Chapter Text
Harvestmere 9:30 Dragon
“A great new Ferelden! The chains of the elves untied. The voice of the People cannot be denied! “
Anders frowned at the poster. It had gone up just outside the alienage. There was nothing particularly wrong with it. Only, he’d just walked past a very similar one outside a tavern he knew apostates frequented.
“A great new Ferelden! The mages' battle song! The voice of the mages rings out loud and long!”
He didn’t buy for an instant that they had sprung up of their own accord. They were clear and simple propaganda. Much of the communication out of the castle in the lead up to the royal wedding had borne similar messaging.
The Blight had destroyed much of the South, and from its ashes Alistair Theirin’s great new Ferelden would rise.
A few days ago as Anders had been passing by the alienage, he'd heard the sounds of a crowd. Never one to miss out on entertainment when it was freely provided, he’d approached.
The woman herself had been holding a rally. She’d been standing on a small stage, hair neatly pinned back to show her ears. Her hand had been raised in emphasis.
“There is only one king in all of Thedas who cares about the elves. He lives for your problems. He shares your ideals and your dreams,” Neria told the gathered crowd. “He supports you for he loves you, understands you, is one of you. If not - how could he love me?”
It would have been less sickening, heart-warming even, if it had been the first time he’d seen her giving such a rally. His first glimpse of the queen-to-be had been in the square where she’d been addressing a similar crowd. It had been beautifully staged. She’d been travelling through the square in her coach when the she’d seemingly ordered a halt. She’d climbed out and stood on a soap box to address the people. She wanted them to know that she was looking forward to being their queen, but would forever be one of them. Then she’d called out to the mages specifically. She’d said that she knew there were apostates in the crowd.
“Now, I am a mage. I've suffered the way that you have. I've been in a Circle, I've starved and I hated it too,” she’d told them. “But I found my salvation in Alistair, may the kingdom! He will save you as he saved me.”
And then she’d lead them in a chant. “A great new Ferelden! A new age about to begin!”
It was clear what she was doing. She was drumming up fervour. And who needed fervour when they had something legitimate to offer?
The truth was, she and her husband had no idea how to lead.
Anders tore down the poster and continued on his way. But as he rounded a corner, someone snagged his arm.
His first thought was templars. His stomach lurched. They’d finally caught up with him. But the grim-faced city guard who’d stopped him was certainly no Chantry dog.
Anders resisted the urge to fight back, to flee.
“What can I do for you, Ser?” he asked, forcing a smile.
The guard glared at him. He was tall and his eyes were hard. “Mind telling me why you did that?”
“Did what?” Anders asked, his heart beating a little faster.
“I saw you tear down that notice. Do you disagree with Her Majesty’s declarations? Are you an enemy to the elves?”
“Enemy to the -” this had to be some sort of joke. “No. I did not mean any harm.”
“Then you won’t mind explaining your actions.” Another guard approached from the other end of the alley.
Anders swallowed, this was not looking good. He’d been bullied by templars often enough that he knew what was coming.
“I required the paper for use in the lavatory”
He didn’t even see the punch coming. One moment he was looking up at the man’s unamused expression, the next he was sprawling on the ground, his head singing. He clutched his jaw and whimpered.
“We’ve seen you hanging around. Her Majesty doesn’t take kindly to your type.”
Her Majesty already? Weren’t they getting a little ahead of themselves?
“And what type would that be?”
The guard lifted him up by the front of his shirt. “The kind who like to meddle.”
“I don’t like to meddle,” he protested, struggling to get the words out. “I don’t have the constitution for it.”
“We have a funny one here,” he said to his friend. “Let’s see how funny you think this is.”
He drove his fist into Anders’s stomach and dropped him. He hit the floor hard, gasping, unable to draw in air. The guard gave him a steel-toed kick for good measure.
“We’ll be watching you.” They turned and left him.
So this was the great new Ferelden, was it?
Turned out, that wasn’t even the surface of what they had planned. King Alistair’s social reforms started not long after.
First, there was a ban on foreign-owned business. Many Orlesian shops in the fancy part of town closed almost overnight. The rest were bought out by the crown. Anders could just imagine what Lady Emery thought of that.
When asked why, Alistair said only that a kingdom could not be truly independent without national self-sufficiency. Words too large for the Chantry kid. Anders knew they weren’t his.
Then, the most radical idea of all, Alistair called for the formation of what he called “Guilds”. Apparently he had seen a similar system work well in Orzammar, although it had been flawed.
He dismissed his entire court and instead appointed members of the community as “guild leaders”. In a matter of weeks, he had filled the castle with butchers and bakers and Tranquil rune-makers.
All commerce went through the King in one way or another.
He had seized active control of every industry in all of Ferelden.
And everyone loved him for it.
Alistair stared out of the window at throngs that now crowded around the castle. Neria had wanted the love of the common folk and now they had it. His subjects gathered there every day, hoping to catch a glimpse of the King or the Hero of Ferelden. Often they would take up the chant, “A great new Ferelden! The chains of the mages untied! A great new Ferelden! The voice of the People will not be denied!” They’d shout it over and over again until his head ached, sometimes long into the night.
“Once again, we could be foolish, not to quit while we're ahead,” he said to Neria.
She was standing on a stool being measured for her wedding dress. She looked at him askance, with her arm stretched out for the Orlesian seamstress.
“I can see me being happy in Tevinter. Sipping sweet wine on a terrace, being fed grapes in bed, sleeping easy, playing chess. It’s attractive.
Neria waved away the servant, gathered up her skirts and stepped down from the stool. “Don’t think I don’t think like you. I also have those nightmares sometimes.”
He hadn’t meant them as nightmares but before he could argue, she’d closed the space between them, wrapped him in her arms and kissed him.
As she pulled away, she said, “I know it can be difficult to keep going when all you have to follow is yourself. But you’re doing well.”
The way she placed her hand on his arm, it was as if she really did believe in him. But they both knew the truth. He was following her. They were all following her.
Her gaze dropped to the floor. Genuine sorrow flicked briefly across her features. She seemed momentarily vulnerable. “Would you have done what you did if you hadn't thought, if you hadn't known, we could lead the kingdom?”
He knew what she was referring to. It sent chills up his spine. The dark ritual with Morrigan.
It had been necessary so that they could both live, so that they could have this future. So that they could make Ferelden better, a power to rival Orlais. He pulled Neria into his arms and held her tightly as the chant started up again.
“A great new Ferelden! The chains of the mages untied! A great new Ferelden! The voice of the People will not be denied!”