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What Becomes Of The Broken Hearted	By : kruemel Category: +A through F > Dragon Age (all) > Dragon Age (all) Views: 4866 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Dragon Age or any of the Dragon Age characters. This is a non-profit fanfiction.

Chapter List
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“This is ridiculous!” Anora angrily slapped the propaganda posters on my desk, almost knocking over her silver and my golden goblet of wine. The prospect of being left sober while face to face with Annoyra had me rescue both goblets hurriedly. “Nobody will ever believe this pathetic lie created to discredit me!” I winced and leaned backward, goblets pressed to my chest, when she bent over the table to scowl at me, her eyes as cold as the Frostback Mountains. “You have sunken to a new low, Alistair,” she snorted, regarding me with undisguised contempt. Charming. Just what I was looking for in a wife. “If you were even remotely worthy of being King Maric’s son, you wouldn’t have placed your own petty ambition...”
Seriously?
My only ambition was to get back into bed with Rori. Anora had only arrived five minutes ago and I already regretted meeting with her. Mental note to myself: Next time, send her a letter. ‘Do you want to marry me? Yes/No/Perhaps. Check all that apply.’
“... before the needs of Ferleden! A man who cannot even spell the name of his kingdom...”
“Annoyra!” I exclaimed in exasperation, setting the goblets aside as I rose from my chair to take matters into my hands...
Narrowing her eyes, she spun round and snapped: “What did you just call me?”
I sat back down immediately. “A-Anora?” I squeaked, grinning stupidly.
“Are you making fun of me?” Anora hissed menacingly, towering over me as she stepped around the desk, only coming to a halt right next to my chair.
“I wouldn’t dream of it,” I stammered feebly.
“You!” Anora spat, pointing her finger at me. “Within the four months of your reign, the kingdom is on the verge of a civil war...”
I raised my hand. “May I point out that during your reign, the kingdom was in the middle of a civil war? I daresay being at the brink of one is quite an improvement...” Anora’s glare bore into me like two icy blades. “On a second thought, maybe not that much of an improvement...”
“Your ineptitude to lead destroyed the capital of our beloved nation...” Anora went on mercilessly.
I opened my mouth to put the blame on the archdemon and its darkspawn hordes, but opted for a drink instead.
“Oh that’s just like you—getting drunk when confronted with reality!” Anora shrieked when I reached for my goblet. She snatched it from me and placed it onto the mantlepiece. What the...!? Ugh! “You are going to listen to what I have to say!” she ordered. “You destroy everything Maric and my father...”
I rolled my eyes and all her preaching and lecturing fell on deaf ears. Years of practice tuning things out, you know. And there the Grand Cleric averred I had learned nothing at all at the monastery.
“Blah blah blah blah...” Anora ranted, striding through the room as if it belonged to her. Maker’s Breath! Did I really want to marry that woman? Thanks to Suri and her ambitious decision to make me king, that was no longer a rhetorical question. I suppose I had to listen to Mrs. Couldry’s advice and accept the things I couldn’t change. I would have to make the best of it. I could move to a country residence with Rori while Anora reigned in Denerim... Now, that didn’t sound so bad, did it?
Rori... Maker’s Breath! I closed my eyes and in my mind moved back in time—a few hours only and yet it seemed a lifetime ago...
Rori had made my day. When I woke this morning with her in my arms I was at peace. More than that... I was... happy...
How did that happen?
Confession: I’m a cuddly sleeper. I just cannot sleep without cuddling. A pillow meets the minimum requirement. I used to have a miniature golem doll Eamon once bought me. I smuggled it into the monastery and for years it was my crumb of comfort. When Duncan recruited me, my doll travelled to Ostagar—and there I lost it. Then I reached advanced level cuddling—all Suri’s fault. After breaking up with Suri I returned to pillow cuddling, climbed up the ladder to puppy cuddling with Barkspawn and finally, when I had almost given up hope for good, I was allowed to experience the ultimate dream of cuddly sleepers come true: spooning.
Smiling I nuzzled Rori’s soft curly hair, inhaling the fresh scent of verbena, before I brushed it aside to kiss the nape of her neck. I was engulfed in her warmth, her scent, her softness, and for the first time in ages I felt... happiness. At first I didn’t recognize it, this emotion that filled my chest, flooded my whole being; a feeling so utterly overwhelming it surged to break free. My heart jubilated, my smile turned into an ear to ear grin, and before I realized what was happening to me laughter bubbled forth, and I found myself giggling like a chantry novice...
“What in the name of the Maker is so funny? Are you actually listening?”
I opened my eyes and there she was... Annoyra in all her icy contempt. “No,” I admitted in a suicidal impulse. “I’m not listening. And really, I do not care for what you have to say. I’ve not brought you here from Fort Drakon to listen to your complaints, but rather to talk business. You...” I sharply pointed my finger at her. “... are wasting my time.” Maker! I so was in need of a drink! I took advantage of Anora’s speechless indignation—she opened and closed her mouth like a stranded carp—and retrieved my goblet. “Someone has to take this ruling business seriously, you see.”
“And just what is it you wish to discuss?” Anora pressed through gritted teeth just when I lifted the goblet to my lips. Sighing I put it down again.
Now or never, Alistair!
I inhaled deeply, wiping the sweat of my brow. Be brave! “Well, to cut to the quick of it—brevity is the soul of wit, right?—and as not to waste any more breath than has already been wasted today, I will come straight to the point without beating about the bush. That is, not to put too fine a point on it...”
“Oh spit it out already!” Anora barked unnervedly.
“Willyoumarryme?” I blurted out, squeezing my eyes shut, fists clenched at my sides.
“Pardon?”
“Will you...”
“Oh, I understood you quite well. I am wondering, though, why you believe I would stoop so low as to marry you?” the cool blonde asked, arching a perfectly shaped eyebrow.
“Um... because you want to move out of Fort Drakon and into the palace? Because you want your crown back? Because you keep telling everybody and their dog you want the very best for Ferelden? Well, here’s your chance!”
Oh that sly gleeful smile that crept onto her face. It sent a shiver like something cold and slimy down my spine. “I see,” she accentuated. “You sound rather desperate. It seems you do need my help.”
“Yeah, well, you know, with my ineptitude to lead...” I shrugged uneasily as she scrutinized me.
“It would be like marrying Cailan’s twin,” she remarked. I pulled a face. For her this was nothing more than cold calculation. She added the pros and subtracted the cons and came to a conclusion—I offered her a first class ticket out of prison and back into power. There was not the faintest hue of emotion neither in her voice nor her expression when she regarded her future husband. “I believe we should drink a toast to this agreement,” Anora suggested.
My sentiments exactly. I doubted I could stand this any longer without the mind-numbing quality of, preferably, an entire bottle of alcohol.
I reached for my own kingly golden chalice, the one with the crown and mabari engraving, but Anora snatched it right from under my nose, leaving me no choice but to take the simpler silver one reserved for guests.
I got it, I got it!
Rule, Anora! Rule the realm! We would never ever form a team. From this day forth it was the Anora show. All I had to do was sit beside her and smile prettily. That, I was pretty sure I could handle.
Yeah, she clarified her position quite aggressively. Nothing else to be expected. Sighing, I accepted my fate, clinked goblets with her and gulped the wine down.
Anora only sipped hers, watching me across the rim of the golden chalice. She very much reminded me of the cat that had swallowed the pigeon.
“Yeah, well, so we’re going to get married,” I chuckled nervously, desperately scanning for the bottle to refill my goblet. Anora’s response was a gurgling choked sound. The chalice fell from her hand, she retched, clutching her throat. And there I had thought she was totally cool about our engagement. “Haha! Very funny! I know I’m not your ideal fiancé but believe me, the feeling is mutual,” I huffed. “You ruined the carpet. You are going to have to explain that to Arlington. Just so you know, I won’t cover for you.” Anora gagged, gasping for air. Her eyes bulged out of their sockets, her face turned bright red. She was really spreading it on thick. “Oh, come on! That’s enough!” Anora fell to her knees, her contorted mouth opened and a thick black tongue rolled out. Her blotched swollen face was taking on the color of blueberries... “Anora? Merciful Andraste! Anora! HELP! Someone please help her!” I knelt down with Anora in my arms. She spasmed violently and desperately tried to force air into her contorting lungs. Her frosty beauty destroyed, her face had turned into an ugly mask of pain and fear. With a death rattle she drew her last breath and went still in my arms.
My cries alarmed the guards, half a dozen of them broke down the door, barging in with their swords at ready. Then they stood there as helplessly and uselessly as me, staring at the dead woman in my arms. It all happened so fast my mind refused to accept her death long after she had passed away.
Maker have mercy! This was yet another nightmare.
Eamon arrived and took charge of the situation. I hardly noticed how Anora was taken away. I slumped in my chair, my face as white as a sheet, and in my shocked state of mind was hardly able to think straight. This much even I realized: This was a catastrophe.
Nobody would ever believe I wasn’t responsible for Anora’s death—not because it was so damn obvious, but because that was exactly what they wanted to believe. The truth didn’t matter. The ominous rebellion had lost their figurehead, sure, but only a complete fool would have underestimated them now. They seemed quite the type for final solutions considering it had been my chalice. If Anora hadn’t claimed it for herself, I would be in her place now.
Creepy.
I was just pondering about what it would have meant for Anora if I had been found poisoned with only her at my side when a ruckus outside startled me out of my thoughts.
“What in the name of the Maker...?”
“Stop her for fuck’s sake!” I heard Teyrn Cousland shout. He cursed loudly, dogs barked angrily, a woman shrieked at the top of her voice...
Rori!
I rushed towards the door, knocking my chair over and running straight into Zevran.
“Alistair,” he exclaimed with surprise. “What are you doing here?”
“This is a palace. The natural habitat for kings,” I informed him, already pushing past him. I really didn’t have time for exchanging pleasantries. I ran down the corridor, following the noise and rounded the corner just in time to see Fergus Cousland and a dozen knights trying to catch a rather familiar young woman with a mess of curly red hair. Furdinand and Barkspawn, growled and bellowed, snapping at the knights’ ankles and hindquarters. Rori was as lithe as a cat and just as hard to trap. She sidestepped her pursuers gracefully, dodged and tripped them, squirmed free of their grasps until the men were all run down. Finally, she fled onto the chandelier by using one of the knights as a stepladder. There she sat, dangling her feet, and did not intend to come down anytime soon.
I called off the dogs before they could tear the Teyrn of Highever to pieces. I was already short several nobles. The Blight had been the death of many, Vaughan Kendells had gotten himself killed in an uprising in the alienage three months ago, and now Anora...
What a blasted mess!
“I am having a little deja-vu,” I chuckled, coming to stand next to a completely exhausted Fergus Cousland. I wasn’t exactly in a good mood, what with Anora dead and yet another attempt on my life. But Rori in the chandelier—again—just made me smile. Next to me Fergus was far from delighted—neither by his sister nor by my appearance. My question was directed at his sister: “What is it this time?”
“He,” Rori pointed accusingly at her brother, “wants to marry me away to Bann Loren!” She was in a mighty big huff, her voice trembling with indignation.
“You didn’t mind marrying Howe,” Fergus barked angrily.
“He forced me to marry him!” Rori cried out. She pulled one boot off and hauled it at Fergus.
“If you were a real Cousland,” Fergus hissed, dodging the boot by inches, “you’d have chosen to die!” Her second boot hit him straight in the face.
Ha! Well aimed, Puck! Maker forgive me but he deserved it!
“Death would have been a welcome mercy compared to what he put me through!”
Clutching his bleeding nose, Fergus unsuccessfully searched his pockets for a handkerchief. Shaking my head, I offered mine. The lack of handkerchiefs seemed to run in the Cousland family. If Fergus needed any proof of Rori’s Cousland…ness, there it was.
“It seems the lady doesn’t want to marry,” I meddled in the Couslands’ affairs. Rori smiled down at me from her chandelier refuge. She wore rainbow colored striped socks, a bright spot of defiant optimism.
The teyrn scowled at me. “With all due respect, your Majesty, I doubt this is any of your business.”
“With all due respect, my lord, I am capable of deciding myself what is and what isn’t my business,” I retorted with a sharpness that betrayed my pleasant smile. “Why do you intend to force her into a marriage she doesn’t want?”
“Listen,” Fergus said unnervedly, his tone that of an adult talking to a dim-witted child. “She has no title, she has no lands, she has no money. As long as I account and pay for her, she will do as she is told...”
“Keep dreaming,” Rori snorted. She plucked a candle from the chandelier and dropped it on Fergus’s head.
“...It’s either the monastery or marriage for her,” Fergus went on, gritting his teeth. He was fed up with his little sister. If only he had left her alone! He had some nerve telling me to mind my own business. “I will not allow her to drag the Cousland name through the mud anymore. She has caused enough harm.”
Charming indeed! I had always dreamed of a huge loving family—but all I got was Goldana. And now here was Fergus Cousland regarding his younger sister as no more than a drain on his pocket.
“So if she took care of herself, she could decide what to do with her life?” I inquired.
“Indeed, your Majesty,” Fergus confirmed. “However, I don’t see how she could possible earn her living, if not by bringing more disgrace upon her family.” His glare bore into me. ‘I know what you do with my sister’ it said. Puh. He was not half as intimidating as Mrs. Couldry.
“Maybe I can help...” I offered, ignoring Teyrn Cousland’s pathetic attempt to intimidate me. Alright, I tried to ignore it—and failed miserably. My face took on the color of Mrs. Couldry’s tomatoes and I shuffled my feet uneasily, kneaded my hands, and presented a wide grin that screamed ‘Guilty as charged!’
“Your Majesty is too generous,” Fergus remarked acidly. “But I am afraid my sister has to decline your offer.”
“I believe she can speak for herself,” I retorted icily. I didn’t want to lose Rori. I had lost too much already. I wanted her to stay here with me and be my little rainbow bubble of happiness floating above reality. “Lady Rori,” I addressed her. “I put you in charge of the Arling of Denerim. Do you accept your designation?”
“WHAT!?” Fergus squeaked same time Rori whispered: “For real?” Her eyes grew wide and round as she realized the possibilities that came with my offer.
“For real.” I assured her.
“Bloody blast it! Yes, I do!” Rori cheered, dropping from the chandelier right into my arms. She hugged me tight, squealed and giggled, then danced me around in her joyous relief. She had every reason to be in exuberant spirits. I had given her her freedom.
“But... you cannot make her Arlessa of Denerim!” Fergus gasped in shock. I couldn’t answer right away because Rori had chosen that very moment to kiss me—and I’m not talking about some innocent peck. I opened my mouth to remind her of the audience but she obviously didn’t give a damn.
“Of course I can. I am king,” I smirked quite breathlessly once Rori let go of me. Her arms wrapped around my waist, she beamed at me, her face prettily flushed, then stuck her tongue out at her brother. It felt good to hold her. Still, I wished she would resign from openly displaying her affection. It made me feel... Oh, I just felt those kinds of... activities... should be kept private...
“She has absolutely no experience in leading or ruling... anything!” Fergus breathed in exasperation. And there I thought he would at least show a little gratitude for solving his little-sister-hitch.
“Experience and leadership qualities are absolutely no requirement for ruling anything in this country,” I laughed. I was the living example for this strategy. Actually, the whole nobility thing worked like that.
Fergus snorted, crossing his arms in front of his chest.
“Oh come on!” I wrapped my arm around Rori’s shoulder. “She can’t be worse than Vaughan Kendells.” That prick.
“I am deeply touched by how much confidence you have in me,” Rori deadpanned.
“But... I made a deal with Bann Loren!” Fergus cried out in exasperation.
“You two will make such a wonderful couple,” Rori retorted icily. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have an Arling to rule.” She turned on her heels and strode off with Furdinand in tow. She couldn’t maintain her cool facade for long, though. Her stride became rather bouncy and before she even reached the end of the doors, she jubilated at the top of her voice, grinning from ear to ear.
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What Becomes Of The Broken Hearted