, spoken with the Reverend Mother about it, and then thought some more. The decision I've reached is that the Chantry is not my path."

"What is your path, brother?"

"To honor the memory of the fallen. I will return to Highever and make sure that all those who died defending the Couslands did not do so in vain. There will always be a Teyrn Cousland enthroned at Castle Highever and I shall do that duty to the best of my ability. You want to bring the Cousland name into a glorious future and, while I will support you as a brother should, my focus will be on honoring our past."

"I'm proud of you, brother, and have every confidence in your ability." Aedan exclaimed clapping his brother joyously on the shoulder before his expression grew more somber, "But you realize as Teyrn it will be unavoidable that you remarry and sire children."

Nodding firmly Fergus answered, "I know. It will not be easy but many other widowers have found happiness a second time and perhaps I will too. Regardless of that I realize political marriages are an unavoidable necessity for one in my position. Don't worry, Aedan, you shall have your dynasty."

"I'm happy for you, Fergus." Aedan said hugging his brother, "And, for what it's worth, I truly think this is the best thing for you to do regardless of my own ambitions. Come, let us go have a celebratory ale or two… or possibly more. We'll discuss the details of recapturing Highever and the playing political games later; for now we celebrate."