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The statue looked the same as the last time she came here and she couldn’t decide if it was a good or bad thing.
Cauthrien trailed behind her at a respectful distance, close enough to let her know that she was protected—not watched (as the knight always insisted), yet far enough that they easily blended into the crowd as they walked towards the monument.
But maybe the fact that she visited it already gave away her identity, because there was one person of all Thedas who would come here on their own volition to payrespect to Loghain Mac Tir.
Anora trailed her eyes on the stony features of her father, all sharp edges and blunt curves—the face of a warrior, a man who had tasted blood and steel and fire, had fought and protected his homeland with everything he had.
Only to end up like this, she scoffed, bitterness lingering on her tongue like poison at the thought. A lifetime of sacrifice and heroic acts, all washed away like none of them ever existed, buried as deep as his remains in Gwaren in people’s memories.
It was not like he was innocent; her father was far from that by the time the truth came to her and opened her eyes. Still, there was a part of her that… repulsed at how fast things changed, as if they knew Loghain Mac Tir was a crazed man all along and just waited for his inevitable downfall.
“Your Majesty,” Cauthrien’s voice cut her inner rambling short, “there is someone.”
Someone indeed. A lone figure stood at the feet of the statue, back turning against her. Their brown cloak looked old and faded, slightly torn at the hem, giving away nothing but a pair of boots that also matched the condition of the garment. They had their hood on, blocking any chance for Anora to deduce the identity of this stranger.
Of course, it could have been just a mere curious traveller taking a stroll around the city, but the fresh bouquet they were cradling shattered any doubt that this was a coincidence. Cauthrien was behind her; Alistair wouldn’t even care; her father’s loyal comrades were either dead or avoided the last image of the man they once fought with like plague, either out of fear or embarrassment.
Who then, she wondered. Who would care about the greatest shame of Ferelden if they didn’t forget about him already?
There was still one person, someone who had slipped away into faraway lands, leaving behind the high tales and sweet praises echoing through every corner of Ferelden. Where their country lost a hero, it gained one immediately.
It almost made her wonder if such figures that people desperately clung into during dire times were so expendable once peace reigned over again.
“Elissa.”
She couldn’t help herself, blurting out the longlost name before she could even process her own thoughts. The figure didn’t react—it was not their name; why would they even care to reply? Her heart was thumping in her chest, blood rushing in her ears so loud, and at this moment, her entire world was centered at the person in front of her.
Did she hope for her? Or would it have been better if it had been a complete stranger? Anora didn’t know the answer, not when she could feel her hands shaking, not when all the feelings she had buried at the funeral in Gwaren slowly but steadily tore her chest open, forcing her to remember, all because no matter how much she tried and pretended, Elissa Cousland never stayed dead in her mind for long.
“Anora.” It was until then did the younger woman turn around and Anora realized that she was not hallucinating. Compared to the statue, Elissa had changed much: her white hair was shorter than the last time they met, which was years ago; the faint trace of a healed scar ran across the left side of her forehead, almost blending into her pale skin; blue eyes didn’t shine with the same youthful eagerness as before, but replaced by a more mature and thoughtful manner.
No longer the girl that followed Anora around, hanging on her every word and looking at her with awe and admiration.
For a moment, neither of them moved nor utter a word, staring at each other as if to drink in the sight of the other’s existence. Yes, they hadn’t met since Alistair invited the Hero of Ferelden and her newly recruited Grey Wardens from Vigil’s Keep to Denerim for a celebration—a party that they barely interacted, always staying at opposite sides of the ballroom, coincidence or not. She used to meet Elissa every month back when they were younger, and the number of times they see each other hardly dwindled once she became the Queen; yet, Anora didn’t feel much at the younger Cousland’s disappearance—it could be difficult to look at the person whom you grew up with and later executed your father on the spot.
Some nights, when not only the matters of governing a country plagued her mind, her thoughts drifted to Elissa rather subconsciously, then were quickly chased away by the more rational part in her.
But she was not a fragment of Anora’s imagination this time, not something the Queen of Ferelden could make disappear at the snap of her fingers.
“Couldn’t pick a worse day to visit, could I?” Elissa was the first to break the silence, turning sideways to look at the statue again or avoid Anora’s piercing gaze. Her smile looked sincere; it didn’t match the other woman’s stormy expression at all.
“You couldn’t.” Her tone was flat and cold, and the Warden felt like she had just fallen through a frozen lake. Sensing her shock, Anora frowned, a sigh escaping her lips as she articulated her thoughts; she couldn’t be carried away by whatever storm was raging inside her, for both of their sakes. “I apologize. It has been long and…” Cauthrien’s cough drew her attention just as the knight moved away, giving them the needed privacy, “I suppose I didn’t expect to see you here of all places.”
Elissa opened her mouth, then decided to shut it quickly, instead acknowledging her words with a firm nod. She looked unfazed, but the way she clutched at her bouquet only further proved that she was just as surprised as Anora by their accidental meeting. As an attempt to change the topic, she shifted her focus to the flowers, all fresh and blooming radiantly under the sunlight.
“What do you bring?” Her question somewhat brought Cousland back to her senses. She looked down at her hands as if she forgot the bouquet existed in the first place, lips slightly parted while her mind tried to dig out the answer from the mess inside her head.
“Gladiolus,” Elissa finally said after a moment. She bent to place the flowers on the step then moved to stand next to Anora. Their gazes were drawn to the statue once again; it was why they were here after all.
“He will haunt you for that.” Anora’s expression was a blank mask, but a smile quickly graced her lips as the Warden’s shocked face turned to her. It used to be a running joke between them, of how Loghain would follow Elissa to death if she ever slacked off during training. The young girl had been terrified back then, tugging at the blonde’s hand and hiding behind her back whenever the Teyrn walked past them, swearing up and down that she would diligently follow every instruction given to her.
“I know.” Elissa sighed. “Integrity and strength. He would say this was a waste and I should just spend that on bettering people's lives instead.” She inclined her head at Anora’s hands. “And you? He would laugh at white daisies.”
“But he would accept it,” she stated, “and would not give me a lecture about wise spending.”
“Fair.” Elissa's laugh was not loud, but it seemed to awaken something old and forgotten inside her. She remembered the looks the young Cousland had given her back then and asked herself if there were more to the lingering touches and flushing cheeks.
Of course, there were—Anora wasn't clueless. Even after they met again, before the Landsmeet, those blue eyes still unconsciously glued to her. Elissa didn't hesitate to defend her against the bloodthirsty nobles who wanted to put her away from the throne for greater good, like she hadn't spent the last few years strengthening Ferelden while many of them were busy partying and fighting among themselves. The trust Cousland had in her was unwavered, despite everything they had been through, and maybe Anora had felt that she could accept that whatever between them was no longer only friendship but something more.
Yet, Anora let herself be talked into marrying Alistair, and Elissa was already taken in the redhead Orlesian as her lover during her journey, then Elissa dueled her father and—
Something was just not meant to be.
But now, standing here next to one of the last people from her past, basking in the warm sunlight and the comfortable silence, an ugly ache settling in her chest like a bleeding wound, Anora wished it wasn't the Queen and the Hero of Ferelden looking over the deserted monument Loghain Mac Tir.