I had some technical difficulties with the site, so if I didn't respond to your review, please know that I meant to, and I really appreciated it!
And thanks again to Witchy Bee for the beta!
-o-
"Your Majesty," Erlina said, slightly out of breath as she pushed open the door to Anora's private study. "You're needed in the throne room immediately."
"Erlina. I have asked you to knock." Anora pushed her chair back from her desk to scowl at the elf. "People already gossip about how familiar we are. It wouldn't do if you caught me in a compromising position."
"In your study, Anora?" Erlina asked, a grin pulling at the corner of her lips. "Now you have me curious. Was I likely to catch you dancing in your smallclothes?"
A servant should have been punished for such insolence, but Anora only rolled her eyes. She had very few friends and was much too permissive with this one. Erlina was not just her handmaid; she was her assistant, her confidant, and on some occasions, her spy. "What exactly is the emergency?"
Erlina grimaced. "It's the King, your Highness," she said. "You told me to tell you if... well... Eamon is asking him to make a decision."
Anora didn't ask what it was. Alistair was not supposed to make any decisions. She brushed past the elf and hurried to the throne room, where she found Alistair sitting in Maric's chair, completely unimposing, while Eamon and a retinue of attendants stood beneath him, dominating the room.
"What's this about?" Anora demanded, as she entered.
Eamon looked at her, startled. "Just paying a visit to my-"
"The Arl thinks we should choose a new Teryn of Gwaren," Alistair said, not noticing the irritated look he earned from Eamon for interrupting him. "Apparently it's urgent? Eamon's been suggesting all these names, but I don't know most of them."
"Why didn't you call for me?" she asked, keeping her voice even. "I am from Gwaren, you know. I have some thoughts on the matter."
Arl Eamon looked like he wasn't interested in her thoughts. King Alistair, on the other hand, regarded her expectantly.
"Bann Sighard," she said, without hesitation. She had anticipated the question the moment her father had been executed, and Sighard was the obvious choice. "He is a reliable man, and he supported you at Landsmeet. The teyrnir is an appropriate reward."
Alistair eased in his throne. "Thank you, Anora," he said. He looked at Eamon and said, "That sounds very reasonable, doesn't it?" Eamon shrugged, his mouth half open. Then Alistair waved his hand awkwardly and said, "Um... make it so. Or whatever it is I'm supposed to say when I decree things."
Anora smiled. At least that was easy. To her relief, it seemed Ferelden had traded one puppet king for another, and she was happy to keep her hands on the strings. She glanced at the Arl and flashed her teeth at him. Eamon glared back at her. Evidently Sighard had not been his choice, and she took some pleasure in thwarting him.
Eamon took his leave of them with a quick bow, then he and his aides swept out of the room. Anora approached the throne and curtsied.
"Thank you for listening to me, your Majesty," she said, her eyes lowered. "You can consult me any time you need assistance with a decision." All of them, preferably.
"Of course," he replied. He was smiling at her, so she smiled back at him. "And I will. I don't actually have any idea what I'm doing." He looked off to the side, then back at her, and added, "Honestly, I've never been clear on what exactly a Teryn does."
Alistair stood and retreated to the back of the throne room, where Cailan had kept a cabinet full of liquor. She followed him. "What's your poison?" he asked, as he glanced over the selection.
"The single malt," Anora said, indicating an old yellow bottle. They were all safe: she had decided that drugging him was probably beneath her. A little. For now. As Alistair poured two glasses and began to add ice, she stopped him. "Straight up, if you please."
"Really?" He laughed and handed it to her. "I don't know why I'm surprised. You're a tougher man than I am." She sipped the liquor and enjoyed the warm glow of numbness that spread to her fingertips. Alistair put his own glass to his lips and swallowed, his face puckering. Not much of a drinker, she noted, and filed that for future reference.
She took a deep breath. "Did you want to-"
"I think we should-" he said, just as she started to speak. They both fell silent, and he waved at her. "I'm sorry. What did you want to say?"
"It wasn't important," she said, raising her eyebrows. "You?"
"I think we should maybe sleep together," he said. When Anora looked a little too pleased, he raised a hand and said, "When I say sleep, I mean sleep. I seem to have developed hay fever in my old age." Alistair sniffled theatrically, to prove this point. He said, "I don't think I can survive another night in the stables."
Anora's eyes widened. "Is that where you've been?" she asked, laughing a little, in spite of herself. "No wonder I couldn't find you." She cocked her head to the side and said, "You are aware that you're the King?"
"The stables are very familiar!" he protested. "With the hay and the manure and the lack of self respect. It's like coming home." He smiled his artless smile. "However, as you've pointed out, it's probably not the best thing for my image, so... I thought I should try sleeping in my own bed. With my wife." He paused, chewing his lip, then asked, "If that's alright with you?"
Anora shrugged. It was a step in the right direction, anyway.
-o-
"I need a nightgown, Erlina," Anora said, as she entered her chambers and plunked herself down in front of her vanity. "Please be a dear and fetch me one."
Her handmaid was surprised. "You don't usually wear one in the summer," she said, as she handed her mistress a bowl of warm water and a towel.
"I know, and it's very hot," she said, sighing, "but I think the King would die of fright if he saw a breast. Something modest."
Erlina's eyebrows jumped up her forehead. "You mean he's going to sleep here tonight?" she asked. She smiled warmly. "That's a relief. All the servants are talking about it, you know. You haven't even-"
"Arg! Don't you dare say it." Anora wet the towel and began washing her face, carefully removing the shadow from around her eyes. "He's being very difficult." She sighed heavily. "Erlina, he's a virgin. A virgin in his twenties who is being entirely too choosy."
"Really?" Erlina asked. She frowned. "But he's a soldier...?"
"I know!"
Anora turned back to her mirror as Erlina stepped out of the room. She unbound her hair and it fell down her back with a heavy thump. With an ivory hairbrush she combed out each of the braids. Her hair was soft and wavy when she finished, and it reached the seat of her stool.
When Erlina returned, she was holding a long sleeved cotton nightgown with a high collar. Anora laughed. "Not that modest," she said. "I'm his wife, not his grandmother."
"Just checking," Erlina said, with a smile, and she pulled out a silk shift with a scoop neck in a pretty shade of green.
"Thank you," Anora said. She stood and held out her arms. Erlina unlaced the back of her dress, and she stepped out of it, then held up her hands and let her handmaid slip the nightgown over her head. It was cut on the bias, and the fabric skimmed her curves gracefully.
"I don't think Alistair is so difficult, your Majesty," Erlina said, behind her. "He seems like the kind of man who will fall in love with the first pretty girl who's the least bit nice to him." She peaked around Anora's shoulder and added, "So you could try that. Being the least bit nice to him."
"Does that sound like something I know how to do?"
There was a knock at the door. Anora rolled her eyes. Alistair would knock, as if he were a visitor in his own bedroom. Maybe he could teach the practice to Erlina. Anora stood and waved irritably at the elf, who curtsied to Anora and said, "I'll leave you, then." Erlina opened the door and bowed to the King as she left.
Alistair entered. He was dressed head to toe in royal finery and moved uncomfortably, as if the weight of it was unfamiliar. When he saw her standing there in her nightgown, his eyes slid over her appreciatively, in the unconscious way that men's eyes did. Anora smiled. That was somewhat reassuring. She was beginning to wonder if he had any sort of interest in women at all.
He cleared his throat. "You look pretty this way," he said, indicating her hair.
She blushed. Most women have something they hate about themselves, and for Anora it was her hair. "It gets frizzy," she mumbled. She grabbed a ribbon off her vanity and tied it in a quick knot at the back of her head.
He stepped towards her and leaned in to kiss her. She lifted her chin as he dove for her cheek, and he reconsidered, aiming for her mouth. His lips bumped into hers, not opening, as though he was trying to flatten them. She pulled away.
"Okay, then," he said. He clasped his hands together. "I, um, need to undress."
He squinted at her and waited. Anora sighed. She walked over to the bed, scowling at him, and climbed into it. She pulled the covers over her head. "There," she said, feeling more than a little silly. "I promise I won't peak."
She heard him shuffling around as he changed, then he grunted and snuffed their lantern. She pushed down the blanket. The moon was a sliver through the drawn curtains of the window, and the darkness was complete. She felt him crawl into bed beside her, as the mattress tilted heavily to the right. He kept carefully to his own side of the bed.
"Just so we're clear," Anora said, "This not touching thing is your idea. You can touch me. In fact, you can have sex with me, if you're so inclined. Because we are married, and that would be normal."
"Um... thanks," Alistair said. "That's very, uh, generous of you, but I'm not ready. Sorry."
She huffed. "As you please."
His breathing was heavy and even, and she thought he was asleep until he spoke again, suddenly. "Have you been to that stall in the Market District that sells tchotchkas?"
"The Orlesian woman with the poofy sleeves?"
"Yeah." The blankets pulled and the mattress shook a little, and she gathered Alistair had turned on his side to face her. "They're already selling plates with my face on them. Ceramic plates. For little old ladies to collect, or something. Or maybe for angry people to break, I don't know." He paused for a minute, and Anora wondered if he was actually talking about plates. He said, "They turned those out fast."
"Don't be too impressed," she told him. "The ones I've seen are actually leftover Cailan plates. They just repainted your hair."
"Oh." He grunted, a sort of half laugh, and for once the sound didn't bother her. She rolled on her side to face him. Her eyes were adjusting to the darkness, and she could make out the vague outline of him beside her. It was too familiar, and she closed her eyes.
He coughed. "Can I ask you an... indelicate question?"
No, Anora thought immediately, but she swallowed hard and said, "You can always ask me anything, husband."
"Why didn't you and Cailan have any children?"
Anora balked. That was much more than indelicate. "It wasn't for lack of trying, if that's what you're suggesting," she snapped. Alistair made an indecipherable noise, and she continued. "Cailan was never so... hesitant. With me, or, well, anything. Still, in five years, we were unable to conceive."
She heard it whispered among the lesser nobles when they thought she was out of earshot, the ugly words that she was not meant to hear. Barren. Fallow. Cursed by the Maker. Five years without an heir, and of course everyone assumed it was her fault, not his. Never mind that in all his trying, Cailan had not fathered a child on one of his mistresses, either.
Anora winced and pulled the sheets tight around her, feeling pain pushing at her temples at the memory of their disappointment. "I was checked by several healers," she said, "and they all agreed I was sound. It just seemed that we were not compatible, for some reason."
Alistair was silent for a moment, considering this information. "That's not good," he said. "It might not work for us, either, then. Cailan and I have a lot in common... I mean, in terms of our heritage."
Yes, she had noticed that. "But I think he got it from Rowan," she said. "In ten years, she and Maric only had one child. Whereas I understand your mother got knocked up on the first go."
He fell silent again, and she imagined he was blushing. It was altogether too easy to embarrass him. She smiled to herself.
"You're an only child, too," he observed.
"Ah, yes, but that's for another reason." He waited for her to continue, but her mouth snapped shut and that was the end of it. Anora did not want to talk about her father's affections with anyone, least of all with Alistair. She didn't know why she'd brought it up.
Alistair shifted his weight beside her, lying on his back again. "I have one more question."
She sighed. "Yes?"
"Before the Landsmeet. When we came to rescue you." She heard him swallow. "You got us thrown in prison."
"Ah. That." Anora chewed her lip. She had wondered when he would bring that up, and was surprised it had taken this long. "Yes, I did," she answered. "That's not actually your question though, is it?" Alistair did not respond, was clearly not amused, and she sighed. "I didn't plan for that to happen. When I asked Nya to liberate me, I hardly expected her to raise such a ruckus that she would alert the entire army." She frowned. "I thought she was more subtle than that."
Alistair snorted. "Well, sometimes." After a pause, he said, "But you betrayed us. You told Cauthrien we were there to kidnap you."
"Yes. Sorry. Not my finest moment." Anora remembered the panic she had felt when they had stumbled upon Cauthrien and her legion of guards. And then that stab of hope, the nasty twist in her stomach that made her turn on them. "There were a lot of reasons," she said, "but the simple explanation is that I was afraid."
"Of Howe?" Alistair sounded dubious.
"No," she admitted. "Being trapped in a tiny room was tremendously boring, but I never really thought he was crazy enough to kill me." She paused, and Alistair waited for her. "I was afraid of you."
"Of me?" he asked, surprised. "But I-"
"I knew you would win eventually, Alistair." The warmth of his body reached her through the blankets, and she shifted away from him; it was too hot. "I was the Queen, but you were Maric's son, the last heir of Calenhad the Great. What claim did I have over that?"
"So you had me locked up." She could hear anger crowding into his voice, the deadly self-righteousness that had persuaded the Warden to slay her father. "You value your throne that highly?"
"I value my life that highly, yes," she spat back. Everyone does, she told herself. She moved to her back again and crossed her arms over her chest. "I did not think I would survive your coronation. Any sane person would have had me executed."
"Oh." His thoughts were so loud she could practically hear the gears grinding. Anora held her breath, and after a while he said, "Lucky for you, I'm a total nutter."
A wry smile colored his words, and it seemed she was forgiven. Anora laughed out loud. "That you are," she agreed. "Although I don't know how lucky that makes me, at this point. Husband."
He adjusted his pillow and settled down to sleep. "I'm sorry," he said, reaching out with a clumsy finger to poke her on the arm. "I know this is weird."
"You're weird," she returned, before she could stop herself. It was possible his idiocy was contagious.
He laughed again, his full-bodied, woodsy laugh. Anora laughed a little, too. He was so common, she thought. Alistair had a common sense of a humor and a common sort of sweetness. He had probably grown up expecting to fall in love.
Well, too bad, she thought crossly, as she rolled away from him and closed her eyes to sleep. Anora did not know how to be lovable, she did not intend to learn, and she certainly wasn't about to fall in love with him.
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