Chapter Text
Solis 9:37 Dragon
“Well they’ve really gone to town with this one.” Anders crouched to pick up one of the Arbor Blessing buds that had been scattered across the street. Rare flowers, these. He didn’t even want to think about how much they’d cost.
The funeral procession had moved through this part of Denerim already but there were still clusters of people dressed in mourning garb, huddled together crying.
All this over the death of a mage. He snorted.
Well it was certainly the way to go out. Had she demanded this, when she’d seen those first blight patches appearing across her body? Make sure the people remember me. Or was this King Alistair’s work?
Anders continued on his route. He’d meant to visit the grocer for supplies, but he’d forgotten that it would be closed. All the businesses were closed. You’d think that Ferelden didn’t need the commerce. He passed a cluster of sobbing elves.
Who did they think Neria Surana was that she deserved this howling, this hysterical sorrow?
It was sickening.
Yes, she’d stopped the Blight. She’d stabbed an archdemon. But as soon as the smoke from her funeral pyre cleared, they’d all see how she’d done nothing for ages.
He found himself before one of the many etched portraits King Alistair had had mounted around town. Her greyscale eyes stared back at him emotionlessly.
“You let down your people, Neria.” He shook his head. “You were supposed to have been immortal. The next Andraste. That’s all they wanted. Not much to ask, is it? But of course you could not deliver.”
The swell of voices in song drew him out of his staring contest with the poster. Elves. The whole alienage was gathered to praise their dead savior.
Dareth shiral Neria. Emma ir abelas. Souver’inan isala hamin...
Fools! They had it all wrong.
He shouted in the direction of the sound. “Your queen is dead. Your king is through. She’s not coming back to you!”
In a sudden burst of anger, he tore down the portrait. “Why are you all weeping over empty promises!” The couple across the road, who’d been leaning close in shared grief, glanced at him and hurried away. The fact that he no longer had an audience, didn’t stop him. He yelled into the empty street. “To the Void with her self-righteous anger, her pretences. She said she’d free us! Why are there still Circles? Why are there still alienages?”
A little girl - clad in black like everyone else - came around the corner and paused, staring at him in wide-eyed horror.
“Go on,” he said to her. “I know you want to ask me. Why am I not dressed in black like everyone else?” He spun around with his arms open wide. “I must be an opportunist. Perhaps I’m a traitor!” He advanced on her. “Or perhaps I’ve seen the truth. Ferelden has been bled dry. By a monarch who had no clue how to lead, and his opportunistic bride who wanted ultimate power. Not for the mages, not for the masses, but for herself.”
The child gasped and fled.
Anders collapsed against the wall, a little bit ashamed.
“It’s our funeral too,” he muttered.
It was only a matter of time before Orlais pressed their advantage and invaded.