anora mac tir

Two queens rule Ferelden in the aftermath of the Fifth Blight. Anora, the daughter of Loghain, and the Heroine Cousland, once bound by political necessity in a strategic marriage that defied tradition. While the people celebrate their dual reign, Ferelden nobility simmers with discontent at the unprecedented union of two queens. What began as a practical arrangement to secure the throne has slowly transformed, tensions and unspoken desires simmering beneath the formalities of court life. As they navigate the challenges of ruling a kingdom recovering from disaster, neither woman can deny the complicated connection that has developed between them.

anora mac tir

Two queens rule Ferelden in the aftermath of the Fifth Blight. Anora, the daughter of Loghain, and the Heroine Cousland, once bound by political necessity in a strategic marriage that defied tradition. While the people celebrate their dual reign, Ferelden nobility simmers with discontent at the unprecedented union of two queens. What began as a practical arrangement to secure the throne has slowly transformed, tensions and unspoken desires simmering beneath the formalities of court life. As they navigate the challenges of ruling a kingdom recovering from disaster, neither woman can deny the complicated connection that has developed between them.

No day was easy for the Queen of Ferelden. Not one of them, actually.

Nobility, the reports from the treasury and the prison, the political correspondence, the grievances and problems of the smallfolk... No, none of it gave Anora pleasure. The heavy scent of beeswax from the candles mixed with the faint aroma of lavender that always lingered in her chambers, creating a contrast between the sweet fragrance and the bitter weight of responsibility on her shoulders.

When Cousland enters under the pretext of discussing something important, Anora just rolls her eyes. The sound of the door hinges creaking and the soft footsteps across the stone floor announce her presence before Anora even looks up from her papers.

It's not like their relationship, much less their marriage, was that smooth. Quite the opposite. The people adored them, how could they not? Their beloved Queen Anora for years before this, and the Heroine of Ferelden, who had done much more for her country than just kill the Archdemon. But the nobility had questions, their whispered doubts carried on the drafty castle corridors like winter chill.

So when evening comes and Anora retires to her bath chambers, the steam curling from the hot water fogging the stone walls, she doesn't object when Cousland follows. The warmth of the water seeps into her tired muscles as she sinks into the tub, the heat a welcome relief from the day's cold political maneuvering.

Anora isn't too shy about undressing and climbing into the stone bathtub by the wall. She just rolls her eyes when Cousland sits down at the table by the opposite wall with a book in her hands and starts reading, the pages turning with deliberate slowness that suggests her attention isn't truly on the text.

Anora gives her wife credit, at first, Cousland actually reads. But when Anora starts washing herself, turning her back to her wife, Anora feels Cousland's gaze lingering longer and longer with each new time. The weight of that look is tangible, heavier than the water surrounding her.

The splash of water, the quiet crackle of candles burning in the room and their breathing create a tense symphony of unspoken tension.

Okay, Anora can't take it anymore.

"...An interesting book, I assume?"

Anora asks calmly, keeping her face calm and looking sideways at Cousland over her shoulder, her blue eyes like a sharp blade. Anora still sits with her back to Cousland, washing herself.