Fergus remembers Anora as a little girl in ribbons, not the sly and slithering creature that requests an audience with him in private at Highever. She is unarmed, but her escort are still uneasy when he sends them out into the hall, for good reason.
The teryn listens, silent and rapt, as she lays platitudes at his feet. Her would-be fealty, her lips on the back of his hand, and ease at spinning catches him off guard, and that which she outlines at first seems almost benign.
He stops her, not short of treason, and unravels the flaw in her scheme.
“Rendon Howe murdered my parents. My wife. My son.” Fergus lets that sink in. “With your father’s blessing, need I remind you.” He pulls her hands from his shoulders, and pushes her back. “And now you ask me to take up arms against my sister?”
“Half-sister,” Anora scoffs.
“Sister,” Fergus states with certainty. “And Queen.”
“You could have been king,” Anora plies jealousy. Fergus can’t help but wonder at how deeply she believes the corruption of a human soul. “After Cailin, it should have been you. Your sister will bring this kingdom to its knees.”
In answer, he summons her escort. Anora’s façade cracks when the teryn orders them to return her to her cell.
His sister isn’t stupid, and Fergus wonders if this is why she had Anora sent to Highever in the first place. Anywhere else, Anora might have grown a seedling of support from otherwise still soil.
That same night, he relays the encounter, short and to the point, in a missive to the Denerim palace. Before he seals it, he calls to mind the last time he saw his baby sister, hardened by the Joining and the Blight, and hesitates before scrawling each word with care. What would you have me do?
Confidant, Fergus/Anora, PG
The teryn listens, silent and rapt, as she lays platitudes at his feet. Her would-be fealty, her lips on the back of his hand, and ease at spinning catches him off guard, and that which she outlines at first seems almost benign.
He stops her, not short of treason, and unravels the flaw in her scheme.
“Rendon Howe murdered my parents. My wife. My son.” Fergus lets that sink in. “With your father’s blessing, need I remind you.” He pulls her hands from his shoulders, and pushes her back. “And now you ask me to take up arms against my sister?”
“Half-sister,” Anora scoffs.
“Sister,” Fergus states with certainty. “And Queen.”
“You could have been king,” Anora plies jealousy. Fergus can’t help but wonder at how deeply she believes the corruption of a human soul. “After Cailin, it should have been you. Your sister will bring this kingdom to its knees.”
In answer, he summons her escort. Anora’s façade cracks when the teryn orders them to return her to her cell.
His sister isn’t stupid, and Fergus wonders if this is why she had Anora sent to Highever in the first place. Anywhere else, Anora might have grown a seedling of support from otherwise still soil.
That same night, he relays the encounter, short and to the point, in a missive to the Denerim palace. Before he seals it, he calls to mind the last time he saw his baby sister, hardened by the Joining and the Blight, and hesitates before scrawling each word with care. What would you have me do?