Updated to remove pesky html tags.
I write for reviews—what you liked and what you didn't! Help me out with comments on plot (such as it is), characterization, whatever comes to mind.
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A polite but insistent knocking woke her, and she squinted into a beam of sunlight that was busy burning itself onto her retinas. A man's voice came through the door. "Good morning, Commander. Breakfast is ready."
Anja rolled the word around on her lips. Commander. She wondered if she'd ever get used to it.
"Thank you; I'll be along shortly." She leaped out of bed and hurried to her washstand to clean her face. Then she combed and pinned her hair and headed downstairs.
Only one table in the cavernous dining hall was occupied, and as she approached it, heads turned to look at her. She rattled off their names to herself. She'd never been very good with names, and the past couple of days had been so crazy, she was sure to forget at least one. Oghren, Varel, Garavel…Woolsey. Mhairi. Anders. Nathaniel. Cera, the…um…enchanter. Yuriah, the merchant.
"Good morning, everyone." She took the empty seat at the head of the table and nodded to the serving girl when a plate was immediately set in front of her. To her embarrassment, her stomach growled loudly.
A chorus of voices said, "Good morning, Commander." Mhairi, Varel, and Anders smiled warmly, Oghren was barely keeping his eyes open, and Nathaniel just glowered at her before spearing a piece of sausage with his dagger and lifting it to his mouth.
Anders pushed his plate aside. "Commander, if I might ask, what's on the agenda for today?"
Anja swallowed a mouthful of eggs and turned to him, trying not to to look too directly into his eyes and trying—probably unsuccessfully, she figured—to keep the interest out of her own.
"The usual, I imagine," she said breezily. "Darkspawn blood and guts. We need to check out those tunnels beneath the Keep and figure out how to keep any more of our smelly little friends from showing up."
Anders nodded and leaned back in his chair, placing his hands behind his head. "Well, isn't it a good thing I'm a lover and a fighter," he joked.
"And here I thought you were a healer," Nathaniel interrupted. "You can't exactly rejuvenate them to death, you know."
Anders looked at him with amusement. "Interesting…I'll keep that attitude in mind the next time you find yourself wounded, Nathaniel. You might just find yourself at the bottom of my priority list."
So far Nate hadn't managed to say one nice thing to anyone, but it was probably best to cut him some slack. Still, Anja was glad for her recently thickened skin. Criss-crossing Ferelden to raise an army had done her a world of good in that regard. "Aw, look, we're already one big happy family," she said, and winked at Nate, who scowled and looked back at his food.
It was settled, though: she really liked Anders. It would be almost impossible not to.
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After dinner that night she went upstairs to her room, washed up, and flopped down unceremoniously onto her bed. A gentle breeze carried the almost incongruous scents of pine and jasmine through her window. Other than that and the crickets, there was silence—peaceful, glorious silence.
Deep Roads tunnels. That was how the darkspawn had gotten in. The longer she was here, the more mysterious the situation became. And on top of repairs to the damage caused during the darkspawn attack, she'd learned that the Keep required significant long-term improvements. Extensive, expensive improvements.
Sometimes she couldn't help resenting the position she was in. Wasn't there someone else who could better deal with all these problems? All of these people? She gazed with longing at the shabby trunk in the corner near the window, stuffed not with toiletries or keepsakes or spare clothing but with her beloved books and journals. They were a downright nuisance to lug around with her, but she could never bring herself to leave them behind. Unfortunately, she never seemed to have time anymore to bury her nose in their musty pages, or even pick up her long-neglected quill. Apparently she could have a quiet life reading and writing about other people's interesting lives, or have an interesting life herself with no time for those favorite hobbies, but not both.
She sighed and stretched herself out on the bed. Really, if she thought about it, it was all his fault.
Well, partly.
Of course the Blight wasn't his fault. And the fact that she'd been conscripted into the Wardens wasn't his fault. But if Alistair had been just a little less insecure, a bit more decisive, he could have negotiated the support of their allies, made all those difficult decisions, and led their forces against the darkspawn. Instead he'd dumped it all in her lap, and to her everlasting astonishment, she'd become the Hero of Ferelden. Her! Then she'd actually chosen to become Warden Commander, because who else was going to do it? And now there was just no end to all the people and problems she would have to deal with in the foreseeable future.
She rolled onto her side. When she thought about him she felt a pang in her chest, and she scolded herself. Andraste's ass, Anja. He's only been gone a week.
But there was more to the pang than his absence. She'd felt a gnawing unease about her feelings for him that had been growing slowly but surely over time, and since he'd left for Orlais it had really come to the fore. It was probably time to give this more thought, while he was gone and she could think more clearly.
When she'd arrived at Ostagar she'd still been infuriated with Jowan. Despite his being her friend she'd always known him to be a bit weak, but she'd never realized he was such an utter fool. She'd ruined her reputation on account of him and been sent away from the Circle where, for the first time in her life, she had actually excelled at something. She was still consumed with resentment when she met Alistair.
After all they'd been through, she still remembered happening upon him for the first time.
"I was going to name one of my children after you. The grumpy one!"
She'd appreciated his sense of humor, his leadership in the Wilds, and his willingness to answer every last one of her questions during that day before the battle. But then it had all gone so wrong, and they'd both been shellshocked. She'd started to wonder if they'd make it through the week. He seemed to be just another temporary companion in the endless upheaval that was becoming her life. As they'd traveled through Lothering and Redcliffe, though, they'd gradually become friends, providing each other with a willing ear and a shoulder to cry on when it was needed.
After they'd finished clearing out the Circle Tower she'd seen him through an adrenaline-fueled haze of survivor's relief, and she was so glad to see him in one piece she'd had to physically restrain herself from throwing her arms around his neck. She'd flirted boldly with him in front of everyone before they'd even made it back downstairs to update Gregoir, and the realization of the strength of her feelings toward him had dazed her. She'd spent the next few months giddy and lovestruck, and their burgeoning relationship had served to get her through that part of their long and strenuous journey.
And then, unexpectedly, it had all begun to turn a bit dark.
"Where do you think this is going, Alistair?"
"I really don't know. Arl Eamon means to make me king, and I don't know what it will mean for us."
The more she'd asked, the more withdrawn he had become. Eventually, she'd stopped trying to discuss it. He seemed so willing to just hand the course of his life over to others. She'd told him that he needed to look out for himself, and he seemed to appreciate it and take it under consideration, but seeds of doubt had already been planted in her mind.
She fluffed her pillow into shape and sighed. How pointless was it to go over it all this again and again? But she was unable to stop, even though it never seemed to accomplish anything. It was probably going to be a sleepless night—as if she could afford any of those right now.
How she regretted the incident at the Pearl with that ridiculous pirate woman! She'd meant it as a test of his loyalty, to see how far he was willing to push his boundaries for her. But he'd not only seemed to enjoy it, he'd sounded disappointed when Anja had said it would never happen again! She couldn't help wondering if, in his most private moments, he still fantasized about Isabela, about that night, about having the two of them at once. If he did he was too reserved to bring it up, and somehow his keeping it private made it even worse.
Then at the Landsmeet she'd felt that their whole world was about to come crashing down around them. Despite Alistair's reluctance to discuss the matter, she knew there was no way the Fereldan nobles would allow their king to marry a mage. To her utter surprise and relief the matter of succession had been placed in her hands, and she'd selfishly kept Anora on the throne.
He'd slept with Morrigan to save their lives. They'd killed the Archdemon. And then he'd left for Orlais to try to bolster the Wardens' numbers. She'd hated to send him, but who else was there?
She was growing weary, she realized, of wondering when things would stabilize, when these dreadful surprises would stop catching her off guard, when they would ever have a break in the madness to really get to know each other. Maybe, given her age and position, she should just stop thinking about a future with him. Or with anyone, for the time being. She was only twenty-one, and she had serious responsibilities. All-consuming responsibilities.
Her thoughts turned briefly to Anders. He was warm, funny, and sarcastic like Alistair, without Alistair's baggage or complications. She was starting to suspect that Anders wasn't quite the cad that his reputation made him out to be, either. He genuinely liked people, enjoyed helping them. He seemed generous and solicitous. She suspected he was the same with women but simply valued his freedom too highly to be interested in commitments.
As niggling thoughts about Alistair tried to worm their way back into her mind, she forced herself to think about how Anders had ogled the statue of Andraste in the courtyard. Ultimately he'd used the opportunity to bring up Andraste's opinion on the oppression of mages, but still—it had been so funny, so him. And there was certainly nothing wrong with being passionate in one's beliefs.
She snuggled into her pillow again, and a few minutes later she drifted off to sleep.