Fic - "Seek Not My Heart"
Title: Seek Not My Heart
Author: skybound2
Characters: Maric/Rowan (References Rowan/Loghain), OC's, and Calian makes a brief appearance.
Word Count: ~6220
Rating: T
Summary: Just because the war is long over, does not mean that there aren't battles still to be fought. Maric and Rowan deal with her failing health, and a murder on the castle grounds.
Spoilers: References “The Stolen Throne” and “The Calling” (its not overly spoilery for them though, and I think this can manage on its own, even if you haven't read them.) Timeline-wise, this takes place in the year 9:07 (using David Gaider's agreed upon timeline, here.)
Author's Note: Written for quitesometime for the DA:O ficathon who requested: “Maric and Rowan, in any sort of capacity. I'm not particular, but bonus points if you've done the novels.” I certainly hope that my capacity works for you! I had a devil of a time with this one, and ended up tossing out several attempts, before settling on this one. I had actually plotted this to be quite a bit longer, and I'm not certain this shortened version was the right way to go, but its what I went with all the same. This story can also be found at FFN. The title is from the Kit McCallum poem of the same name. Also: all hail Bioware. Many, many thanks to pennydreadful for the beta!!!
Seek Not My Heart
“Mama mama mama mama!” Through her fog addled brain, Rowan barely registered the mantra her young son was emitting. She cracked a weary eye open and saw a golden head bobbing in and out of view as Calian bounced up and down by her bed.
A wide smile bloomed across his face when he caught her gaze. “Mama 'wake now!” His giggles were light and airy, as he shouted out something nonsensical, and spun on the spot. Exuding all the youthful exuberance and lightness of being that only the 18 month old child of Maric Theirin could contain.
“Hush love, Mama's awake.” She propped herself up on her right elbow, and leaned across the bed to tug on one golden lock of hair. “Did you sneak past your nurse again?” Calian bobbed his head up and down several times, giggling all the while. “Devious little boy. Whatever am I going to do with you?”
“Up!” Two chubby arms reached out for her, as little feet scrambled up the side of the bed. Seconds later he was tucked into her side, suffusing her bedclothes with that unique scent that all baby's had. She closed her eyes again, holding him close to her as be babbled off all sorts of things, some of which she even understood.
She'd been waking later and later with the onset of her illness, and so it was really no surprise that Calian was beginning to seek her out, absentee mother that she'd been of late. The loss of sleep she'd suffer this morning would be well worth it, if it meant having a few extra minutes with him.
She heard the door to her chambers scrap against the stone floor as it was opened, and she focused her eyes on the newest intruder, which was (unsurprisingly) Calian's nurse. “Oh, milady! Beggin' your pardon. I don't know how he got away from me. One moment he was sitting, silent as can be, on his bed while I got his morning clothes together, and the next he was just...gone. I thought perhaps he may have snuck off here.”
“Its okay, Ailish. I can think of worse ways to wake up than my little boy climbing into bed with me.” Said little boy had finally ceased his monologue and was darting wide eyes between his mother and nurse, contemplating (or so it seemed to Rowan) just how much trouble he was about to be in.
“Oh, but you need your rest! That healer from the Circle was very insistent upon it. Said you were not to be disturbed so early.” The dark-haired woman twisted her hands about one another, clearly fretting.
Rowan laughed lightly, “Well, I'm hardly in any condition to ride off into battle at the moment, but I think that I can handle a cuddle with my son.”
“I - yes. Sorry, milady. I shouldn't have presumed-”
“Please, Ailish. It's really alright.” She sat up finally, pulling Calian into her lap, and stroked a hand down his cheek, before taping him on the nose, and earning herself a giggle. “And besides, this little one needs to learn to listen to his elders before he becomes too much of a handful for us all.”
“Aye, milady.” Ailish reached out to grapple with the squirming toddler, who unsuccessfully attempted to hide behind his mother. “Come now. Time to get dressed, Prince. Then we can visit with your mother again. Alright?” The last was addressed to Rowan, who nodded in time with Calian's yipping agreement.
When the door had been tugged closed once more, Rowan relaxed back into her bed. The castle could be so drafty, even in the spring, that she was loathe to leave the warmth of her blankets. Still, there were things that needed tending to, and now that she was awake, it was probably best that she not dally over long.
With that in mind, she began to work up the energy that would be required to swing her legs onto the floor. Energy which had sadly been lacking in recent days.
It was nearly a half-hour before she was able to manage.
~~~\/~~~
The royal stables were Rowan's pride and joy on the castle's grounds. It was the one place that she could go to get away from the pressures of court, to let it all behind her; if only for a few precious hours everyday. A number which was getting to be difficult to manage lately, physically weakened as she had become.
She had spent a great deal of time cleansing the stables of all evidence of the Orlesian occupation. A process which was easier said then done. The Orlesian's took great pride in their mounts, and as such, the stables had seen vast improvements during their occupation.
The stalls now sported silverite latches and hinges; and each was outfitted with its own feeding and drink troughs for the beasts. The haylofts, which Maric claimed had once been rickety things (Rowan doubted he truly remembered spending any time in the lofts as a boy, but she let him tell his stories all the same), had been doubly reinforced.
In reality, the 'cleansing of Orlais' from the stables had amounted to little more than removing several ridiculous reliefs of the offal Meghren, and the replacement of all Orlesian styled bridles and saddles with Ferelden ones. (She did keep one of the saddles, however. It was an exquisite piece of leather craftsmanship, and she was genuinely curious as to how the Orlesian soldiers could ride on such an oddly shaped thing.)
The general care of the stables was left to servants, of course, but Rowan insisted on caring for her two favorite horses, as well as maintaining her own saddle and reins. The act of oiling the leather, or spending time with the animals, had a distinctly calming effect on the queen.
There was something different about the stables this day however. The air seemed eerily thick, and quiet. She hadn't noticed it at first, carefully bushing through her favorite mare's coat as she was. But, as she unstrapped her saddle from it's place on the rack, she caught a glimpse of a strange shadow dancing across the wall. Confused, she turned, glancing to either side, before lifting her chin towards the roof, and bit back a surprised gasp.
There, strung up from the rafters beneath the hayloft, twisting and turning in the light morning wind, was the dangling corpse of a castle guard.
~~~\/~~~
“I don't care, Maric! This is just - its unacceptable!”
“The Captain of the Guard has assured me that they are doing everything in their power to apprehend whoever the culprit may be -”
Rowan made a low, scoffing sound, and tossed her hands up. “Maric, if the Guard was doing their job to begin with, then we wouldn't be in this situation.” And it was true. Hell, for a good quarter day after Rowan had found the body, the Guard had been convinced it was a suicide. It had only been through her forced entry into the proceedings (which had been accompanied with a good deal of stuttering and sputtering of “My Queen, this is no place for a lady...” on the part of the men, and several withering gazes from her) that the fact that the body belonged not to a successful suicidal man, but to a murdered one, had come to light.
“Pardon me, captain, but did you by any chance take notice of his wrists?” Her voice, the only feminine one amidst the large group, had carried over the din.
The captain had appeared distinctly surprised to have been interrupted, mid-soliloquy regarding who should break the news to the man's family, “My Queen?”
“His wrists. You are familiar with basic anatomy, correct?” If she hadn't been convinced before that the entire Guard was out-fitted with dunderheads, she was now.
“Well, but- but of course...”
She had raised a cynical eyebrow, and gave him her very best glower (Loghain would have been proud), “Really? Well then, I'm certain that you happened to notice all of the broken skin along them? What do you think the likelihood was that he did that to himself? Hmm?”
The amount of scrambling they had done afterward to confirm her accusations had been, frankly, a little sad.
“Already, rumors are starting to spread. It's been less than a day, you realize. And with rumors, comes conjecture. Accusations. And if progress is not made quickly, that will lead to panic. Honestly, how do you think it looks having one of the the King's men murdered on his own grounds?”
Rowan recognized that she was being a tad unreasonable, after all, there was very little that Maric could do about the situation at present, but he could just be so damned infuriating at times. After the initial shocked reaction, his over-abundant level of exuberance had reared its head (as per usual) and he'd thrown himself full-force into the fledgling investigation. He'd seemed almost excited at the prospect of having a hand in catching this murderer. All other duties be damned. Nevermind that his responsibilities as king needed to come first. Responsibilities that certainly didn't include chasing after common (for lack of a better word) criminals.
She watched Maric sigh, his shoulders slouching just subtly enough for her to know that her arrow had hit its mark. “I know how bad it looks, Rowan. That's why I'm trying to help out.” His blue eyes were duller than usual as he looked upon her.
“While that is all well and good, Maric, I really think that you need to call in someone with more of a background in -”
“I do have some experience with this sort of thing you know.” His voice had lowered to a near-whisper.
She felt a chill run up her spine as her brain connected the dots. Oh of all the... “I'm sorry, Maric. I didn't mean-” She reached out a hand to squeeze his arm, and was rewarded with a weary smile.
“I know, wife.” Her body warmed slightly at the endearment. They had never quite progressed to the point of referring to each other by pet names, their relationship was never about that; but 'husband' and 'wife' had found their way within their vocabulary easily enough. Hearing it now helped relieve some of the tension she felt at having been so callous.
She was just opening her mouth, preparing to offer some platitude for the earlier misstep, when she was overtaken by a damnable (and all too familiar) cough.
She felt her face flushing as she desperately tried to suck in air to no avail. Large, pummel calloused hands grasped her upper arms and guided her to a seat, as the episode continued. When the coughs finally subsided, she raised bloodshot eyes to find Maric kneeling before her, concern carved into every feature.
She wiped at her mouth, and saw him stare at the crimson speckled hand that she pulled away. “I thought you said that the coughing had passed?”
She closed her eyes once more, not wanting to see that look upon his face any longer. Her voice was weakened when she spoke. “It had.”
His hands settled on her knees, one thumb stroking small circles over the fabric that covered them, “We need to send word to the Circle again. Its obvious that the last healer they sent was rubbish.”
Rowan couldn't help but agree. “I think I will go lie down for a bit. She moved to stand, waving away her husband's helping hand, but paused on her way to the door. “Maric?”
“Yes, Rowan?”
“Do what you have to do. I...I understand how drab it can get around the castle now and again. Just - be careful.”
He gave her that smile which had made her weak in the knees oh-so-long ago, “I will.”
She held up a chastising finger, “But, please remember that the teryn and teryna of Highever will be here with their son at the end of the week. You have other responsibilities which must be attended to as well.”
“You have my word.” The two shared a long look, before Rowan nodded her acceptance, and headed for her rooms.
~~~\/~~~
It was late when Maric returned from his (seemingly endless) meetings with advisers (Did it really matter who sat next to whom at the next banquet? Couldn't that wait until this whole murder business had been cleared up?), dignitaries (the qunari really are a strange and foreboding bunch), and the Captain of the Guard (the only highlight of the day). He was exhausted, and somewhat unsatisfied with the turn of events that the case had taken.
A stable hand had located a hastily scribbled note in one of the stalls that morning. The note had a torn corner, and looked like it may have been secured to the body (Matthias, his name was Matthias) at some point, but had fallen off before Rowan had come across him. The note had been simple, and a bit too much to the point. Signed, and stating simply that he 'was sorry' and nothing more. There had been no mention of the man's reasoning, nor any mention of his wife or child. Reading it had left a sour taste in Maric's mouth.
At the king's insistence, the Captain of the Guard would be interviewing Matthias' friends in the morning. All two of them. It was a startlingly short list. But Maric wasn't willing to let this death be deemed a mere suicide. Not when there was still evidence to the contrary, suspiciously convenient notes be damned. He'd barely known the man, stationed (as he'd often been) on the outskirts of the city. But to have one of his guards killed, and so close to where his own family slept? Well...that left an impression.
So as not to disturb, Maric slowly eased open the door to Rowan's bedchamber. Inside he noted an unconscious Rowan, swaddled in her bedclothes, and one of her hand maidens nodding off in a chair several feet away. He awoke the poor girl with a soft hand to her shoulder. “How has she been?”
The girl blinked up at him, clearing her eyes of her fatigue. “Not well, ser. She's been tossin' and turnin' most of the night. The healer gave her something to help her sleep, but her fever still hasn't broken.”
He looked to his wife; noting how pale her skin was, but with a disturbing flush to her cheeks and brow. “Thank you for seeing to her. Now go, get some rest.”
The girl nodded, and then dropped into a quick curtsy, “Aye, my liege.”
After the chamber door was once again closed, Maric dragged the recently vacated chair nearer to the bed, and settled down by the bedside. One hand reached out to drag over the clammy skin of Rowan's forearm, causing the woman to stir.
She moaned, and tossed her head twice about the pillow, he was just reaching up to smooth the hair back from her forehead when she locked fever bright eyes upon him. “Loghain?” Maric froze, his hand midair, and dared not speak.
“Loghain is that you? You came? I...I had the oddest of dreams just now. Of dragons and death and witches.” She settled her head back on the pillow, and closed her eyes again briefly; but still, Maric did not move. “There was this swirling heat, I couldn't breathe, the air was so thick. I think...I think I was lost in one of those Thaig's...like, like the one that we once traveled.” She met his eyes again, her pupils narrowed to pinpoints, even in the dimlight. “Do you remember those, Loghain?”
Maric swallowed, and allowed his body to settle back into its seat, his one hand still resting on her forearm while his other curled down by his side. His breath was choked, his voice a hoarse rumble. “Yes. I remember.”
She smiled, a soft slow smile. Tiny beads of sweat dotted her brow, matting her dark hair against her skin. “I've missed you so much. You never visit anymore. Why is that?” Her arm wrestled out from under his grip, and turned over as she interlocked their fingers. Her hold was weak, but sure.
He returned the gesture as best as he could. The pounding of his heart loud within his own ears. “I - I'm sorry.” He swallowed down past the lump that had lodged in his throat, and pressed the words out, “I thought it for the best, my love.”
Her eyelids drooped shut once more, her breathing seemingly more steady. “Of course you did. You have always done, haven't you.”
It wasn't a question, so Maric didn't respond. What could he say? He already feared he may have said too much, and that Rowan would be hatefully angry if she remembered. Maker, did he hope she didn't remember.
Her thumb was rubbing weakly back and forth across his now, the sensation pulling all of his attention to that one square inch of skin. “Will you stay?”
Maric felt something inside of him give way, just a bit. “Always.”
She breathed a sigh, and scooted over in the bed, making room for him. He toed his boots off, and climbed beside her, tucking her into his chest, with one strong arm wrapped around her and holding her close. Her normally fresh scent was replaced by something more medicinal, and he knew that she would not remember in the morning. He hated himself for feeling relief at the realization, and struggled to slow his racing heart.
She snuggled down into him, drifting back to sleep, her one hand wrapped in the tassles of his shirt. Perhaps what they had wasn't what either of them had wished for; or even what either of them still longed for, but Maric swore that he would do his damnedest to make them not regret their choices from here on out. It was the least he could do for her. She deserved so much more than what he had given so far.
~~~\/~~~
It was another two days before any real progress had been made upon the case. Rowan felt only mildly smug that it was she that gave them yet another of the leads that they had needed.
Well, in public of course. How she felt in private regarding the matter was really no one's business but her own.
She had just been given leave by the healer to resume her normal activities (with the very specific caveat to 'take it easy for Andraste's sake!'), and had been on her way to the stables (she was unwilling to waste any more time away from her beloved animals; she was near to certain that they had suffered greatly in the half-week she had been absent from their sides), when she had overheard a rather emphatic conversation between Maric, the captain, and several of the guards assisting with the investigation. Her husband's boisterous voice carrying over the others.
“Look, I just don't see what good it will do to tell the wife about...about her. I'm still not convinced that he killed himself as is-”
Ahh, so the man was a cheat. Well, there's a possible motive right there.
“With all due respect, my King. The investigation has turned up absolutely no evidence-” She could picture the captain bristling with indignation, and had to muffle a snort. Aside from the wounds on his arms, of course.
“Aside from the wounds on his arms.” Hah! Apparently, Maric was of the same mind as her. That was good to know.
“Aside from those, yes. There is nothing else to support the notion that this was murder, and everything to support that Matthias simply took the cowards way out and-”
Maric was getting riled up now, she could hear it in the haphazard breath he took before speaking. His typical prelude to a good rant. “For what purpose!? By all accounts he had everything all tied up neatly, wouldn't you say? He had the loving wife and child at home, seemingly unaware of his adoring mistress, and a friend good enough to cover for him when need be.” There was no mistaking the twisted meaning that Maric infused the word 'good' with. It warmed Rowan to know that he thought the actions of Matthias' friend were anything but good; even while the memory of Katriel swam coldly in her mind.
One of the guard's spoke up this time, “Ser...if I may, perhaps he was just...unhappy. He was never a very talkative fellow you know. Kept mostly to himself. Been doing that more as of late.”
She could hear the doubt in Maric's voice now, but she was unsure who it was directed to, himself or the guard. She took a few steps closer to the doorway, so that she could peer inside. “Perhaps. But, all of those letters that he wrote. He just seemed so...smitten with - Darya, wasn't it? It just doesn't fit.” The shielded look in Maric's eyes as he obviously tried to wrap his mind around the scenario was not one that Rowan cared for; not in the slightest.
“Have you compared the letters and the note?” The men in the room all nearly swiveled their heads off in an attempt to face the Queen. The guards off to the side quickly coming to attention in her presence.
“Pardon, milady?”
“He left a note behind, yes?” She addressed this to the captain, who nodded. “And you said that there are letters to his mistress?” This she directed at Maric, who nodded as well.
“Among others. We came across quite a collection of missives amongst his things. A stack of, well love notes for lack of a better term, from her to him, and him to her as well. Stored together. Probably so that her husband and his wife wouldn't find them. But also letters from his wife and daughter, and from his closest friend - most sent while Matthais was away for an extended period of time in Lothering this past year. All in all, they do not paint a portrait of a man ready to take his own life.”
She waved him on, “Yes, yes. But what about the writing? His note was signed, I remember you saying.” Admittedly, that had been while she was still recovering from a fever the day before, but that was beside the point. “Was the writing itself the same?”
Maric looked surprised. And also, somewhat delighted. Try as she might, she couldn't help but to adore the open book he often was. Even if it had caused her pain in the past. “I - I don't know. Captain?”
“We, uh. We...didn't check.” The man looked positively bashful. Rowan rather liked it.
“Might be a good place to start, before you pass any news along to the dearly departed's family.” She nodded to the gentlemen before pivoting on her heel to exit the room.
She had just turned the corner down the main corridor heading in the direction of the southern exit (which had the easiest access to the stables) when she heard Maric calling after her. She leaned against one cool stone wall, beside the heavy-threaded tapestry of a rather endearing looking golem (one that reminded her suspiciously of Wilhelm's). She took the time to simply enjoy the chill of the wall against her linen clad skin, and waited for him to reach her. His smile was wide and gleaming.
“My clever, clever wife. How ever did you think of such a thing?”
She shrugged. “Seemed like a logical course of action. I've dealt with a conspiracy or two in my time as well, Maric. Don't forget.”
He shook his head. The smile still in place. “No. I won't.”
“Besides. It's not like its turned up anything yet. You are free to sing my praises if it does of course.”
“Of course.” Several moments passed with him just watching her, a look upon his face such as she could not recall having seen for a long time. It was making her decidedly uncomfortable.
“What? What is it?”
“Nothing. Am I not allowed to look upon my beautiful wife with adoration?”
She sighed heavily, playing along. “I suppose.” She poked him in the chest. “But don't make a habit of it!”
He snatched her finger in his hand, and tugged her in towards him, dropping a kiss upon her lips. His voice was low and sleek when he pulled away; it sent a delicious shiver down her spine. “I make no promises.”
“Hmm.” Despite herself, she swayed towards him, before she gently tugged her hand free and stepped back.
“Are you off to the stables then?”
Rowan cocked her head at him, curious. “Yes. Yes I am.”
“Mind if I join you?”
To say that she was taken aback would have been an understatement. Maric rarely made a habit of riding with her. “You wish to go for a ride?”
“I do.”
“On a horse?”
“Hey now! I haven't fallen off of one in quite some time!”
Rowan let the laugh that had been building up, burst out, “That's because you only ride when forced, Maric! Sorry if I'm confused, but I don't see anyone waving a sword about right now.”
“Perhaps its time I start. Riding unprovoked I mean. I rather like having less people waving swords at me. Except for Calian of course. Its quite fun when he does, but he can hardly lift a wooden one, so I figure there's no harm in it yet.”
Rowan both loved and hated how infectious his enthusiasm could be. “Alright, Maric. You can join me. But I am not stopping if you fall off your saddle.”
Maric crooked out an elbow for Rowan to take, “I'd expect nothing less, wife.”
When they returned several hours later (to his credit, Maric only fell the once - and Rowan did stop), it was to a very anxious guard, stumbling and bumbling over himself with the news that they had managed to uncover the perpetrator of the crime.
Rowan's suggestion had been the lead they were looking for, as it turned out. It had taken very little time for the captain to determine that the note had not been written by Matthias, but was in fact penned by his friend. Verraad. The very same one that had admitted to covering up the dead man's long-running affair.
Maric nearly sprinted in his eagerness to join in with the still ongoing proceedings.
Rowan figured she should probably be more worried than she was, but Ailish had chosen that exact moment to report a case of one game of hide and find gone wrong; a missing son was a mystery suitably distracting even for a queen.
~~~\/~~~
Maric honestly had no clue how he got here. One minute he was enjoying spending an afternoon with his wife (and horses, can't forget the horses), and the next thing he knew, he was squeezed into one of the larger chambers scattered across the battlements surrounding the castle. Unarmed. Facing down a slightly crazed and weapon-wielding man, who was just ranting away. With obviously very little to lose at this point. Half the Guard was poised at Maric's back, just in case something should go awry. (And in Maric's experience, something always went awry.)
It was certainly an atypical end to the day, that was for sure.
“He was making a mockery of their marriage! Always sneaking off, with that...that harlot of his. Didn't seem to think there was anything wrong with it, and I...she knew. Don't you see? She knew. And it was breakin' her heart, it was. She tried to pretend like it wasn't, but I - I could see it. I could tell. Every time he'd make some crass joke, she'd get this far off look in her eyes, and I...” His voice hardened to stone, with eyes to match as he stared down the King of Ferelden, a jagged dagger clenched in his hand. “It couldn't just keep on like it was.”
“So you killed him?” It was possible that Maric's voice cracked just a tad. It was just...unbelievable. They had been friends. Matthias had obviously trusted this man, with all of his dirtiest secrets and then some it appeared. How did it turn on its head like this?
“I - I didn't mean to!”
“Well of course not! You just accidentally trussed him up, and hung him from the rafters. That sort of thing happens all the time.”
The man was ashen now, but his grip on the dagger had not loosened. “I...we fought. I admit that. And yes,” he licked chapped lips and took a deep breath, “I wrote the note.”
Now it was the captain's turn to speak up from somewhere at Maric's left flank, voice harsh. “And hung him there, Verraad?”
His eyes dropped for a split second, and he heaved a deep breath. “Yes. The fight it...got out of hand. I decided to confront him about what he was doing. And it...escalated.” His voice cracked. “I hadn't meant to kill him. He was my friend! I only wanted him to realize - to realize what he was doing.”
“To her.” Maric kept his voice low, steady. He felt anger, and disgust. But not all of it was directed towards the man in front of him.
Verraad's eyes met the king's, “Yes. To her. She deserves better than that. Deserves better than him. When I realized what...what had happened.” He licked his lips again, voice hoarse and dry from emotion. “When I realized that I had killed him, I panicked. I thought, if I made it look like a suicide...she wouldn't have to know that I...” His voice was barely more than a whisper at the last statement.
Maric felt his stomach sloshing. There was no mistaking the look in the man's eyes. Verraad had murdered his friend out of love for the other man's wife. Had he planned on swooping in and offering the woman some twisted sense of comfort? The implications were nauseating. But, then again, the king understood quite well the changes in a person that ill-timed feelings of love could cause.
Maric was pulled from his disturbing ruminations by the captain further grilling the broken looking murderer before them, “If it was an accident, then how do you explain the wounds on his wrists? Looks to me like you tied him up. Hardly matches your description now, does it?”
Verraad's eyes widened almost comically, and he mumbled something beneath his breath. Something which the Captain of the Guard was not willing to let go of so easily. “I said, I couldn't get him up the ladder.”
Now Maric was confused. “To the loft?
He nodded, “He was too heavy. I needed extra leverage, so I bound his arms with rope to tug him up. I guess it tore into the skin a bit.”
Maric closed his eyes for a moment, and willed himself to calm. When he opened them, he (along with the captain, he was sure), noticed that the man before them was slowly inching towards the exit. It took significantly less thought than the situation probably warranted for Maric to sidestep to the right and lunge for the door.
He was certain that he had made worse choices in his life before. Just, not recently.
~~~\/~~~
“Rowan!!” Maric bounded up the stairs, taking them two at a time. At the top of the case, he swiveled quickly to the right and rocketed down the hall, his queen's name bellowing forth from his lips with excitement. He came skidding to a halt in front of her chamber door, nearly missing the thing in his exuberance, only just managing to catch a gloved hand on the archway to yank himself back.
He panted slightly, out of breath, his eyes darted around the room for his wife, but didn't find her. He rambled off his news as he meandered around her rooms, knowing she must be somewhere nearby. “Rowan? Rowan, we got him! Well, really they got him. The guards, I mean. Its possible I may have nearly caused a ...situation. There was a, uh -” he coughed, “a somewhat embarrassing event involving myself and a mop that nearly turned disastrous, but luckily the guard's were quicker of wit than I was with my epic clumsiness. He's being carted off to Fort Drakon as we...Rowan?”
Maric's voice trailed off as he finally came across her in her dressing room, bent over a chamber-pail, and retching. Her long, normally lustrous hair, haphazardly held back by a pale and trembling hand; several strands of it fell across her face, and into the pot.
Quickly, he knelt by her side, and ran a comforting hand over her back, before gathering her hair back and away from her face.
After several minutes, where the only noise in the chamber was the echo of Rowan's retching, she slumped backwards, leaning her weight against the wall and causing Maric's hand to slip from her tresses. He watched her with appraising, worried eyes until she seemed to catch her breath. His voice soft, “Better?”
Her face was pale, and dark circles marred the skin beneath her eyes, clearly still unwell - but she nodded all the same. Her pink tongue scraped across her bottom lip, “Water?”
“Oh! Oh, of course.” Maric scrambled up off of the floor and darted into her bedchamber, where he snatched the large pitcher of water and poured some of the contents into a nearby tumbler. The liquid sloshed over the edge as he swiftly made his way back to her side.
She took the cup with both hands, and drank deeply. Her eyes closed. “Thank you.”
“No need to thank me. You would do the same for me, after all.” He curled his lips in a smile that did not quite reach his eyes, but he could tell that the gesture was appreciated nonetheless as she lifted the corners of her own mouth somewhat in response.
“I might even hold your hair back, if your lucky.” The smile was wane, but he thought it lovely at that moment.
“And I would be eternally in your debt if you did.”
She made a sort of half-cough, half-chuckle, but caught her breath soon enough. “Hmm, I meant to tell you. Your son found his way into a sewing cupboard this afternoon. And jammed the door from the inside, so that his nurse couldn't get to him.” She laughed lightly, “Spent a quarter of an hour trying to jiggle the hinge to get him out, but the damnable thing was stuck. Was about to send for the locksmith when he decided he'd had enough, and came bobbing out. Asking for juice.”
Maric laughed, “Boy is going to cause us trouble when he's older. It'll be glorious.”
“Like father, like son.” She closed her eyes, seeming a bit weaker than before. Maric draped an arm around her shoulder and drew her into his side. She went limp, sinking into his lap with soft, uneven breaths. His fingers ran through her slightly knotted hair as he rested his cheek against her scalp, and whispered a silent prayer to the Maker.
Maric figured that he'd have to start listening one of these days.
“It's getting worse, isn't it?” He did his best to keep the worry out of voice, but was mostly unsuccessful. A slow nod against his chest was the only response.
“We'll have a new healer sent for first thing in the morning. I promise. Right before the Couslands arrive.”
“You remembered.”
“Told you I would.”
“Mmm.”
They stayed like that, curled together on the hard stone floor, for near on half-an-hour before Maric felt that the worst had passed - enough for him to move her. He stood, slowly, scooping her willow-light body into his arms (Maker, when did she get so thin?) and carried her to the bed.
He settled her into the soft, downy confines of the mattress, and was attempting to extract his arm so that he could leave her to her sleep, when she exhaled a ghostly whisper. “Maric?”
“I'm here.”
“I know.” She glanced up at him, her eyes clear of any sign of fever, their stormy depths holding him tightly in their gaze. “Will you stay with me?”
He nodded, and pressed a light kiss to her brow, one word on his lips. “Always.”
~End