Please note, there's been a rating change. It's not very graphic, but it's rather dark and not at all sexy.

-o-

The Dalish Keeper was a problem. Anora could handle Arl Bryland, as the noble's needs were easy enough to anticipate, but Lanaya had a will that she didn't understand, and their negotiations were going nowhere. The Queen appreciated that the Dalish had helped Ferelden during the Blight, but she did not enjoy being in the Lanaya's debt. Anora pinched the bridge of her nose and silently wished the Archdemon had eaten her.

"You think I'll accept this?" Lanaya demanded, as if Anora had just threatened to drown her hallas in a lake, and not offered her clan a piece of real estate that seven different Banns were begging to own.

"I'm being very generous," Anora insisted.

"Actually, you're being a royal bitch," Lanaya hissed.

Anora huffed. She had often found that dealing with another woman was more difficult for her than dealing with a man. Flattening her hands against the round table between them, she stared at her opponent. The Keeper looked back at her with bright, flashing eyes, and was as intractable and difficult as Anora herself.

"Be reasonable, Lanaya," someone said, and Anora was surprised to notice that it was Alistair. He had been staring silently into space throughout the discussion, and she had not thought he was even listening. The Keeper turned her narrowed gaze on him. "We're offering you your own land," he said. "That's something the Dalish haven't had in seven hundred years."

Lanaya leaned over the table, facing him. "But Alistair," she said, neglecting to use his title, "The land at Ostagar is tainted and overrun with ghosts. Ghosts of your fallen comrades, angry ghosts, men betrayed by the father of this shem woman." She shot a disparaging look at Anora, which was returned in kind. "How can you expect us to live there?"

"Those ghosts are lonely. I'm sure they'd appreciate your company." Alistair's eyes sparkled, and he touched her hand in a familiar way. The elven woman didn't pull away, and Anora realized that they knew each other from his life before.

"Nya used to say that home is wherever you pitch your tent," he said, "and that made sense, because that's the way you live your life. I've had it both ways, though, so trust me when I tell you that a home is much nicer when it has a food cellar, and a roof, and proper drainage."

The King was a font of earnestness, and Lanaya was drinking it up. Anora watched him curiously. He added, "You could build that at Ostagar."

Still Lanaya resisted; her heels were dug in and it was hard to pull them out. She glanced at Anora, unwilling to give ground. A sweetener was necessary. Anora said, "I can send you craftsmen, as well, to help you with construction."

Lanaya's eyes widened. Anora could see her pride battling with the practicality of this offer; in the end, common sense won. "Very well," she said. "We accept these terms, as long as the Arl agrees."

Anora looked to Bryland, who made a startled choking sound. "I'm not thrilled with the idea of Dalish neighbors," he admitted, "but it beats losing men to your arrows. South Reach accepts this compromise."

Lanaya and Bryland bowed to each other, and then they each bowed to the King, and there were handshakes all around. An agreement was reached, tensions were eased, and the Arl and the Keeper strode out of the room, each very happy with themselves.

When they were alone, Anora turned to Alistair and said, "I didn't realize that you knew her."

"Not very well," he said, nodding, "but we helped her clan during the Blight." He looked at Anora sheepishly. "I know you don't want me to do anything, but I thought I should..."

"No, it's fine. You did well." His face lit up, responding to her slight praise as if she had just told him he was the best negotiator in all of Thedas. Anora shrugged and said, "I have trouble with women."

Alistair laughed. "Well, me too!" She laughed back, because she thought truer words had never been spoken by anyone, ever, and Alistair grinned, happy to have amused her. They were laughing together, she realized.

Then he looked at his hands and said, "Nya thought I was..."

Alistair's expression darkened suddenly, as it always did when he spoke of the dead Warden, and the smile died on his lips. Anora cleared her throat and cut him off.

"Right," she said, with a quick shake of her head. "Well. Anyway. It's nice to know you aren't completely useless."

-o-

In the dark of the night, Anora awoke to the sound of crying. She snapped her eyes open, afraid, before she remembered that she had not gone to bed alone. The King was lying beside her, absolutely still, sniveling softly to himself. Anora held her breath and listened, unsure of what to do.

"Alistair," she said carefully, "is something wrong?"

As if her words had unlocked something inside him, a flood of tears opened up, and her husband began to bawl uncontrollably. Between wracking sobs, he asked, "Why do I keep getting left behind?" His voice came in shaky jerks.

Hot, messy emotions were spilling out of his face, and Anora shifted uncomfortably. She was unaccustomed to the idea that men cried. She had never seen Cailan cry, not even at Maric's funeral, and she had only seen Loghain cry once. She had been seven years old, and the memory of her stoic father in tears still made her feel helpless.

"I don't know," she said.

Her voice seemed to reassure him a little. Anora flinched as he used their sheets as a handkerchief, wiping his snot all over the imported silk. "Seeing Lanaya..." he said, sniffling as he stopped crying. "It brought up some... memories."

Anora knew he didn't mean memories of the Keeper. "Of Nya," she said.

When Alistair didn't respond, Anora felt she should do... something. She reached for him uncertainly, her fingers finding the crest of his arm. Her husband accepted that barest hint of an embrace and yielded it to it eagerly, rolling over and pressing his face into her shoulder, the length of him folded up against her side. Anora grunted, startled at the sudden intimacy.

"She didn't give me the chance to save her," Alistair said, into her neck. "She left me behind when she went to Fort Drakon. She said she wanted me to be King, and that I shouldn't risk my life, but..." His voice trailed off, and his body shook from crying. "I don't think she wanted to live." He took a deep, shaky breath, and Anora felt the warm steam of it wetting the strap of her nightgown. "She knew I wouldn't have let her kill herself. That I would have died for her."

Anora's fingertips found the back of his head, and she pressed her fingers into his hair. She remembered her father's tears, and then later, the unexpected realization of why he had been crying. It had taken years for her to understand.

"You loved her," she said.

"I did." Anora could tell from the way he said it that he'd never admitted this out loud before. "And I thought she loved me, too, in her own way. We were... something. I don't know. I always thought she would open up, eventually, that she would trust me and we would be together." He sniffed again. "Even after she passed me off to you like... like chattel." He spat out that last word with surprising anger.

Anora smiled bitterly. It was strange that he thought of himself that way, when he was the King and she was the one who was expendable, but she thought she understood. "I'm sorry," she said.

"It's not your fault," he said, as if that mattered. "Look, I know you think I'm stupid. I know I'm being immature, and difficult. It's just..." Alistair paused again, pulling a breath through his teeth. "I know it doesn't make sense, but I always thought my first time would be with her."

His first love, and first disappointment. Anora felt a cold apprehension building in her chest.

"Not me," she said. Alistair lay still beside her, the sound of his breathing shallow and raspy. She swallowed. "If it would make you more comfortable, you can be with someone else first. I don't care." His hand closed on her arm and tightened. Anora drew a sharp breath; it hurt a little. "It doesn't have to be with me."

He lifted himself on his elbow. In the darkness, the bulk of him loomed over her as she felt his eyes on her face. Something had switched over in him, beyond the reach of her understanding. His hand crept down her arm.

"I think it does," he said, his voice low. He leaned in to kiss her.

Anora tensed reflexively when his lips touched hers. Alistair drew back. "Is it okay?" he asked.

She managed a smile. "Of course," she said, but her voice cracked. Then he was kissing her again, his hands pulling at her nightgown, sliding up the skin of her torso, grasping.

Inevitably, she thought of Cailan. The last time they were together had been the night before he left for Ostagar. Anora remembered his confidence, the way he'd smiled and assured her that everything would be fine. She remembered his arms around her waist, lifting her up to him, as he buried his face in her hair. Alistair's hands pinned her shoulders to the bed and suddenly he was inside her.

"Maker," he breathed, and Anora winced.

She had never counted the months since Cailan died, but she felt each of them then, and she pulled inwards, making her thoughts thin. All at once Alistair was not hesitant. He worked all his sadness and resentment into waves, crashing over her. Anora whimpered. A name bubbled up in her throat, and she bit her lip to keep from saying the wrong one. Tension gave way to something else, testing her defenses, and she stopped breathing. Then he shuddered and it was over.

Alistair held himself over her, and she stared up at him, but it was too dark to see his face. After a moment he fell to the bed and didn't speak. They lay there silently, two bodies separated from each other by an ocean of nothing, as the seconds crawled by like hours.

"Thanks..." she said eventually, because she thought she should say something. When he didn't answer, Anora hoped that meant he was asleep. She exhaled. It was done, and she was relieved. She had not expected it to begin with tears.

She realized then that she had never cried herself, not for her father, and not for Cailan, and Anora began to weep.

-o-

It gets happier I promise. Thanks again to Witchy Bee for the beta, and for Decantate for humoring me, again. You are both awesome.