A sweetness about you

9:28 Dragon

Denerim, Queen Anora's quarters

Anora awoke to those familiar cramps that, during the whole last three days, she had hoped to not experience. Aware of how laying down made it worse for her, she laid her back on the big, tender pillows beside her head. The other side of the bed was empty, of course: recently Cailan had been so busy in organizing Empress Celene's visit that they barely had had time to sleep together. But today, due to the possibility of a pregnancy, he had insisted for her to enjoy some rest. Sadly, he had been right about only one thing: she was tired enough to not even had heard him leaving the room, despite her desire to counter-insist by getting ready for a new day by his side.

Yawning, still half asleep, Anora looked around the room; and just when she was rubbing her eyes she noticed them. A book and a note had been left on her night table.

She didn't need to open the note to know who was the sender. When she broke the sigil, she was half smiling already.

Anora,

I knew you were ready to wake up at dawn like I did, so I got ready for the day even before dawn, when I was sure you were sleeping soundly. Is it cheating? Perhaps.

But it still got my Queen to enjoy some more sleep. I've seen how worried you look, so you needed it.

I'll see you tonight, Anora. I plan on having dinner with you in your quarters. Let me know if you feel unwell.

Meanwhile, I left you something to help the clock go fast.

Cailan

Anora stashed the letter together with the other notes of her husband, then examined the book. It was a novel, one of those sappy, sentimental novels she recently had found herself to be of her liking. When Cailan had found that his serious, zealous wife, the woman responsible for half his education, was into romance novels had laughed at first. Later on, he had asked her what she liked about those stories: anyone else would have made fun of her, silently or not. Not him. He was interested in her taste. She had told him the simple truth: those novels were like a relaxing realm for her, a realm where she could also be one of those careless heroines.

But there was something she hadn't said. How she sometimes wished to be one of those fictional women because they were not afraid to fall in love. Not even a single bit.

Anora caressed the leathered cover of the book.

She hadn't told him how his attentions and her kindness warmed her inside, not even why his carefree attitude was the reason why she had stuck with him. It had been, and still was, the reason why he needed her bits of advice, but in time it had become the reason why she had grown fond of him. In exchange for her assistance, he offered her a cheerful attitude towards life.

Despite Cailan's affairs, she felt grateful towards him. Those girls got no gifts from him, nor any preferential treatment. But above all, not many wives could claim to be kissed with the same passion reserved for their wedding night. And she was maybe the only queen to not get anxious in finding out she wasn't with child and to trust her king in not calling her a disgrace for that. He would have happily spent more time with her, basked in the eternal optimistic thought that as a Theirin he would not have failed in producing an heir.

And somehow, just looking at him she was able to believe the same.

9:28 Dragon

Denerim, King Cailan's quarters

The soft squeaking of the mattress and the girl's accelerated breath were the only sounds in the room.

His eyes closed, Cailan could feel her grasp upon his shoulders and the grip of her legs around him as she efficiently rode him. Up, down. Up, down. She's been at it for several minutes now, but her rhythm hasn't changed at all: her movements haven't fastened nor slowed down at all. Now she was moaning in that fake way some women used in trying to entice their partners. She was certainly trying, maybe giving her best try, but the whole matter was turning out dull and inexpressive. Even the undeniable softness of her thighs is not enough.

Cailan opened his eyes, laying his hands on the mattress and earning a quizzical look from the elven maid he was now looking at.

"That's enough. Just leave, I'll let you know if I'll need your services again" he commanded.

The maid straightened up, bowing at him, an amused smile on her lips. "As you command, my king. You know I'm at your disposal". She shot him another glance before bending over to retrieve her dresses. Her smile and her declaration filled him with excitement more than her moves had done: after years and years as the clumsy, awkward one, he finally had charm and power. He was the King of Ferelden. As he watched the elven maid leave the room, a bitter awareness rose inside him. First and foremost he was the King, and his being charming and handsome was nothing but a bonus. Women would have come to him, maybe even offered their bodies, even if he was a gouty dwarf should that earn them to get in the King's good graces.

All in all, it's no surprise that those rides felt like a performed duty.

Duty.

And what about Anora? Was it nothing more than a duty for her too? He still remembered what she had said eleven years ago. That's what queens are for. We exist to support our husbands. Even though now he was free to kiss her, hold her hand and lay with her in bed as a wife and a husband were meant to, he never forgot that first kiss and how she had rejected him. Ever since he had never stopped wanting her. But that failed kiss had tainted every attempt of courting her, put a cloud over every single surprised, cheerful, positive reaction of her. That failed kiss was the main reason why he had started seducing and bedding other women. That failed kiss had frozen him in a time where he was a twelve years old clod and she an unattainable goddess to worship and his northern star. It was the reason why he had been so surprised when, during their wedding nights, she had approached him and placed her lips on his. While any other girl was like a chunk of flesh, she was touch, smell, sight, taste and sound.

But had it been affection or duty?

Cailan was no fool. He knew when he had to get a hold on something, so he had never let go of the only woman ready to accept him as he was without never asking more. He had always offered her the best he could, his affection as well as his thoughtfulness, above all treating her as a person and not a breeding machine or a useful counselor. She was her best friend, the best wife he could have hoped for and the reason why he had become, and was becoming such an influential King, so he owed her that much. He was not blind either, he could see how warm she had grown towards him and how much she appreciated his attention. He could feel it in her muscles and see it her eyes every time they made love.

In spite of all that, the ghost of that failed kiss kept on he couldn't stop wondering whether hers was affection or duty.

Why should someone like him even bother to hope that a woman like Anora, so high above him, could actually return his feelings? He knew where he belonged, and he was content with giving her all the happiness he could and having her by her side. They were happy as it was, and asking for her love could mess up their hard-earned balance and drive her away. He simply couldn't afford to take the risk and lose the only meaningful variable of her life, the one without which he would have crumbled: her.

Sighing, Cailan stood up. While he was getting dressed, his eyes fell upon the unopened letter on his desk and he immediately recognized Empress Celene's handwriting. Somehow, he had to banish those grim thoughts and concentrate on a reply: Celene was the only royal he was able to handle without Anora's help, and he did quite well too. She was, after all, a woman and he had learned what women wanted. Except for the only one that mattered, of course. Grimacing, he broke the sigil and began reading.

What have you done, what have I done

9:30 Dragon

Denerim, Royal Gardens

The air smelled of summer, screaming of the return of life after a harsh winter, a thousand stars were beaming in the sky and the whole Royal Garden burst with newly born flowers, ready to enjoy the hot season. They made Anora feel even more wilted and old. She looked at the stars, praying for a shooting star to cross the sky and She wished she'd never entered Cailan's room. She wished she could cancel that sight from her memory.

She clenched her first so hard that she almost stuck her nails into the palm's skin. Then, the sound of crumpling paper reached her ears. The pain deriving from her nails' pressure went completely unnoticed, while that cursed letter sang to her, repeating once again what she had read already.

My lovely Empress,

In her mind, all pieces matched. Cailan's refusal when she had offered her advice in the matter of maintaining a diplomatic relationship with Orlais, his stubbornness in taking care of it by himself. The way he had danced with Empress Celene during the Satinalia.

I couldn't possibly say how much the Ferelden court enjoyed your presence here during the last Satinalia. Had I the power to dictate my country's fashion, I swear, I would order every lady of the court to imitate your charming style.

The image of Cailan and the Empress dancing in front of the whole court blazed in front of her.

Cailan leading the Empress to the dance floor, his hand holding hers, announcing everyone how Ferelden and Orlais were now, more than ever, allies. Empress Celene's radiant smile as she was staring at her husband. Cailan turning towards her and kissing her hand in announcing her a welcome guest. Her gracious curtsey and the way she had locked her eyes into him as she thanked him and confirmed the newborn friendship between the two countries. The way his arm had enclosed her wasp-waist. How, almost casually, her fingers had brushed Cailan's neck before finding their place upon his shoulder.

Anora had always considered herself a good dancer, but the sight of the Empress' gracious, light step and her flowered gown twirling around had made her feel like an old woman, a Queen unable to stand in the crowd as she should have. The Empress looked so young and fresh. What about herself? When had she aged that much?

Part of her had rebelled at that public humiliation: how had he dared? Sure, he was free to lead to his bed every servant, but playing along to the Empress' subtle flirting in front of the court was a downright insult. But sadly, in all honesty, she couldn't blame Cailan for ogling at her.

A veil of tears covered the couple and washed away the past, leaving only the painful grasp of the present.

How in the world are you still unmarried, I wonder?

She could almost hear all those whispers. About how she was getting old, how she was uncapable to give Ferelden an heir, how perhaps the King should disavow her search for a younger, more fertile wife. That feeling cut deep inside her. Maybe Cailan was finally determined to please their subjects, after all. There was no other possible reason for mentioning the Empress' nubile state.

Which brings me to the matter of your name-day. Wouldn't it be improper if Orlais' new ally failed in sending a present to its Empress? I know you love surprises, but could I ask for just an hint about what you would like to be gifted? Please, do tell, one single, harmful clue.

However...

Anora threw the letter away. Ignoring the tears wetting her cheeks, she wondered what Cailan had meant to write after that last word.

Could she have possibly done something, anything to keep him by her side? Maybe, if she hadn't distanced him after that refusal of advice he wouldn't have run into the Empress' arms, or at least attempted a clarification, if she had just admitted that she was jealous of that younger, more beautiful woman, he would have...

Anora turned. Beside her was there was the blue roses' bush she had personally taken care of. The bush where she and Cailan had first met. The flowers used for preparing her roses' petals frosted in sugar. In a fit of rage, Anora savaged the bush. She tore off petals, stems, leaves. Every destroyed rose was a shout inside her head. Stupid, fool, idiot, dumb Anora. To think that she had entered his quarters to tell him the truth, how he felt and what he felt for him because the darkspawn could take him away. Stupid, fool, idiot, dumb Anora.

Two strong hands held her wrists, preventing her from damaging the flowers further. Panting, she met his father's eyes with hers and only then saw the blood rushing down her hands. And once again she was a child in need of reassurance, protection, security. Anora held her father into a tight hug, whispering into his ear all her pain and her loneliness. When she was done talking, he let her cry in a way he never had allowed when she was a child.

"I'll take care of it, my little girl. Don't worry" he murmured.

Her father was her hero, her whole world once again.

9:30 Dragon

Ostagar, Battlefield

The battlefield was enveloped into the silence preceding the battle, the calm before the storm would have overthrown many of those men's life. For several of them, those were the last minutes before their death.

Not for Cailan. He had a reason to come home victorious, and that reason was Anora.

His gaze remained fixed on the horizon, but his mind was all set on the night before the march towards Ostagar. When he had returned from the last war council before the march, the guard had informed him that the Queen had come searching for him, and had waited for him inside his quarters for a while. The mere thought of Anora come to bid him good luck had soothed his anxiety: given how much their relationship had gone damp in the last few months, perhaps not everything was lost. Perhaps she was ready to give him her blessing. Perhaps he would have held her in his arms again before dawn.

Then, he had noticed how the letter he was writing to the Empress had gone missing and a cloud of angst and terror had punched him right in the stomach. He had rushed out of his quarters, banging at Anora's door, imploring her to let him inside, to give him a chance to talk to to her, to explain. There had been no answer, but he had refused to give up. He had knocked, shouted, called Anora's name. In the end the door had opened, only enough to show Erlina's face. Stiffly, almost insolently, she had informed him that the Queen didn't wish to see him. When Cailan had tried to insist, Erlina had shot him such a cold, hateful glance that he had surrendered to Anora's will.

After all, it was the least he could have done after having hurt her so deeply. For many years, he had taught she didn't care for him, that all she did it was made out of duty. Now that it was too late, everything was clear to him. Cursing himself for having been such an idiot, he had composed a letter which contained all the truth, nothing but the truth. However, upon leaving his quarters to slip the letter under Anora's door, he had hesitated.

Cailan had ended up hiding the letter among his clothes. After all these years, she deserved to hear it from his lips and he craved to see her expression the moment she would have known it all. He wouldn't have allowed anyone, let alone the darkspawn, to keep him away from Anora: he would have entered Denerim as the victorious King who had stopped the Blight before it could really hit the country.

And finally the enemy appeared. Unlike his comrades, he wasn't afraid of those monsters: they couldn't be stronger than his desire to see her again. He let the archers and the Mabaris thin out the ranks, then he led the melee attack. As he crushed those monsters, every heartbeat screamed only one name: Anora, Anora, Anora.

Now, that ogre was standing between him and Anora. So Cailan charged.

Earthquake of the soul

9:31 Dragon

Denerim Chantry

The buzz had become so noisy that it could be heard from behind the door. Anora wondered how many people had come to witness the Queen and Hero of Ferelden walking to the altar together.

She took a deep breath. Her fingers trembled for just a second before she tamed herself. Once, she had been carefree, frank, honest and ready to welcome feelings. Now, she could afford that risk no more. The world wanted an iron lady, a perfect, dignified queen, so she would have obeyed. Dane Cousland was her own way to show the world she was stronger than the loss of a husband, that her mourning was over and she was ready to commit herself to her own country. And this time, she would have stood on her own feet.

After all, she couldn't trust anyone.

Sure enough not her subjects, always ready to win her favor for their own benefit. Certainly not Dane Cousland: the Hero was a conceited, presumptuous man, undoubtedly gentle and good in his own way, but still a man who bore her no real affection and mainly concerned in restoring his family name. Which made him just perfect: she was done with searching for affection.

And her father... He would have been there soon. The world required her to smile at him and take him by the arm, so she would have had to hide behind her iron queen mask all her hatred, disappointment and betrayal. Had her father not betrayed her, in time she could have gotten over her heartbreak over Cailan and maybe she would have gone to the altar with a lighter heart and the hope for a bright future. But her father, the only man she had always idolized, had done the only thing that could have ripped her world apart: for her sake, to punish him, he had caused Cailan's death.

Two times in her life she had trusted someone, and two times her trust had been paid back with be betrayal. She wouldn't have let it happen again, simply because she wasn't sure she could have handled another blow.

A brief knock on the door chased away those thoughts. She didn't need to ask who was on the other side.

Anora Mac Tir stood and walked towards her destiny.

§§

My dear Anora,

you must despise me, and I understand if you do.

I can only hope that you'll be willing to listen when I'll come back from Ostagar.

As hard as it could be, please believe me: it's not what it seems. I know it might sound like a pitiful excuse.

It's not.

You are the only person I've ever loved since the beginning. You've been special since the first time I've met you, and I was so proud in being the only one able to manage to get a true smile out of you. No one but you has remained by my side without wanting to change me into something I was not. You're the reason why I am now a believable king. But I've always been under no illusion: the special one, the walking deity has always been you.

How could someone like me be worthy of your love?

Do you remember the first time I tried to kiss you? Your refusal has become a constant companion for me and has never left my side for all these years. I was so damn sure if you had had the chance to choose, you would never have married me. I had no doubt your affection for me was the one of a good friend. So, I was simply content with making you at least a little happy, and with making our marriage bearable. Those other women had never been more than a source of amour propre and a mean to give vent to my bitterness.

I didn't refuse your advice in maintaining a diplomatic relationship with Orlais out of a desire for the Empress. On the contrary, I was hoping you would have been proud of me if I had managed to take care of a royal matter without your constant guidance, and a bit of harmless flattering had seemed to me a good way to start winning the Empress and Orlais' friendship. If only I had ever imagined that that flattering in your eyes wasn't harmless at all, my love, I would never have acted how I did. If only I had ever imagined you cared for me as a man and as your husband, I..

Maybe I will never earn your forgiveness. Maybe it's too late and I have lost you. But please, if you find in your heart to give me one last chance I'll do whatever it takes to treat you like my only queen. Please, my love, wait for me. Don' condemn me without giving me a chance to talk to you, without looking in my eyes.

Yours,

Cailan