Song: Miss Clare Remembers – Instrumental (Enya) (520 words)
She bid her handmaiden good night, in spite of the elven woman's protests that she should not spend the night on her own. She wondered when she had started allowing such familiarity, such complicity between them. Her father had never approved of Erlina, but in the uncertainty that always seemed to surround them, Anora found that the Orlesian woman had turned out to be more loyal to her than any Fereldan.
She closed the heavy door behind her, leaving guards, servants, and noblemen behind. How they wearied her with their condolences; they would not let her forget Cailan's death, but they would not let her mourn him in her own time either. Her father had told her to be strong for the people of Ferelden. Teagan had admonished her publicly for appearing too strong. What did they want from her? Did they seriously expect her to please everybody? As if she had ever done that.
As if that could even be done.
She let her long hair cascade down her back. Heavy and lustrous, just like her mother's. She brushed it with her fingers, the way Cailan had done it the first night they had spent together, when he was eager to bed her – when she was still willing to let him do so. And then, what had happened between them? Was it only a matter of time till he ran out of passion and heat? It had not been that, no. She knew about the others. Perhaps it had been precisely that: knowing that there were others paralyzed her when it came to intercourse, and a time came when he only sought her out because Eamon pressed him for an heir.
But she was no mere womb. She was a Mac Tir woman. She had been raised with a purpose in mind. All the lessons, all the scabs after hours of practice, all the memory games that she had played with her father –Who controls the Bannorn? What rivers flow into the Waking Sea?–; all of that served a purpose. It had always been intended that way. Maric had understood it. Her father had sold her that way. Then what had Cailan expected from her?
Perhaps it was not her body at all. He had not fathered any bastards, not as far as she knew. And she would have known. Her father would have known; coming from Maric's son, he would have expected it for sure. He had told her once that, should he find out that Cailan had a bastard, he would not act the same way he had with Maric's bastard. And what had she replied? Something along the lines of keeping the child and raising it as her own, perhaps even tricking people into believing that it was hers. She knew the people of Ferelden. They would believe in that which gave them hope. She smiled. She wished she could believe as well. But now…
She looked at her reflection in the mirror one last time before snuffing out the candle, hoping to extinguish silly dreams and hopes that she had once had as well.
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A/N: This is actually the first time I've written about Anora. I have mentioned her before, but only from Cailan's POV. She is a difficult character, and everything about her feels sketchy. Kudos to her VA for making her sound unsympathetic, if that was what they were going for.