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[Sandtigress]

Okay, since I suspect I will have more of these as I go along, now that several of the character threads are doing prompts, here's a spot for my random little drabbles and shorts.  Hope you enjoy!

The Last Days of Ferelden
Of Mages and Half-templars
Too Late for Second Chances

Modifié par Sandtigress, 23 septembre 2010 - 01:41 .

[Sandtigress]

This first one comes to you inspired by a pair of stories from the gush thread - Addai's The Last Sacrifice and LadyD/Cadsuane's An Unkind Fate.  These led to a request by the Alistair gush thread and others for a glimpse of what Ferelden's fate might have been if the Wardens had indeed fallen at the Landsmeet.

[Sandtigress]

The Last Days of Ferelden

A crumpled note found on the body of an unknown woman in a back alley in Cumberland.

Herein lies the last will and testament of Anora Mac Tir, once queen of Ferelden, now queen in exile of a land in ruins.  I have seen what no queen ought, my country fallen to the Blight, and so now I record the things I have witnessed lest my beloved Ferelden fade away to history’s memory.

What should have been Ferelden’s victory as my father, Loghain Mac Tir, the Hero of River Dane, won the Landsmeet to unite his country against the threat of the Blight turned to tragedy when the archdemon struck while we were still yet weak.  Our soldiers fought valiantly against the darkspawn but our troops had not yet recovered from the loss at Ostagar.  Even the death of the rebellion’s figurehead Grey Wardens did not end the civil war in time to save our country.  What troops we had remaining fought bravely, but to no avail.  Denerim burned, and with it Ferelden’s last hope.

My father died a heroic death, after sending those that he could to safety, myself included.  I observed from afar as he slew the archdemon atop Fort Drakon, then I watched in horror as the beast rose again, while my father did not.  Those whose ships were not capsized in the following battle sailed by the light of Ferelden ablaze.

I have not seen my beloved homeland since the archdemon’s defeat at the battle of Gherlen’s Pass.  I could not bear to see its destruction nor the death of my people as they languished under darkspawn occupation while the Orlesian Wardens waited.  Three times have the Grey Wardens failed us now.  First the battle of Ostagar where my husband fell, then when they led the civil war that caused Ferelden’s doom, and third when they stood by as the Blight consumed my country.  Maker forgive them for their pettiness.  Could they not see that the execution of the ringleaders of the rebellion was a necessity for a united front against the Blight? 

Now it is the Grey Wardens again who will claim the victory that should have been my father’s.  I fear nothing more than that the memory of Ferelden’s greatest hero, a man who loved his country more truly than any, will fade away while the Wardens will be forever immortalized in his place.  Gherlen’s Pass will be remembered while Ferelden is forever forgotten.

If you are reading this note, my final wishes are that the tale of Ferelden’s brave fight against the Blight be remembered and told again, that the name and deeds of Loghain Mac Tir not be forgotten to the sands of time.  If these two are accomplished then I shall find peace at the Maker’s side.

By my own hand,

Anora Mac Tir, Queen of Ferelden

[mousestalker]

That sounds like Anora. Self justification, overly dramatic, self righteous and determined to keep her father a hero to the last. Good job!

[Sandtigress]

And ohhhhhh how we hate her for it! I was shaking my fist at her the whole time I was writing it, but that really was the only way I could see Anora writing such a letter. Completely crazy about daddy-dearest to the end...

[FutileSine]

Oooh! What a fascinating take! I admit I had to reread it a couple of times to finally grasp what just happened (Archdemon rises again...what????) ....because it was so totally unexpected! I admit sometimes I gloss over parts of a story when I think I know what is going to happen....but that habit failed me utterly reading this letter. This isn't a criticism of the letter at all (more like me criticizing my reading habits)...such a wonderfully creative mind you have!



You captured Anora's voice beautifully, and I love her self-righteousness tone, like mousestalker stated. She's such a....b-word.

[Sandtigress]

Haha yeah, skimming might not work for something this short - I did have a lot to put into what I wanted to be a short codex entry.

I'm glad you liked Anora's voice - i was fairly certain I could get her viewpoint but I worried about her tone and whether it would sound like her - nice to know I didn't do too shabby with it!



I really can't stand Anora. Does it show? :-P

[Sandtigress]

Just a drabble that came out of me playing Awakening last night.

Of Mages and Half-templars

"Wait, wait. What was that you did, just now?"

There was something in Anders' voice that made Amelia turn her head to look back at her first recruit. First living recruit anyways. A mixture of surprise and wariness and just a touch of indignation. "What do you mean? I just cleansed…" Oh.

"You're a templar! Andraste's ******, you're one of them. Is that why the templars let you conscript me?" The mage was backing away now, though he hadn't lowered his staff in an aggressive stance. Probably wise, seeing as how she could nullify any attack he threw at her. But then Anders, who had escaped seven times from the Circle and been caught seven times by templars, would know the drill by now.

Amelia raised her hands in what she hoped was a placating gesture. Placating as long as raised hands wasn't something templars usually did before they smote a mage, anyways. "I'm not a templar. It's just something my husband taught me during the Blight."

"Your husband? That king fellow?" For a moment, it seemed as if all would be well, then Anders' eyes grew wide again. "You mean to tell me that the bleeding King of Ferelden is a templar?"

Amelia grimaced again. She would have rubbed her hands across her forehead had they not been encased in steel gauntlets. As they were, that would likely make the headache worse, not better. And there in front of her was a spirit healer mage. "He's not a templar either, exactly. Alistair was recruited into the Grey Wardens before he could take his final vows."

Anders was not appeased yet. "Official templars or not, it certainly is rather convenient for a wanted apostate to be conscripted by a templar-ability wielding Warden-Commander, don't you think? Is that why Rylock let me go?" She could see the thoughts whirling in his head, wondering if this was some new prison designed by that templar woman, a trick to always keep him under Chantry eyes.

"I don't think she knows," Amelia admitted. "Alistair was sworn to secrecy by the Grand Cleric when he was conscripted – I'm not supposed to know anything about the templar arts. I doubt Rylock even knows he trained with the templars."

"Ooo, a royal secret. Well that's valuable information," Anders returned, with just a touch more cheer and slightly less suspicion in his voice now.

"Going to hold it against me, are you?" she ventured, hoping that she was reading him right and that he had gone back to the snarky humor that reminded her so of her beloved.

"I suppose that depends on you and how likely you are to smite me for telling," he replied, a hint of his usual smirk returning to his lips.

Amelia smiled back. "And if I told you that Alistair never got as far as teaching me how?"

"Well, in that case, I suppose your secret is mine to tell!" he announced triumphantly.

"My husband can though, so watch yourself." Amelia said with a grin. "I'll make you a deal though, Anders."

"Oh? I'm listening." He raised an eyebrow, just like Alistair often would. Maker, she missed that man.

"You keep our secrets, and I'll make sure the templars never take you again." She said it as seriously as she could, wanting Anders to know once and for all that he was safe now as one of her Wardens. He studied her for a moment, weighing her sincerity and her ability to keep that promise.

"You know, I think you have a deal there, Commander," he said finally. "Out of all the people in Ferelden, I think you're the one who could actually keep that promise. Alright then, you keep the templars, the real templars away, and no one will learn from me that Ferelden's rulers lie to little old ladies."

"The Grand Cleric is hardly a 'little old lady', Anders," Amelia replied with a laugh.

"And keep secrets from the Chantry!" the mage continued dramatically. "If the people of Ferelden only knew what kind of people ruled over them, there would be chaos. Rioting in the streets even."

"Learning templar secrets is the least of my transgressions, I think," Amelia said mildly. The people of Ferelden, after all, knew nothing about deadly darkspawn blood or dark rituals in the night that created Old God babies.

"Ah, but all weighed against one rather large virtue," he countered. "The woman who stuck a sword in the archdemon could probably spit in the Revered Mother's tea and get a medal for it." He paused for a moment to regard her soberly. "In all seriousness though, Commander, thank you."

She tilted her head at him. "For what, Anders?"

"For backing me against the templars. And, you know, for not smiting me. Or getting your husband to smite me."

Amelia grinned at him. "Well, there's always tomorrow."

He sighed dramatically. "Yes, well I'll need to be on my best behavior then, won't I? We should get back to it then, I suppose." He shouldered his staff and turned to follow Nathaniel back into the woods.

A Howe and an apostate mage. She could have no two unlikelier companions, Amelia thought as she turned to follow her Wardens with a smile, and yet nothing could be more perfect.

[Sandtigress]

Someone in the Alistair gush thread wondered what might be going through Alistair's head as Anora gave the eulogy at the PC Warden's funeral if they had been lovers, then he left the Grey Wardens when she recruited Loghain.  This is what my brain came up with.

Too Late for Second Chances

It should have been him.

Alistair watched as his fiancée (and how he shuddered still to use that term to describe Anora) delivered the eulogy, standing over his former lover's body displayed there on the cold marble slab. It was probably a touching speech though none of the words really registered.

It should have been him.

He had been so angry when she had chosen Anora over him, chosen Loghain over him. How could she? How could she betray everything about the Wardens to choose that murdering traitor over the man she claimed to love and support? It hadn't made any sense at all. It had to be a dream, a darkspawn nightmare, a bad trip to the Fade. But it hadn't been. And so he had left, done what she'd wanted and agreed to marry Anora and wiped his hands of the Grey Wardens once and for all. With Loghain as a member what did he want to do with the order anyways? Or anyone else in it. Not even her.

Anora was saying something about her, about how she had been "special" and how she had touched their lives, and he felt that pang of guilt again. No one knew those things more than he had. She had been the first person to touch his heart, to really love him just as he was. She had seen a million things in him that he'd never dared to dream were possible and then just like that, she had betrayed him.

Or maybe Alistair had betrayed her. After all, he was the one who was alive and it was her on that slab, still and lifeless. She had gone on to face the archdemon without him, had lost her life to save his, all of theirs. He'd never even given her a chance to explain herself, had simply marched off. And the last things they had ever said to each other were angry words. Or they were the last things he'd said, he remembered that much. What she had said was much less clear.

And Loghain was alive. Still. The thought should have made him angry – a small part of him was. But much more was centered on that marble slab and the empty shell that rested there that had once been someone who had loved him, that he had loved. Loghain and whether he lived or died…it just didn't matter so much anymore, not in the face of the absence of her.

Anora was making promises now, about how she wouldn't be forgotten, granting boons and gifts in her honor and it should have been him. The promises should have come from him, because she'd given everything to him. He should have given the gifts, because she'd been such a gift to him, and he hadn't known just how much until there was no way to take it back, not now, not ever.

Alistair was angry, he could admit that now. But it was himself he was angry at – for being too much a coward to do what he should have, for letting Anora take his place at her funeral. For walking out like that, for not trusting her, for not making things right before she had gone to fight the archdemon. For not being there at the final battle, for not being the one to strike that final blow. For being the one still standing while she laid there.

"Friends, let us hope that she has gone on to a better place and that she knows just how thankful we are for what she has done here," Anora was saying. And that she knows just how sorry I am Alistair added silently.

Anora bowed her head. "Now we bid the hero of Ferelden farewell. She will be sorely missed."

And he said what he should have said, when she turned to walk away that last time. Good bye, my love.