marion writes fanfiction

The land's bride - Anora x Cailan
skyeofskynet

asked you: But maybe something about young Anora just after she became a queen, slowly getting disappointed with her husband and learning to rule in his place?

For all his easy charm and bright smiles, Cailan did not know how to rule. Worse, he thought he could, yet knew nothing. Each decision made needed to be unmade, each meeting held needed to be done anew, each signed document needed to be read through once more.

Anora was learning the art of sweet talking and gentle coaxing, trying to lead a dance she was only supposed to follow. Logic, inflexible persuasion and regal authority were her best resources, and quickly, she found that both husband and Banns would dance to her tune if sang right. Soon, she mastered the Game like no other in Ferelden, and knew no equal to her shrewdness and political instincts.

It was impossible to resent Cailan. Through his incompetency, he had given her the opportunity to rule, and the taste of it had ravished Anora’s mind and senses to the point where she felt power was as natural to her as air was to people.

It was a battle of every instant, yet fight she did, time and time again, and in doing so learned how to rule this country she had been taught to love as fiercely as her father. The nights where Cailan joined her in her bed were the ones she was reminded of that other duty she had put aside, one that she should have favored above all others, according to some.

Yet if this one was undoubtedly more pleasant, still it was not the one she relished the most. True power was not in the womb, but in the mind.

She was married to Ferelden, and that was all that mattered.

Promises - Anora x Teagan

heretherebdragons replied to your post “Anyone wanna hit me with prompts? I’m bored and have nothing to…”

Anora and Teagan - an encounter in the palace garden. Do with it what you will (romance or not, whatever). :D

As far as she could remember, Anora had always loved Bloomingtide.

Bloomingtide was Nature’s intermission, bridging the ever-changing Cloudreach with the hothead and warm Justinian. It was Nature’s awakening in the most extravagant explosion of smells and sounds and lights, and along with the birds chirping in the palace gardens, Anora’s soul soared with the new wind.

It was there she found him. He had been reading a book on one of the gardens’ benches, no doubt enjoying the last beams of the dying sun. As he heard her footsteps approaching, he stood up, and ever the gentleman she knew him to be, bowed slightly out of respect, right hand on his heart. He would greet her in no other fashion.

“My lady.”

The warmth of his voice and twinkling eyes sent pleasant shivers running down her spine, and Anora answered with that smile she knew he loved so much – half promise, half mystery.

The day might be behind them, but the night was theirs.

Snowy day - Anora x Alistair

mashtar replied to your post “Anyone wanna hit me with prompts? I’m bored and have nothing to…”

Anora and Alistair ruling together. Just them doing things. Them eating breakfast together. The first time Alistair sees Anora with her hair down. I just really love them a lot, and I think people underestimate how good a couple they could become.

Satinalia had come, and with it the ever-falling snowflakes of the Fereldan winter. Furs and coats had returned, and Anora had to admit she did not miss the chills of the grey morning brought forth by the temperamental clouds.

Today though, the sun was out, and the snow that covered the courtyard was shining its beauty for all to see. Most of the palace staff had been sent away to their family to celebrate the holiday, and the castle was strangely eerie, devoid of the bustling life that would usually have greeted the queen as soon as she put foot outside.

Her husband was there too, climbing down from the horse he’d mounted at Eamon’s insistence to go pay his respect to his half-sister Goldanna – much to his chagrin, as he rode as well as his sire and shared his penchant for following gravity’s law, or so she was told.

As she stopped to greet the servant who brought up yet another urgent missive – surely a note of good wishes for the upcoming year from some rulers of a foreign court she knew not – she suddenly felt a wet, damp patch on her hair, and water trickling down her neck, slipping through the layers she wore.

Astonished, for she knew exactly what it was and who had done the deed, she turned on her track, and glared at her husband, who barely resisted the urge to smirk. The wretch.

“And what exactly do you think you’re doing?” she hissed through her teeth, not knowing whether to laugh at this childish outburst or reprimand him for behaving so in public.

Undaunted, Alistair shot back, “Starting a snowball fight with my wife, by all account. Unless the Maker has a sense of humour very similar to mine, of which I have no doubt.” He had turned to help Eamon get down of his own steed, and in doing so, had slightly turned his back on his wife.

That turned out to be a mistake, as the queen deftly picked up a handful of snow within her gloves and promptly threw it on his face, hitting him square on the nose. Both men were completely taken aback, Eamon losing balance for a heartbeat and almost falling from his horse if not for Alistair’s quick reflex and strong arms.

Meanwhile Anora had carried on with the opening of her letter, seemingly oblivious to the discomfiture of the King and his chancellor.

Before the morning was over, Alistair knew never to challenge Anora for another snowball fight again, for she was as ferocious on a snow field as she was in the council chamber. And she played dirty.