Chapter Text
11 Drakonis, 9:34
Denerim, Ferelden
Three years, two months and twenty one days…
…and this was the first time she had left her tower since that fateful Landsmeet.
The garden was quiet save for the soft rustle of wind through the battlement above the courtyard. Sunlight filtered through the high stone walls and Anora sat with Caitriona amongst the gardens and a silver tea service sat between them on the low table. Two guards lingered at a respectful distance, their presence a constant reminder of her status - not quite prisoner, not quite guest.
Anora sipped her tea as she considered the younger woman before her. The last few years had seen them become, well, friends and she has seen the good that Caitriona was doing for Ferelden. Now Anora felt a certain level of responsibility to help her keep her position.
‘I must admit,’ Anora said, setting her cup down with a soft clink, ‘I didn’t think you’d manage to arrange for me to leave that tower, even if it is only for a small venture to the gardens. Arl Eamon is not known for his... flexibility. I imagine he was not happy with this decision.’
Caitriona smiled faintly, her fingers idly tracing the rim of her cup. ‘He is not. But even Eamon can be persuaded when the optics are right. A benevolent queen granting her predecessor a breath of fresh air? It looks good… for whatever game he is currently playing at. Besides,’ she paused, ‘I may have gone over his head and convinced Alistair it was a smart idea.’
Anora chuckled. ‘And here I thought you were simply fond of my company.’
‘I am,’ Caitriona replied. ‘But I’ve learned to make sentiment serve strategy.’
‘For all his failings, I have to admit that Alistair has performed better than I expected. Yourself as well’ Caitriona raised her brow at Anora in amusement. ‘Oh, I sound just like them, don’t I?’
‘Just a little,’ Caitriona said with a chuckle.
Anora laughed and she was even surprised herself at how genuine it felt. ‘You’ve grown into the role, Caitriona. Ferelden may have gained a king, but it’s the queen who has helped the country rebuild.’
Caitriona glanced toward the guards, then back at Anora. ‘You’re not wrong. But you also know how fragile it all is. One misstep, one scandal...’
‘Or one empty cradle,’ Anora said softly, her gaze drifting toward the flowering rosebushes. ‘I remember the whispers. When Cailan and I failed to produce an heir, the court began to circle like vultures. Even before Ostagar, I could feel the shift in the balance of power.’
There was a pause and Anora could not bring herself to meet the younger Queen’s gaze. She knew that Caitriona was watching her but, even all these years later, the pain still struck her more than she expected. Her father had raised her to be the perfect lady, the perfect queen, yet she had failed in the one duty that mattered.
‘We’ve been trying,’ Caitriona said at last. ‘All these years, yet nothing but pain.’
Anora turned to her, brows lifting in sympathy and she saw the tears in Caitriona’s eyes.
‘I’m sorry.’ There is not much more she could say.
‘It might not be me.’
The soft confession escaped from Caitriona’s lips. There was something hidden behind those words but Anora did not know what she meant.
‘I shouldn’t be telling you. But then, who would believe you? It might be Alistair. Or both of us. Grey Wardens... we’re not exactly built for legacy. What happens to a warden, well, it changes us.’
Anora was shocked. She did not know what she expected to hear but this was more than she could comprehend.
‘How? Does Eamon know? Surely Alistair should not have been a contender for the throne…’
‘No-one knows,’ Caitriona cut her off, ‘except the Grey Wardens themselves. As for the Landsmeet… we figured that maybe there was a chance. And yet with each year, that chance seems slimmer.’
Before Anora could reply, one of the guards stepped forward, clearing his throat. ‘Lady Anora. It’s time. And my queen,’ he turned towards Caitriona, ‘the king and Arl Eamon are expecting you for the trade meeting.’
Anora sighed, rising with the grace of someone long accustomed to being summoned. ‘Of course. I would not want to overindulge in freedom.‘
Caitriona stood as well, offering a hand. ‘I’ll speak to Alistair. Perhaps next time, we can walk the orchard.’
She turned toward the guards and they escorted her back toward the tower. Back towards her prison she could not escape. These days her fate lay in the control of others.
~
The stone corridors of the palace bustled with a hectic air as Caitriona headed towards the meeting. People were everywhere - maids darting between chambers, courtiers murmuring in alcoves, guards changing posts. All parted and made space as she walked through the halls.
She smoothed the front of her heavy gown as she walked, the red and gold fabric was soft beneath her fingers and the weight of the gown threatened to overwhelm her with all the layers. Always red and gold.
She rarely wore Cousland colours anymore.
Queens did not belong to their families anymore. Or themselves. They belonged to the realm. And so she wore the colours of Theirin. Her name was still Cousland, but her identity had been transformed into something stronger. Yet, somehow, more brittle. The role of queen was one she could not escape.
Caitriona approached the council chamber, the heavy oak doors slightly ajar. She slowed as she heard voices within. She paused. Alistair would not have started the meeting without her. It simply was not in his nature.
‘… three years, Alistair,' came Arl Eamon’s voice, insistent with a hint of anger. ‘The people are beginning to whisper. Ferelden needs an heir. The Blight may be over, but the kingdom is still healing. We cannot afford any uncertainty.’
Caitriona froze, her hand hovering over the handle.
‘I know how long it’s been,’ Alistair replied, frustration clearing in his voice. ‘Maker’s breath, Eamon, do you think I haven’t worked that out by now? But this, well, this isn’t something you bring up like it’s a missed tax levy.’
‘I only meant to speak with you privately before the queen arrives,' Eamon said. ‘This is not a condemnation. But we must consider the future. Cailan’s failure to produce an heir left us vulnerable. Sometimes the harsh truth must be considered. Before he died, he and I discussed the possibility of setting Anora aside…’
‘And that was part of what drove Loghain to treason,’ Alistair snapped, interrupting Eamon. ‘Don’t think I’ve forgotten. And don’t think I’ll make the same mistake.’
There was a pause. Caitriona’s heart thudded in her chest. She could not bear to open the door yet could not pull away from hearing what Alistair would say next. She had suspected this was coming. Eamon had not been subtle in his hints at what he perceived to be her failure at her duty.
‘Cailan was too ambitious. This time, we keep it simple. I have a list of suitable daughters from loyal Ferelden families. Besides, Fergus Cousland is a reasonable man,’ Eamon said. ‘He, himself, has remarried for the good of his own family line despite his personal tragedies. Fergus understands the needs of the realm and is unlikely to raise arms on behalf of his sister. If it came to it…’
‘It won’t,’ Alistair cut in sharply. ‘Without Caitriona I would not even be king. I won’t insult her, or the Couslands, by treating her like she is replaceable.’
‘Alistair, you must be reasonable,’ Eamon said carefully. ‘If the issue lies with her, then you must consider all options.’
‘You don’t know that,’ Alistair said. ‘And even if it was her, she’s given everything to this kingdom. She deserves better.’
Caitriona stepped back as she felt the anger rise in her. Her mind was no longer on trade agreements and treaties. She turned before she could hear more, her skirts whispering against the stone as she retraced her steps, faster now, past the guards who bowed without question, past the courtiers who murmured greetings she did not return.
By the time she reached her chambers, her hands were clenched in the folds of her gown, the gold and red fabric wrinkled beneath her grip.
She shut the door behind her with more force than necessary and a maid looked up in shock. When the girl saw the queen’s angry face, the maid quickly excused herself from Caitriona’s presence and she found herself alone in silence at last.
Eamon. It was always Eamon. Ever the steward of Ferelden’s future, the man excelled in being the voice of reason wrapped in cold calculations. Yet Alistair still listened to his counsel as much as he listened to hers. She had known he would press the issue eventually. But to hear it laid out like that, like some battle strategy, was something she was not ready for.
The worst part was that she did not know if Alistair would listen this time.
~
Alistair hesitated outside Caitriona’s chambers.
The guards posted outside gave a short nod, stepping aside to allow him access to the door. He raised a hand to knock but paused, pressing his palm flat against the door instead. Caitriona had missed the meeting, she never did that, and Alistair already had a suspicion about why. Either she had heard him earlier or Eamon was already moving to exclude her. Either way, she was angry.
And Maker help him, she had every right to be.
‘It’s me,’ he said softly as he rapped his knuckles lightly. There was no answer. He waited a moment, then turned the handle and let himself in.
The room was dimly lit, the tall windows partially shuttered, and the golden light of late afternoon softened the sharp angles of the chamber. Caitriona sat near the hearth, her heavy gown switched for a soft dressing gown and her hair in a loose braid. She looked softer like this, more vulnerable than the mask she showed to the court, and Alistair could see the pain in her face.
He was wrong. She wasn’t angry, she was sad. He never liked to see her this way as always found himself fumbling at what to say.
Alistair closed the door behind him and crossed the room. ‘You missed the meeting.’
Caitriona didn’t respond.
‘Didn’t even get to hear Bann Wulfe’s thrilling update on grain levies. You missed quite the show.’ Not even the hint of a smile. He sighed, stopping a few paces from her. ‘Can you at least tell me why? Caitriona, please?’
At last, she lifted her gaze and he could see she had been crying.
‘I heard you,’ she said quietly.
He blinked. ‘Heard me?’
‘And Eamon. Before, in the council chamber. I was outside.‘
‘By the Maker, it’s not what it sounded…’
‘It is precisely what it sounded like.’ The anger returned to her voice. ‘You let him speak about me like I’m… like I’m some failure.’
‘That’s not…’
‘He had a list, Alistair. A list of perfectly acceptable, unproblematic Ferelden noble’s daughters all ready to replace me.’
Alistair stepped closer. 'I didn’t let him, Caitriona. I argued with him.'
‘You didn’t throw him out.’
'Do you think I wanted that conversation?’ he snapped, the frustration finally rising. Then he caught himself, ran a hand through his hair, and took a breath. 'Sorry. That’s not fair. None of this is fair.'
Caitriona’s gaze softened, but her voice remained steady. 'He’s not wrong about the heir.'
'No,' Alistair admitted. 'He’s not. But he’s wrong about everything else.'
‘I’m tired, Alistair,' she said at last. 'Tired of bleeding and grieving and pretending I’m not breaking a little more every year. I’ve had three miscarriages. None of the healers can help.'
His throat tightened. He crossed the last few steps and knelt beside her chair, reaching for her hand.
She looked down at him, her hand trembling in his. 'And now Eamon wants you to put me aside.'
'I’m not going to.'
'Alistair…’
He leaned forward, earnest now. 'I’m only king because you stood up at the Landsmeet. Because you made the case, not just for me, but for a better Ferelden and you married me to make it happen. You didn’t have to. You could’ve gone and lived your own life. Simply left me alone to my fate alone or simply let Anora keep the throne. But you chose me, though only the Maker knows why.'
Caitriona gave a faint, tired smile. 'Because you were the right choice… and because I trusted you.'
'Well,' he said, his voice quieter, 'I trust you too. And I won’t forget what you’ve given up for this kingdom. For me. I don’t not care what Eamon says, I’m not replacing you like a piece on a game board. We’re in this together, Catriona. Whether or not we ever have an heir, you are my queen.'
She let out a shaky breath and leaned forward, resting her forehead against his. 'No matter what I do, it is never enough.’
'You are more than enough,' he whispered. 'You’ve held this kingdom together better than I ever could have. And if Ferelden can’t see that, then it doesn’t deserve you.'
At last, she murmured, 'You’ll have to face him again. Eamon.'
'I’ve faced worse,' Alistair said with a grin. 'Darkspawn. Archdemons. Morrigan on a bad day. I think I can handle one aging Arl with an unhealthy interest in my royal bedroom.'
Caitriona managed a small laugh. It was not much but it warmed Alistair’s heart to hear.
24 Drakonis, 9: 34 Dragon
Denerim, Ferelden
Three years, three months and seven days.
Until a surprise visit from Eamon, early one morning, as he bore news from the queen.
At the knock on her door, Anora rose from her writing desk and smoothed the front of her gown, as her maid opened the door. Eamon stepped inside, a bitter look on his face as he bowed with stiff courtesy.
‘My lady Anora,’ he said. 'I come bearing news.’
She arched her brow. ‘Yes?’
‘You are to be released from your confinement,’ he said, his voice barely hiding the disgust at his words. ‘By order of King Alistair, you are granted leave to return to Gwaren.’ He looked down at the scroll in his hands. ‘In recognition of your position as former Queen and your service to Ferelden, an estate will be provided along with a suitable pension. Transport has arranged for you to travel in three days time and a royal escort will accompany you.’
Anora allowed herself a small, satisfied smile.‘How generous. And here I thought this tower would be my home for the rest of my life.‘
Eamon did not return the smile. ‘This is not a decision I would have made.’
‘No,’ she said. ‘But then, it is not your decision, is it?’
This was Caitriona’s doing, that much Anora could tell, and Eamon was churning up inside that she had managed this command. Anora was not sure what pleased her more - the prospect of returning to Gwaren or seeing Eamon’s outmanoeuvred. Either way, she could not help but feel happy at her change in fortune.
Eamon stiffened but said nothing more as he simply turned and left the room. Anora’s maid closed the door and turned to face her.
Anora exhaled slowly. ‘Pack only what is important. I won’t be needing the rest.’
27 Drakonis, 9:34 Dragon
Denerim, Ferelden
Three years, three months and ten days, and she was finally free of that tower. For good this time.
The courtyard was a flurry of activity as Anora approached the carriage that had been prepared for her. She was to be accompanied by her maid and there was a promise of additional staff when she reached her new home in Gwaren. She knew that the release was a banishment for Denerim, even if it was not explicitly stated, yet she found herself uncaring at the thought of leaving behind the city that had been her home for so many years. Her memories of this place, and her role as queen, had been tainted by the later years of her marriage and her treatment following the end of the Fifth Blight.
Caitriona approached, flanked by two guards and a steward bearing a scroll. She stepped forward and, rather uncharacteristically, embraced Anora with a firm hug. It was completely against protocol, but Caitriona held her tightly and Anora could feel the younger queen shaking slightly.
‘Anora, thank you,’ Caitriona said, her voice breaking softly as she let go and stepped back. ‘Surprisingly, I will miss you.’
‘Good luck, Caitriona,’’ Anora replied as she tried to keep the emotion from her voice. ‘I never would have thought you could accomplish my freedom. May your time as queen be happier than mine.’
Caitriona smiled faintly, a soft sadness in her eyes.
Eamon approached and Caitriona turned to face him. Anora noticed her posture straighten, no sign of the warmness that she had when she had farewelled Anora.
Caitriona held out the scroll to Eamon and he took it with some confusion.
‘Arl Guerrin,’ Caitriona began in a clear voice. ‘Alistair and I are most thankful for all the assistance you have provided over these past years. Truly, we could not have restored Ferelden so well without you. But we have taken you time for too long. Redcliffe and its people need your service more.’
Eamon’s jaw tightened. ‘Your Majesty, Teagan manages the arling well and I only…’
‘No, Eamon,’ Caitriona began, cutting off his words as she stepped forward and fondly placed her hand on his arm. A show for the crowd, Anora could see as much and she assumed Eamon did too. ‘We have been selfish in keeping you in Denerim. Your duty is with the arling and your family. We have heard the news that Isolde is expecting again and would not bear to keep you here in such an important time.’
‘It is not trouble, your Majesty, and my wife knows both her duty and mine.’
‘You’ve done enough,’ Caitriona said, her tone still polite but firm. ‘The king and I are in agreement.’
Eamon looked to Alistair, who stood a few paces behind Caitriona, but Alistair remained silent as he deferred to his queen’s words. There would be no reprieve from the king.
With a forced bow, Eamon took the scroll. ‘As you command.’
Anora watched the exchange with a sense of satisfaction. Somehow, and she did not know how she had managed, Caitriona had effectively removed Eamon from court and in such public way that he could not refuse or protest the orders without looking petty. It was a clear demonstration as to who held the power in Ferelden now.
The new queen would do just fine.
Anora climbed into the carriage. The idea of returning to Gwaren was finally settling in her mind. It was home but it had been so long since she had truly spent time there. Her whole life had revolved around Denerim and her marriage to Cailan, and now, possibly for the first time, she had the freedom to choose her own life.