Time And Time Again - Part 4
This is part four of my too-long-for-the LJ fanfiction "Time And Time Again"
Chapters 8 and 9
Changing Times
It is a warm day in Denerim. The rains have finally ceased and the first warm sunbeams find their ways through the clouds. The spring weather at least does not mirror the impeding doom that hangs over the country.
They have been in the city for some time now, waiting for the nobles of the country to gather for the landsmeet. As there isn’t anything else to do but wait, Leliana talks Eowyn into a shopping trip. The three men decline instantly, but both Wynne and Morrigan decide to join the two other women.
At first, Eowyn is hesitant, but then it turns out a marvellous day. The four of them start with a turn of the market place. After a visit to the Wonders of Thedas, they cross the river and follow the broad street that eventually leads all the way up to the Fort. The road is lined with shops on both sides. In front of some of the houses, merchants display their goods at their stalls. With the approaching war, the street is crowded with people both citizens as well as travellers and refugees alike.
They slowly wander along the road, frequently stopping and admiring exhibited goods. Eowyn spends some of the money they made by selling the rest of the loot they have found along their journeys. There’s a pair of dancing shoes for Leliana. Both Eowyn and Wynne laugh hard as in her new shoes, Leliana seizes Morrigan for a little dance around the shop. Surprinsingly enough, Leliana does not get turned into a frog. Instead, Morrigan only pulls away after some turns. Then, there’s this pair of earrings that Morrigan admires at one of the stalls as well as a book for Wynne.
Of course, they visit some of the seamstresses and merchants dealing with fabrics, too. After some initial hesitation, both Eowyn and Morrigan relax and follow Leliana who is browsing through the offers. At a seamstresses store, she finds a wounderful dress made of fine orlesian silk. Leliana urges Eowyn to try it on. A young girl leads her off to a tiny cubicle shielded from the rest of the room and helps her get dressed. Eowyn has never before in her life been allowed to wear anything else but the robes the Chantry provides for young mages. She loves the dress the moment the merchant’s apprentice leads her over to a large standing mirror. After not only Leliana but even Morrigan tells her it’s beautiful, her determination shatters and she buys it.
“Oh my, Alistair will be really stressed if he sees you in that,” Wynne comments with a smile.
Trailing along the road, Eowyn has to admit that she’s really enjoying herself. As the day wears on and her stomach starts to rumble, she decides to return to the Arl’s estate. Wynne is chattering about the book. Next to her, Morrigan’s hand wanders to her earrings from time to time. Leliana is bouncing with energy as she flutters around her companions.
“When will you wear that dress we got you?” she babbles.
Eowyn shrugs as she hasn’t thought about it yet.
“Oh, I know!” the bard exclaims excitedly. “There will soon be a coronation! It will be perfect!”
“And the king will fall over drooling.” Morrigan’s voice is almost as cool and distant as usual, but a sly smile plays around her lips and eyes.
Leliana throws her hands up. “Oh, Morrigan, you do know-”
The rest of what Leliana is going to say is lost in a loud uproar. On their way back to the estate they have left the large street thronging with life and taken a shortcut that has lead them into smaller and less frequented alleys of the city. In one inattentive moment, the four women are encircled by street toughs. Morrigan yanks her stave from her back, followed by Wynne and Eowyn. Leliana has left her bow back in the estate. She unsheathes two daggers partly hidden under her tunic instead. Eowyn casts a blizzard over the archers in the background while Leliana and Morrigan engage the nearest swordsmen. Out of need and desperation, Eowyn tries to cast her Fade shroud. And shouts in frustration as it refuses to work. She casts another storm instead, this time one made of fire. As ususal, Wynne tries to keep herself in the background, hitting immobilized targets with stone fists. And in between her attacks, she heals the other three women. Leliana engages the swordsmen nearest to them while Eowyn frantically throws cones of ice and fire at them.
As her mana supply runs low, she tries her Fade shroud again. It has not worked properly for some time now, but as she could really use its surplus powers now, she keeps on trying against all reason. Around herself, she can hear Leliana’s shouts and feel the tingles of Morrigan’s and Wynne’s spells mixed with the cries and screams from their attackers. In a desperate attempt that takes the rest of her mana supply, she finally succeeds with her spell. A surge of energy pulses through her body as the Veil between herself and the Fade thins. Power soares through her weary body as it touches the lyrium reserves of the Fade. With renewed energies, she freezes the three people attacking Leliana. They have already been weakened by Morrigan’s virulent bomb and a swift move from Leliana finishes them off. Eowyn focuses on the next target before the limp bodies have touched the ground.
They fight valiantly, but it does not bode well. The four travellers have been taken completely unaware and unprepared, not bringing their whole wargear along for the shopping trip. While casting yet another winter’s grasp, Eowyn can feel Wynne going down under the assault of one of the swordsmen. Leliana shouts in rage and Morrigan joins her. The two women take out two more, but their foes are numerous. Morrigan manages to cast another virulent bomb, but her strength is spent. Before Eowyn can heal her, the other woman is hit by an arrow and sinks to the floor.
“Eowyn!” Leliana’s shout reaches her ears. Quickly, she redirects the prepared healing spell to the rogue. Collecting all her remaining strength, she showers their foes in cones of fire and cold while Lelianas’s knives glide through the immoblized bodies, shattering them and sending them to the floor.
Finally, the last one of them goes down. Leliana is panting hard. Eowyn sways from the effort and the energies that have soared through her body. At a groan from the ground, the two women quickly move over to where Morrigan tries to get back up on her feet.
“I need healing,” the black-haired woman utters trough clenched teeth.
Eowyn complys her request while Leliana helps Wynne to get up.
“Well, that went rather badly, didn’t it?” the mage states while healing herself. Looking up, she remarks “Oh, you use you Fade shroud again.”
Eowyn winces. So at least Wynne has noticed that she has been having some difficulties with the spell for some time now. As a means of avoiding to talk about her spell, she goes through the posessions of their fallen enemies. She finds coins worth almost her new dress and some weapons that might be sold for a nice amount of money. Returning her attention to her companions, she finds all three of them staring at her.
”What?“ she asks, raising her hands. ”You have seen me doing this before.“
Instead of an answer, the usually so talkative Leliana just points at her. “You’re…“ she lets her words trail off.
“See-through-y? I know, and so do you.”
Leliana shakes her head. “No, not that,” she slowly stammers.
“So what is it?” Eowyn asks again. “Why are you staring at me?”
Morrigan’s blank look tells her nothing and she shifts her attention back to Leliana. But the bard fails to meet her eyes as her gaze is lowered to something below and behind Eowyn.
“Oh my,” Wynne finally mutters under her breath.
“What?” Eowyn’s voice rises to an alarming height as her friends refuse to exlpain their behaviour. “Stop freaking me out! What. Is. It?”
“Eowyn,” Leliana points at her middle.
And looking down her body, the young mage finally gets what her companions are staring at. There, right inside herself, sits a small, solid speck the size of her thumb. And she does what she has never done before. Not at the sight of a horde of werewolves nor a brood mother or a dragon. She bolts. Leaving her friends there in that dark alley she turns on her heels and runs as fast as she can. Her staff is hindering her and she drops it. It’s the new one she’s only bought recently and a small part of her scolds her for it.
“Eowyn!” Leliana shouts. She starts to run after the other woman but Morrigan holds her back.
“Wait. Give her some time.”
They gather the purchases dropped earlier and make their way back to the Arl’s estate.
“Did I just imagine-” Leliana breaks her silence when they have almost reached the estate.
“You know you did not,” Morrigan interrupts her impatiently.
“No, you didn’t,” Wynne confirms. She has not yet overcome the first shock and dozens of feelings soar through her.
“Oh, this is wounderful!” Leliana laughs. “They are so sweet. And now that!” Her gestures reveal how excited she is. “Oh, do come on, we have to get back to the estate!”
“It could have been just a speck,” Wynne muses.
“Have you ever seen a speck on her Fade form?”
“Oh, do come on, both of you!” Leliana cries in excitement. “Don’t make such long faces!”
Back at the estate, Leliana runs up the stairs and straight into the library.
“Oh, Alistair, I’m so happy for you!”
“What is it?” the subject of her joy asks in bewilderment as he is swept into a tight hug. “Have you finally found another royal bastard for the throne?”
“Of course not, silly!” Leliana cries, letting go of him.
“Damn. For a moment, you had me hoping.”
“Don’t worry, we all know about it! Morrigan and Wynne and me-” Alistair is pulled into another bearhug. “I’m so happy for both of you!”
Shifting his gaze from the redhead to Wynne Alistair asks, “Have you been at Zevran’s weeds?”
The odd look Wynne gives him tells him his charms have not hit the mark this time.
“Leliana, leave the poor boy alone,” she hushes the excited bard. “I guess he does not know.”
“Know what?”
Leliana only squees with both delight and vexation.
“Eowyn has not returned yet?” Morrigan queries.
“I don’t know,” he admits, puzzled by the women’s strange behaviour.
“Well, then you haven’t heared the happy news yet.” Coming from her mouth, it does give an ill foreboding. Already moving for the door, he can hear her muttering “But don’t expect me to start knitting playsuits.”
“Morrigan!” both Wynne and Leliana shout. Yes, they must have heared it as well.
“You must have been at Zevran’s weeds,” Alistair repeats. It can be the only sane explanation for the women’s behaviour. Great! As if Arl Eamon did not think their little party insane enough yet. Well, they have certainly gone up the scale. Again.
“Wait,” Leliana alerts them. “You haven’t seen her returning?”
Her eyes find Wynne’s and in unison, they run for the door, leaving him alone and very confused.
Wynne has been standing closer to the door and so has the shorter distance to cover. Leliana meets her in front of the room Eowyn has been given for their stay. She casts a glance at Wynne. The older woman gives a curt nod. Leliana raises her hand and knocks. But gets no reply. Taking a deep breath, she opens the door.
“Eowyn!” she calls out softly. “May we come in? It’s Wynne and me.”
She takes the absence of a reply as an affirmative. Stepping into the room, she scans it for her friend. Behind her, Wynne enters and shuts the door. They find Eowyn crouched on the floor in front of the huge standing mirror. She has cast her Fade shroud again and her body is shimmering translucently. Leliana moves to sit next to her. As Eowyn raises her head to look at her friend, Leliana can see she has been crying. Her eyes travel to where Eowyn tries to cover the small speck inside her body with her hands. At her friend’s gaze, she lets her hands sink and Leliana can see it clearly, without the distortion caused by her hands. Gently, Eowyn caresses it with one hand while a sigh escapes her lips.
“Eowyn,” Leliana whispers. She moves closer to comfort her.
After some moments, Wynne covers the distance between her and the other two women and lowers herself to the floor on Eowyn’s other side. All of a sudden, Eowyn lets go of the Fade shroud. Turning to face Wynne, she looks her straight in the eyes. Wynne shivers at the determination she can see in there.
“Can you heal it?”
Wynne’s insides turn to ice the moment Eowyn asks her question. Opposite herself, Leliana’s face mirrors the same horror she can feel. But she forces herself to supress the bewildered exclamation that threatens to slip her lips.
“You know there’s nothing to heal,” she tells her in the most reassuring voice she can manage.
Eowyn shifts her gaze from Wynne to the floor but remains silent.
Leliana clears her throat. “How long since…” She does not have to finish her question.
“I thought the Elves healed me.” Eowyn wispers. “I thought they healed my pains!” A sob escapes her lips and she covers her face with her hands.
“So all the times you were passing out on us and such, you were just suffering from…” She gestures with her hand in search for the right words. “Monthly pains?”
Shaking her head, Wynne takes her into her arms. “Come here, child,” she tries to soothe the younger woman. “Even Elves can not heal you from that. You know it and knew it all the time.”
“But the Revered Mother!” Eowyn cries. “She told me! She told me there were cures.”
Wynne shares a bewildered glance with Leliana. The other woman just shakes her head.
“They said I had to suffer. Because of my red hair.” She jerks at one strand of her hair. It has grown long since she has left the Tower and she usually pulls it back into a ponytail.
“And they told you about cures to your pains?” Wynne is so cross she does not manage to completely hide it from them.
“Yes, they did,” a small voice confesses. “They said…” Eowyn breaks off and takes a deep breath before again speaking. “They said that being with a… a man helps. But it didn’t!”
Were it in any other situation, Leliana would have laughed out loud. But instead, she pulls Eowyn into another hug. Behind Eowyn, she can see Wynne shaking her head. Then, the mage changes the subject. “You have not used your Fade shroud since the Brecilian Forest.”
“It didn’t work,” Eowyn admits. “It felt as if something remained here while the rest of my body was there.”
“So you stopped using it,” Wynne muses.
“Yes.”
“It has been quite some time with all that travelling to and fro.”
Eowyn only replies by nodding her head. After some minutes, she withdraws from Leliana’s arms. “I was planning to make him king.” Misery is written all over her face and it is clear to see that she fights tears that threaten to fill her eyes. “I wanted him to be king,” she repeats again and shifts her gaze to Leliana. “But I don’t think he will if he finds out.” Letting her words trail away, she gestures at her stomach. The disgust Leliana can see on her face almost brings her to tears. Inside Wynne, something shatters and breaks with every sentence the young woman voices.
“Don’t talk like that,” Leliana pleads. “It is a gift!”
“A gift?” Sarcasm and disgust fill her voice. “How can it be a gift?”
“Eowyn,” Leliana interrupts her. “Don’t say such things! When I saw you today, I was so overjoyed - I never thought you wouldn’t be. Even now, I can’t understand why you are not. Especially since you are both Grey Wardens. This is a gift, a miracle! Don’t you feel even the tiniest sparkle of joy?”
Eowyn takes a deep breath, steels herself before answering. “You do know the answer to your questions. Both of you do. There’s the Blight to quench, an Archdemon to fight and only the two of us left to do so. And, if against all odds and chances, we will survive the fight, he will be king and I carry the bastard he surely never wanted. And if all that were not enough, I am a mage, Leliana! If I will survive the Blight, will the templars really let me keep this child? No, I don’t think so. A child born to a mage belongs to the Chantry.” Her voice threatens to break as she struggles on. “It will grow up an orphan. No, worse! Because its parents won’t be dead!” She has started shouting over those las few words. Taking a deep breath, she continues. “Does it really matter what I feel in here?” She touches her chest above her heart. “I would love to join in your happiness. But I really don’t dare. Now tell me, Leliana, how can that be a gift?” Her composure has finally shattered, her voice broken. Bitter sobs now wreck her whole body and tears stream down her face. She has pulled up her knees and curled into a tight ball, burying her face in her hands.
Wynne gulps and fights tears that threaten to fill her eyes. In those eyes, Leliana can see the pain that confession has caused her. She herself is so shocked that for a moment, she cannot even find the strength and confidence to comfort her friend.
“My child belongs to the Chantry,” Eowyn whispers as if to herself.
“Eowyn?” Alistair’s voice suddenly disturbs them. It is uncertain and unsteady. In combination with the dull look on his face Leliana knows that he has heared at least some of what Eowyn has said.
With a few strides he covers the distance between them and kneels down in front of Eowyn. Gingerly, he places a hand on her shoulder and repeats his question.
At his touch, Eowyn uncurls and throws herself at him. “You were supposed to be barren!” she frantically shouts at him. Fury shows on her face as she hammers against his chest with her fists. But it is desperation that drives her. “I was supposed to be barren!” Alistair gets hold of her hands and pulls her so close she can’t move them anymore. When Eowyn’s anger dissipates she just molds deeper into his embrace.
“Um, I would ususally say I’m sorry but you know, somehow I’m not.” That special grin of his that splits his face is even huger than usual. “You will have to lock me in the castle’s cells if you want me to be king now,” Alistair tells her, his voice bubbling with elation, his eyes shining bright with joy. “Or chain me to the throne. And forge the crown onto my head. Even better, into. Otherwise you won’t succeed with your plan.” After a pause, he asks, “You really meant what you said earlier?”
Eowyn nods but keeps her head buried under his chin.
“So do I,” he continues. “I never wanted to be king. I would’ve put up with it before if you had pushed me hard enough, but I won’t now.”
“I’m a mage,” Eowyn states.
“So? I know everyone thinks me a fool- No, don’t object, anyone of you. Morrigan is right. I am an idiot. I even needed Eamon’s help to get the message. But I do know that I won’t let anybody get between us. Not Eamon and his schemes, not the Grey Wardens nor the Chantry or the Tower or the templars!”
“But it belongs to the Chantry,” Eowyn repeats.
“Stop talking like that,” Leliana interrupts her almost before Eowyn has finished. When she is sure of their attention, she continues. “Don’t say that ever again. You are blessed by the Maker, Eowyn. Both of you are. This child is a miracle. The Maker will protect it and show you a way. And if you don’t find that way, no one will.”
Eowyn disintangles her hand to squeeze Leliana’s arm. Turning from Leliana back to Alistair, she muses, “Do you think the Wardens will let me- let us have the child?”
“As Leliana has told you, it is a miracle. At least Duncan has once told me I will not be able to have a family. So…” He shrugs.
“Oh, so now Duncan knows everything?” Wynne interrupts, smiling.
But Alistair only laughs at her. “I don’t care, Wynne! I really don’t care. As long as this-” He pulls Eowyn close to him, then lets her settle down against his body again “-is real, I don’t care who objects.”
From outside the room loud noises reach them. A crash followed by loud shouts. Alistair pulls a face. “I guess, Eamon just had a heart attack. Again.” But that specific grin that makes him so special shows on his face again after only some moments. “Shall we tell him now?”
And for once in her life, Eowyn decides to be completely selfish.
In Due Time
Despite the destruction and devastation the war has left behind, it is a wounderful day. Half of the city’s houses are burnt down and the streets littered with debris and still, Denerim glitters like a diamond. A dirty diamond, admittedly, but a proud one none the less. The people of the city have been working hard to clear away the worst for her grand day.
Her coronation.
As the dinner draws to an end, the last golden sunbeams bathe the huge hall in warm light. Everything has been arranged to emphasize and flutter her presence today. Looking at her now, her subjects percieve their queen bathed in rays of golden light.
But most of the time, the eyes of the guests invited for the celebration do not linger on their queen, but on their saviour instead. The Hero of Ferelden, as they call her now. Anora has liked the young woman at first, has even regretted the circumstances under which they have met. Even now, after Eowyn has executed her father, she still respects her and for some part - though grudingly - accepts that today, fame has to be shared between the two of them.
The tables have been creaking under the weight of the food the kitchens have prepared for the guests. In all the mess the war has left behind, her staff has managed to procure some of the most delicious meats, fishes, fresh vegetables, bread and other goods. And of course, the people out in the streets have not been forgotten. Free bread and potatoes have been given away to the crowds earlier the day. Not as when Cailan has been crowned king, but there had been peace then.
Now, four servants enter the hall, carrying a heavy tray on which a huge cake is set. The confectioner has outdone himself with that one, inventing a special cake for the grand day. It is thickly iced with sugar coating and topped with real red roses. Exclamaitions echoing through the hall let her know how deeply impressed her guests are.
As it has been agreed on before, the servants set the tray down in front of the table reserved for herself and the most noble guests. It is not by mere coincidence that the red roses on the dessert match the ones embroided on her dress as well as the tiny ones weaved into her hair. Her wardrobe has been designed with the same alacrity and everything has been arranged according to her outfit. It should have been the most exquisite of all, more beautiful than anything else the other women are wearing today. Her seamstresses did their best to invent a new cut that flatters her form, used the best silk that can be bought for money and adjusted it perfectly to her figure. But who would have guessed that the Warden, usually clothed in those filthy and revealing Tevinter mages’ robes and baked in dirt and blood, almost steals her show?
Yet there she sits, next to her companions in battle, looking so very beautiful and innocent. None of the pepole who have not been in the city while the war had still lasted believed that this was the very same young girl who had ended the Blight. But today, even she and her warriors have managed to change into respectable clothes. The young Warden has already drawn many admiring and appraising glances in the red dress she is wearing today. But it is obvious for everyone to see that any admirer’s time would be wasted on her. She has been holding her lover’s hand throughout the whole grand event. And just after the coronation ceremony, they had snuck away into one of the darker corners for a few kisses. Oh, how happy they looked! Some of the nobles who had noticed expressed shock and judged it ill behaviour, but Anora does not mind. She knows what she is sure almost none of the other nobles do: that their source of happiness is at the same time the sole reason that today, they are celebrating her coronation and not his. For that thing alone, she is in a mind to let them do whatever they want as long as it is discrete.
When Anora had withdrawn to her room at Eamon’s estate the evening after the Landsmeet, she had been trembling with rage. Hours before, she had had to stand by and watch as the two Wardens had executed her father! She had loved him even though in her heart she had known that he had been responsible for Cailan’s death. And watching him die there like a dog had ripped open new wounds after the ones inflicted by her beloved husband’s death had finally started to heal.
That evening, Eowyn had come to visit her. Anora still rememberd how terrible the young mage had looked that night-weary, exhausted and worn out, as if she had been crying. At first, she had tried to fence the woman off, but Eowyn had been firm. She had forced her to listen. She had had much to say and eventually, the whole truth about her motives at the Landsmeet had seeped through. At first, Anora had not known whether to laugh at the irony of it all or strangle the young thing. Later on, she had realized just what she had been told. After two miscarriages, Anora had had some knowledge on the matter of threats for the growing child forced upon her. And she had been deeply impressed at the young woman’s resolve to see the whole thing through.
“My queen,” one of her ladies-in-waiting interrupts her thoughts, “Will you allow the cake to be cut?”
Anora nods and waves the woman away.
After the dessert, a bard begins his play. He is a lanky man, handsome enough with his green doublet, the little cap with the huge feather pinned to it and the almost elven look. According to her ladies-in-waiting, he is one of the best bards in Ferelden, if not even the best. Anora has to admit that they are not exaggerating. She is pleased to see he knows court manners too, as he first greets her with a flourished bow before adressing the rest of the guests. And he proves himself a wise man as well as he stays away from recitals that might imply political disstresses. Instead, he entertains her guests with a beautiful tale of a woman who was born a princess, raised as a warrior, trained as a mage and her ill fate.
While she is listening to the bard’s tale, the young queen lets her gaze sweep over the assembled guests. When she finds the two Wardens at the back of the crowd, her eyes are pulled to a stop. Before the last battle, there had only been a few rumours about an unsuitable love affair. But since the Archdemon has been slain, it is obvious for even the blind and deaf. Anora has spent some time wondering if such a union would be allowed in the ranks of the Grey Wardens. During her days spent at Eamon’s estate, she has had enough time to ponder the issue and study the three Wardens. From what she could observe she had been uncertain at first. The two young ones had tried to stay away from the senior Warden and treat him with as much respect as the Arl and herself. But one evening, she and Riordian had come back from a stroll through the gardens and had found the whole party in agitation. The witch of the wilds had looked more sour than ever, the old mage had all of a sudden become sappy, the bard had been all smiles and laughters and the dwarf had been even more drunk than usual and shouted for celebrations. Even the elf was tipsy and tormented Alistair with whatever lewd sexual innuendos he could think of. Alistair’s face was as red as the dress Eowyn is wearing today and still he was glowing, radiating joy. Only Eowyn herself had looked exhausted and had tried to hide the fact that she had been crying. Later, Anora had understood what had transpired that day. And so must have Riordian. Before his death, he had dispatched a message to Weisshaupt. Anora’s secret informants had secured a transcript of the letter. In it, the senior Warden had informed his superiours of an affair between the two Wardens and in firm words had written about a child. A child seemingly conceived from two tainted parents. While he did not say so explicitly, Anora knew how to read between the lines. He certainly did not approve of it. And once reinforcements from Weisshaupt will reach the city, there will be harsh words, ill feelings and possibly more.
Both of the Wardens are now sitting next to each other on one of the benches that have been pulled up around the bard. Eowyn is curled up in Alistair’s arms. With her thoughts still bent on Riordian’s letter, anger starts to fill Anora. How could the old Warden condemn an innocent life? If the rumors about the Wardens’ lack of fertility have proven untrue, shouldn’t they be overly excited? Her anger threatens to bring memories of her own ill fate to the surface. Oh, how hard she had tried to produce an heir for Cailan! And all those old fools could think of was how to punish these young people for their happyness!
“My lady?” one of the Arls adresses her, interrupting her thoughts.
Anora forces her hands to unclench and smile at him.
“It is a most pleasant evening, my queen. It is true what they say about the bard - he really is the best of them all.”
“Indeed.” another one of the guests of high honour interjects. “It is a pity he has not yet written about the battle and the slaying of the Archdemon.”
Anora forces her features to remain smooth. Just for once, it would be a blessing not to have the Wardens brought up in every single idle conversation! But fate, it seems, does not grant her that wish. Anora forces herself to reply “This is no big surprise, my lords. We all know next to nothing about our heroes.”
“But you, my queen-is it true that you have spent some time with them at Arl Eamon’s estate?”
“It is indeed. But I have not spent much time with the warriors.” Her tone should have told them that she does not wish to talk about the Wardens, but the fool does not understand.
“Of course, my lady. Of course. The best of my men have been present at the gates of the city the day the young Warden held his speech and-”
Anora stops listening. Instead, she finds herself remembering her first days at the estate. Back then, they had tried to keep their affair well hidden from the others. Eowyn and Eamon had even talked about marrying Alistair and Anora as if none of them had been present in the room! She shivers as she remembers their scheming. Sure, the boy is good-looking enough, but Anora despises him for reminding her of her beloved Cailan with every word he says, every move of his body, every look on his face. Even now, he still reminds her of him. And it hurts and at the same time confuses her. Is she to hate him for killing her father? Is she to love him for avenging her husband? Is she to- Oh, it does not matter now. All that does matter is that thanks to a tiny spark of life, she has been spared the fate of marrying him. That one fateful day, when everything had changed. Eamon had suffered a heart attack while the rest of the house had been transferred into a beehive. That night just after the Landsmeet, when all of a sudden everything had started to make sense.
Anora feels her face starting to twist into a grimace unsiutable for the newly-crowned queen. But-a child! She is not exactly sure of what she feels, but she knows part of it is envy. Envy at their happiness, their love, their child, their family. And underneath her envy, there is sorrow, strange as that seems. Sorrow at what she knows lies in wait for them. The mages will spit bile and venom once they understand that there will be a child. Anora knows that since the Tower has been built, every single child who has been ill-fated enough to be born to a mage has been taken away from it’s parents. As far as she knows, the mages are still unaware of the current developments, but time will soon tell them. And they will certainly not be as gentle with the young mage as the Wardens.
When the bard has finished his play, the benches and tables are pulled to the sides of the hall to make space for the dancing. As the bard cannot be persuaded to take up his harp once again, two musicians take over. They start with a happy tune and it does not take long for the first couples to form and step in to the music.
Among those not joining in the dance is the Revered Mother, an old lady with a frail body but a mind sharper than any blade. As Anora watches her, she shares some words with the young Chantry priestess in her tow. Following their gazes, Anora is not surprised at the objects of their surveillance. The Wardens again. They have stepped to one side of the hall when the dancing has started. Even from her place at the far end of the table, she can feel the joy and elation seeping from them. And so must the Revered Mother. Does she know?, Anora wonders.
“My queen,” the young Teryn of Highever adresses her. “May I ask you for a dance?”
And glad for the interruption, Anora willingly accepts. Following the complicated steps of an Orlesian quadrille, she lets herself be sweeped away from her thoughts by the Teryn and the dance.
Later in the evening, the Teryn of Highever reclaims her from the Arl of Denerim and after two dances, escorts her to one of the benches along the walls of the hall. As they catch their breaths, a servant offers them wine.
“Here’s to you, my queen,” the Teryn toasts her.
Anora nods her head before taking a sip. “My Lord.”
While engaging in some polite small-talk, Anora lets her gaze wander. When it comes across the Revered Mother sitting in her chair by the fire, her good spirits sink. The old Mother’s face is even sterner than ususal and her gaze is cold, icy. The lines that cross her wrinkled face are so hard it makes her shiver. Taking a sip from her wine, she notices that the young Chantry sister has left the place next to her. Anora searches the hall for the distinct gown that marks her, but she knows she won’t be able to find her. Her heart clenches in sorrow and she can feel sadness welling up inside her. So her spies were right, as usual.
This morning, a secret note has reached her informing her of the message the Chantry sisters are planning to deliver to the Divine in Orlais. Anora sighs. She knows what they are going to tell the Divine. A child, conceived from the union of a mage and a Grey Warden. The Chantry won’t let that happen if there is any way to prevent it.
“My Queen?” the young Teryn interrupts her thoughts. “Is everything alright?”
The concern she can see in his eyes is real and she forces a smile on her lips.
“Yes, my lord.” She gives him her best smile and raises her glass. “Let us drink to all those who fell to save us.”
The young Teryn nods his head.
And here’s to you, tiny spark of life, Anora silently continues. Already am I indebted to you though you’re not even born yet. May you live, little one. May you live to see that world your parents saved for all of us.
But as the months pass by and spring once again returns to the land, Anora vainly tries to gather news about the two Wardens, the Heroes of Ferelden.