Two weeks later.

"You're glowing, you know." An older elven woman stirred a broth-filled pot of vegetables and meat while addressing a younger colleague who cleaned a nearby counter. The Denerim Palace kitchen stirred with activity as the staff prepared dinner. "Did you see her yet?"

Pausing mid-motion, the younger woman blushed as she glanced to her elder. "I did," she sighed, touching her slightly rounded belly with a gentle hand. "She said we're both healthy."

Smiling, the elder woman tilted her head in affectionate observation of the young lady's serenity. Before she replied, a loud voice interjected, "What's this you're on about?"

The speaker, an outspoken elder, walked up with a bowl of ingredients to add to the stew. She nudged the younger elf's hip with her own. "That new midwife, innit? In the shite end of the market. You know not to trust shem apostates."

Scowling, the younger elf snapped at the intruder. "Mind your own, Marta. She's been a better healer than those thieves in the alienage."

The eavesdropped conversation had stopped Caoilainn dead in her tracks on her way in from practice. She listened intently for whatever information the kitchen hands might divulge about a midwife outside of the palace. Satisfied with what she overheard, Caoilainn rushed upstairs to change. I still have time.

Step after step, one foot followed the other higher and higher toward the royal wing of the Denerim Palace. The force of her boots tapping stone floor echoed a quickening heartbeat, ushering panic. Her speeding pulse climbed, throbbing in her ribcage and up to her ears. A similar path she took multiple times a day without challenge now knocked the wind from her. Gasping, she stopped and leaned against the wall of the stairwell. Cool texture of porous rock, rough against her palm soothed her rapid heart rate.

Pregnancy, all she could think about, heightened by reminders that found her every second of every day. Sickness still haunted mornings, waking to a turning stomach that revisited in the afternoon. Even the thought of certain foods made her ill. Her patience with the Denerim soldiers waxed and waned, the result of mood swings. Clothes fit tighter, her armor uncomfortable, worst when she secured her breastplate. It would not be long before her armor needed modification. But for now, she endured the pain, compensating with shorter days on the field and lighter practice.

Delegating tasks to First Lieutenant Adalyn, the young knight's respect for Caoilainn had not diminished since their initial altercation. When Caoilainn assumed the role as Commander of the Royal Army she met the resistance of the influential soldier and established leadership over the army's ranks. Cautious engagement and adaptation of her training methods paid respect to her limitations, and none questioned the change. Today's practice had gone well, but despite her most deliberate actions to protect herself, symptoms occurred.

A sob escaped her as she settled against the wall. Breathing, she cursed herself, and then she cursed Alistair. Self-directed anger for the immeasurable ways she had wronged him joined frustration with his indecision in spite of her promises and the love she felt for the circumstances of ailments outweighed all of it. Images of the child growing within her influenced excitement, and fear, but loneliness rested beneath it all. I don't want to do this alone. I can't hide this forever.

She hid the sickness well enough from Alistair. Having not been intimate with her in over two weeks, he had not noticed her body's new sensitivities, the minuscule changes in her shape, or the bittersweet joy that filled her. Confused and wandering thoughts milled anxious possibilities of parenthood and doubts of her ability.

Tormented by the desire to tell him, to witness his elation when he understood the prospect of a child, she longed for him. His unique and intense love and warmth could offer reprieve from the unpleasant symptoms. But fear kept her silent. The fragment of a chance he would be unhappy with news of her pregnancy, or the possibility it could usher added confusion about his commitment to their marriage, assured silence a more mature decision until they found resolution on their own. I need to see that midwife, away from the palace's loose-lipped healers.

Alistair's suspicious questions and interrogating stares worsened. He had pressed her again about falling on the field. She was more careful, avoiding any more reasons for his doubt. It did nothing to dissuade the bitterness laced in his curt tone when he spoke to her or when his piercing eyes followed her with distrust. Recent lines on his face and shadows under his eyes suggested exhaustion, sadness, and distraction. She had witnessed his gaze blur when his mind drifted off, concerned with something he withheld. It was torture, knowing something troubled him. But she respected his silence, assuming it related to his responsibilities as king, and empathizing all too well with the burden of keeping secrets.

Caoilainn's breath steadied, and she continued her trek upstairs, finally reaching her private room. Opening the door, her heartbeat sped again from the slightest fear she would find another letter from Nathaniel resting on her desk. Today, just as each time she entered her office since her argument with Alistair, she sighed relief when she found her desk free of griffon stamped parchment.

Tired steps carried her to the day bed, sinking down on the cushioned bench to take off pieces of armor. With her breastplate removed, Caoilainn cringed. Her bust loosened, aching, heavy, and sensitive to contact. She touched her chest's tender tissue with one hand, gauging the pain, hoping to ease the discomfort with pressure to no avail. The pain persisted, like a bruise spreading around the surface of her breast, and acute soreness of her nipples. Her tongue pushed against the back of her teeth and she hissed, closing her eyes.

The pain ebbed, and she lay down. Taking a few minutes to rest until she acclimated to being outside of her armor, the notion of sleep tempted her. Heavy eyelids resisted opening and her mind fogged, succumbing to fleeting dreams. But the healer. The thought called through her daze, reminding Caoilainn of her intent for the afternoon. Begrudgingly, Caoilainn rose from the daybed to change. Donning the most mundane attire she could locate, breeches and a top unmarked by royal insignia. She laced her boots, secured a knife at her hip, and covered her head with hooded cloak before she ventured downstairs. Chin up, tits out.

Guards and palace staff meandered through the hallway as Caoilainn slipped through; years of practice sneaking through the halls of Castle Cousland now put to good use. The unsuspecting workers gathered dense around the palace door. It sparked a memory, a painful recollection of the time she fled from Alistair to return to the Keep all those years ago. This isn't the same. She reminded herself, insisting on the good intentions of this application of stealth unlike before. Though she the right to leave the Palace when she wanted, the chance someone would tell Alistair, fueling more of his suspicion, deterred her from the risk.

"You there," a guard called behind her. She ignored the voice, assuming it summoned to another woman in the hall. "You there, in the cloak." The armored guard walked toward her, quickening his steps.

Shit. She kept walking; her pace speeding in hopes the guard would abandon his goal, but his footsteps followed behind, compensating for her speed and distance. The clinking metal grew louder as he drew near. Only a few strides from the door, the target in sight; the guard spoke from right behind her.

"Miss, make sure you've got all your things," the guard directed, glancing at her shoulder, where she carried no bag. Keeping the hood over her face, Caoilainn stared down as he continued. "The palace will be closed to the public at sundown. Are you forgetting anything here?"

A slow exhale of relief, Caoilainn blinked lowly glancing toward the man with her head still covered. She lowered her voice, attempting to hide any evidence of aristocracy in her accent. "No." The rushed answer gave feeble explanation, and she knew it. She clenched her hand. "My satchel's under my cloak. I've got all my things."

Her glance lifted for the briefest moment, meeting the narrowed eyes of the guard. Before he could process what he saw, she rushed past him and left the palace. Determined not to lose her breath to overexertion again, steady strides carried her through the city. Into the market and along an alley, Caoilainn searched for the midwife she had heard the elves refer.

Not wanting to gain attention in the market, Caoilainn kept her head down. It shrouded her vision, making it difficult to identify stores and residences along the market district. Persistent steps carried her onward, glancing at shops along the outer edges of the market until she reached a dark side street. Back alleys in Denerim rarely occupied by reputable tenants obligated vigilance. Certain bandits would realize the value of the life of the Queen was worth a larger ransom than the coin she carried gave confidence, and that was only necessary if she could not kill them first.

In a dark corner of the alley, a dirty storefront caught her attention. Strands of purple light shone from the dusty window, and a makeshift sign hung above the door, a large tree in the form of a pregnant woman etched in the wood. Stepping to the door, Caoilainn gave a gentle knock before pushing it open. A chime jingled and Caoilainn looked up to catch the source before she walked in. Her hood fell to her shoulders. She scanned the deserted room; cobwebs filled the corners, bottles lined the windowsill. A bookshelf filled with herbs and potions stood behind a counter.

Nerves filled Caoilainn, growing discouraged about the safety of her plan. Before she could change her mind, a woman stepped from a backroom. She wore a kind face, light robes hung from her generous frame. Without a word, she smiled and took Caoilainn's hand, tilting her head toward the hall from which she came.

The healer pulled Caoilainn's arm, and the Queen followed. Her brow creased, confused about the strange circumstances of the midwife's procedure. Caoilainn withheld words, shocked, eyes searching for any evidence of the security of the facility. The distinct beating of her heart made its way back to her ears.

Rounding a corner, the healer woman walked away. A familiar voice sounded, giving Caoilainn goosebumps. "Congratulations." A young boy giggled from the same room.

Caoilainn gasped, her eyes widening as she discerned the speaker. A figure knelt in front a young lad, residual energy of healing magic surrounded them. Black hair in a messy bun marked the back of the woman's head. "Morrigan," Caoilainn mumbled, pressing her hand to her chest. The dusty room came into focus around the witch; two chairs sat at one wall and a table at the other.

Smirking, Morrigan stood and turned around. "You found me."

"She found us, mother. Didn't she?" The smiling Kieran interjected, adding his insight to the reunion.

A tired laugh escaped Caoilainn, the sting of happy tears reaching her eyes. "I didn't realize I was looking for you." The welcome sight of her friend contrasted recent episodes isolation and sadness. Fleeting questions of the witch of the wild's unexpected appearance subsided to gratitude. "You can't imagine how relieved I am to see you."

"Oh, but I can." With an affection smile, Morrigan addressed Kieran. "Little man, I need you to go play with Willow while Caoilainn and I talk." She patted him on the head. The young man gave a pleading look, begging Morrigan to let him stay, but Morrigan only shook her head. Finally, he shirked his shoulders and groaned, shuffling his feet on the way from the room.

Watching Kieran's melodramatic exit, Caoilainn stared in disbelief. "Has he truly grown so much since I last saw him? It hasn't been that long." The sound of the young boy playing down the hall echoed her inquiry.

"It's been long enough." Morrigan dipped her head in confirmation. The witch walked to her friend and put her palm to Caoilainn's forehead, as if checking for a fever. Eyes large, Caoilainn did not protest Morrigan's warmhearted gesture, though it was uncharacteristic for the notoriously prickly mage. Morrigan's hand moved, the back of her digits pressing gently against Caoilainn's cheek. "You're with child."

Tears made their way to the surface and Caoilainn blinked, nodding her head with appreciation. The special moment between friends interrupted by Caoilainn's meek whisper, "I haven't told him."

Morrigan took an herb from the table, a green leaf Caoilainn could not identify and handed it to the Queen. She waved her hand toward Caoilainn's mouth, a signal for Caoilainn to chew the plant while Morrigan massaged her belly. "'Tis a shame. You cannot afford secrecy under such circumstances."

The green, earthy flavor of the plant made Caoilainn's mouth water and her tongue tingle. She realized it was mint. Caoilainn's brow furrowed; uncomfortable by the pressure of Morrigan's fingers and her condescending words, she swallowed excess saliva and pushed the leaf against her cheek. Needing to explain, to help Morrigan understand, she responded with discretion, "He needs to decide if he wants to be with me without influence from… this." She gestured her midsection.

The sorceress took the wrist of the hand Caoilainn used to motion. Her fingers tightened, pressing against the venous section. Condescending words continued as she checked Caoilainn's pulse. "Then you're more a fool than the idiot himself. I am baffled his dedication has not fallen to your doubt."

Caoilainn snorted in exasperation, "Did you come here just to scold me? Your assumptions are unwelcome and inaccurate." Determining Morrigan done with her wrist, Caoilainn pulled her hand to her chest. "Alistair and I are…" The struggle to find words to explain the status of her relationship with Alistair failed. She settled for the minimum. "We've barely spoken in weeks."

Morrigan gave the faintest hint of a sympathetic smile, making Caoilainn grit her teeth to prepare for the attempt at encouragement. "You and he have gone longer without words, have you not?" Leaving distance between them, Morrigan lifted a brow, opening her palms in question. "And he's not left you, nor told you to leave?"

Sighing, Caoilainn looked to the ground. "It's not so simple. I'm not ready to tell him, Morrigan. It's not the right time." Without giving Morrigan a chance to denounce her logic, Caoilainn changed the subject, gazing around the dingy room. "But for the love of the Maker, what are you doing here?"

"Intuition," Morrigan glanced at Caoilainn's belly with amusement. The smirk vanished as she continued, "Philippa wrote to me, requesting help due to repercussions of the ritual. Thus, I determined an opportunity to see you, which was fortunate considering accurate premonitions. I've only been here a few days."

The answer sparked more questions. The Queen's face twisted with worry and she vocalized her concern, "How long will you stay?" A pit fell in Caoilainn's stomach, imagining returning to the lonely palace, bearing through pregnancy symptoms alone.

"That will depend on what occurs in the meeting," Morrigan stood from her seat. The sound of Kieran's idle chatter, playing in the back room had stopped. "What is that boy up to?"

Meeting? An understanding that something occurred beyond Caoilainn's comprehension clicked. Morrigan knew more than she did. The twitch of Caoilainn's brow preceded her question. "What meeting?"

For a moment, Morrigan's eyes widened, but she regained her composure. She walked out the door of the small room into the hallway. Wishing to avoid stress upon her friend, Morrigan advised, "'Tis a conversation for you to have with your partner, as he organized the event."

Reaching her hand and resting it on Morrigan's shoulder, Caoilainn shook her head. Unwilling to be brushed off, the Queen felt her face heating with frustration. "Tell me, Morrigan. What do you know?"

Morrigan turned on her heels and put her hands on Caoilainn's shoulders. The witch sighed and advised Caoilainn to stay calm. "Take a breath." Caoilainn did as directed, her forehead creasing with suspicion. "Weisshaupt is deserted, Caoilainn. There has been aftermath from your cure." The corner of Morrigan's mouth lifted. "But, it seems you should expect a boy."