Dragon Age belongs to Bioware.
"Taxes?" the Warden Commander shouted indignantly. "Is this legitimate?"
Seneschal Varel nodded grimly. "And it seems the late Arl was several years behind on payment. The exact amount totals are well over what we have saved in the treasuries both here and in Amaranthine."
"Andraste's Ass! What is he thinking?"
The seneschal winced at her curse but made no comment.
The Commander began pacing. "I'll not do it!" She threw the documents into the fire and set her jaw, fixing him with a hard stare. "I will have a response written for our King by morning. See that it makes it to Denerim with haste."
Varel nodded, "Of course, Commander, but I feel compelled to remind you that refusing to pay taxes is an offense against the crown for which the sentence is death."
"Noted," she replied tersely. "That will be all. Make sure to send me my messenger first thing tomorrow morning."
Though he looked as though he wanted to, Varel said nothing, and instead, bowed out of the room.
Elissa ripped the leather tie out of her hair and sat back down at her desk. Just what was the meaning of this? She knew Alistair had not forgiven her for her supposed betrayal at the last Landsmeet, but never thought he would stoop to this level.
She pulled out a piece of parchment, a quill, and a silver inkwell –a gift from Arl Eamon- and began her response letter.
To the noble King of Ferelden,
Eat shit and die.
-The Warden Commander
Elissa smiled, hysterically pleased with herself and folded the piece of paper twice before sealing it with the official stamp of the Grey Wardens.
Author's Note: Happy Tax-Day!