#*cailan

one thing i rly like and also find interesting in my fic adventures is finding so many different interpretations of what cailan was like. specifically wrt how he treated anora. and how she felt about him in return. bc obvs i only read. anora/alistair fic lmao


but it rly runs the full gamut like u got everything from "he was genuinely abusive as well as unfaithful" to "a kind of genuine love”, and on anora's side it goes from "she truly loved him" to "she resented him, and was glad he dallied w other women so he touched her less"


tbh i can't decide which i like best but i think i view it as some combination. she loved him once, and she tried to keep loving him, but… as time went on his eyes wandered, his hands wandered, he was unfaithful, and then he was… ungallant. he respected her to run his kingdom, but not as a wife or woman


he kept some decency about his affairs at least, she wasn't made a laughingstock. but after a time, she was thankful he rarely touched her. she remembers, he had touched her gently at first, and she had been slow to ease into it, cautious and terrified, knowing what hurt he was capable of, but he was soft, and they had been friends. he was careful with her. but with time his hands hardened, his appetites changed. and she learned to fear him, to shrink from him as she never shrank from anything else, bitter with resentment that she made him feel so small in those moments.


she did her best and she was strong and resolute and unfaltering, but bruises stay after they fade and shared beds can be so cold sometimes, and no measure of apology can cure wounds that are inflicted again and again, her trust in pieces, her body unwelcoming to any kind of touch, expecting it too hard, too accustomed to nights when he returned and had not had his fill, and she would play the part, the dutiful wife, his queen after all, and she would be glad that at least he never lasted long. 
when alistair first tries to touch her he's so soft it makes her want to run away, back into her father's arms, but he's gone and she's here, and nothing will put the pieces of the life she had back together, not the parts she wanted gone, and not the parts she’d give anything to have back.

but alistair doesn't give up on her. a hand on her hand, side by side in court (she pulls hers away). he always asks before he kisses her, and he listens and draws away immediately when she says no, even when the word never leaves her eyes. he sees, and he listens. and he smiles. he smiles at her even when she does her best to distance him, even to be cruel at first, to try and assure him he’d do best not to try and win her over, she’s no longer a thing to be won. but those smiles melt some small piece of her every time. 


cailan used to smile like that, she remembers, when their lives together were new, broad, open smiles, like warm sunbeams on cold mornings, streaming through partially drawn curtains, and it scares her to see those smiles now on another man’s face, and to know he could be the same. 
anora is strong, she's iron and steel and blood and fire and bitterness. but alistair has a softness she is unaccustomed to.


she knows he doesn't love her & he never wanted this, never wanted to be king, while she desperately wanted to be queen, yet, here they are.

she expects him to be dead weight for her to pull, like cailan was. but he tries so hard to be good for ferelden, and to be good for her. 
the first time she flinches when he touches her, he has a second bed put in their chambers so she can sleep more peacefully alone.

for several months, he does not ask why she wraps herself in ice like armour, distancing herself from all but her duty, and, he notes, perhaps her handmaid. he actually asks erlina for help, admits he has no idea what he's doing, only wants to help. to earn anora's trust, if nothing else. she can see he’s honest, so she says what she can, gives him a thread to work at, but it’s just one in a tangled snare of threads he’s finding hopelessly tangled, and anora is somewhere at the heart. tugging too strongly could ensnare her further, could hurt her, but to never try would leave her there, and he cannot let her sit alone beside him. he cannot live the rest of his life married to a woman he does not know, who does not know him, and even if he doubts by now that they’ll ever have any sort of love affair, he at least wants her friendship, some amount of trust, something to let him reach out to her and not find her withdrawing.  
they're sitting in their quarters together one evening, not speaking. anora has a book open, perhaps a history text. alistair fidgets mostly


finally he gets up and walks to where she's sitting. she goes tense at each footstep on the floor and he cracks her a soft half smile, impossibly charming, nearly disarming, and earnest, always so earnest


"my lady i...am no master of words & i have no idea which you need but... whatever hurts lay between us, give me a chance to help heal them"


her walls come down slowly but alistair is gentle and patient & he respects her so much, defers to her in court affairs & personal ones both 
alistair never wanted any of this, but the moment he was set out for it he put in his all, and never looked back. he's young and a fool, but he's infinitely earnest, tenacious in his own way, kind and soft and warm and he never pushes anora where she does not want to go. it's a strange courtship, married first, then a slow, cautious building of trust, closeness, partnership, and unexpectedly, true affection


where one ends the other begins, a perfect balancing act, but beyond their differences, the things that set them to distance at first, they find they're on firm and common ground, with both their hearts rooted deep in ferelden, and its people. their people.


slowly she opens up to him, and he to her, they've both been hurt, both suffered losses of many kinds, and love is hard and unlikely, yet, when anora lets him touch her, his hands are gentle, cautious, like everything about him. he watches her eyes for warnings, moves slowly.

he touches her reverently, carefully, and lets her call all the shots, asks her always for what she wants, needs, feels safe with, and she does, she realizes after a time, she feels very safe with him, knowing he’s there, unfaltering, undemanding, loyal and careful and steadfast to her and to his duties, neither of which he ever asked for, but both of which he embraces as he can, careful not to hold more tightly than they ask of him at any moment, and she comes to realize he is not only gentle - he’s also shy.

she returns the favour he paid her in not asking for so long what cailan did to her that made her shrink away from alistair’s slightest touches, by not asking him why he is so uncertain. they both know, without asking, perhaps, the reasons why. she thinks he can see that she was mistreated, and he knows she can tell he lacks experience, both in ruling and in love.


they kiss, the first time since their wedding day when they're 4 months married, a week after they begin sharing their bed (to sleep only) 
anora finds she likes falling asleep with alistair beside her. he feels warm, and safe, his arms encircling her, but not too tightly.


things build more quickly after they first kiss. there's more kisses, and she let's him know she no longer minds any wandering hands. he still always asks, though, always gentle, the question is always there somehow, if not with words still somehow, just to be sure, he is so careful to never hurt her. she easily takes charge, eases him of that burden of command and that risk of hurt, places his hands where they fit the contours of her body, guides his mouth to hers, reassures him as she reassures herself.


and as time passes, they learn to trust each other, to rule together strongly, as equals, to be safe and happy in each others' company, and eventually they realize that somewhere along the line, while they were lost in it all, not paying attention, they've also learned love.


alistair has the palace gardeners plant her favourite flowers in the gardens under their bedroom window. they constantly touch in public, hands held in hallways and legs brushing under tables in dining halls and anora leaning her head against alistair’s shoulder, both sharing the massive king’s throne in their court after a long day of judgements, made together.

they spend hours talking into the night about everything and find they delight in even things they once found no interest in at all, simply to hear the other talk of it, just their voice, their thoughtfullness, their enthusiasm, that kindles interest plenty. they're happy.


i could go on.... forever........ i should really just maybe write fics instead of all these weird twitter fic headcanon dumb things lmao