Almost everything personal in her quarters was in the process of being packed away. Gwyneth stood in the middle of the chaos, wringing her hands as she tried to direct maids and footmen. The anxiety knotting her stomach spiked frequently, and there was nowhere she could escape from the madness to calm it. Even her bedchamber was a hive of activity, with the linens being stripped from the goose down mattress and a durable, decorative canvas coverlet being laid over it while her personal effects were packed into crates.
Maker, she would have to say goodbye to the children, to Duncan, to Alistair soon. She didn't want to. Gwyn didn't want to leave, but she had to. She was safe from the Calling thanks to the twist of fate that had given her Duncan. Alistair was still in danger of being Called to the Deep Roads, to die alone amidst the corruption and Blightcreep. By the Bride, she was glad that Nate, Velanna, Oghren, and Sigrun had all described their Calling in their letters. Without the evidence that they were all the same, Alistair never would have listened to her, and she would be the regent for a little girl, trying to hold Ferelden together until Moira was old enough to rule on her own. Gwyn was doubly blessed because none of them would leave for the Deep Roads without word from her, and the letters stating that the Calling they were hearing seemed to be wrong had gathered all of them at Soldier's Peak. They would accompany her in her search for a cure.
"His Majesty, the King!" The cry came from the hallway through the open door of her quarters.
The maids and footmen immediately went silent, dropping whatever they were doing to curtsey or bow to Alistair as he entered the sitting room. Gwyneth stepped through them carefully, then swept into a low curtsey. "Your Majesty."
"So, it's actually happening, Lady Gwyneth?" He frowned at the mess of wooden crates and half-dismantled quarters.
"Indeed so, Your Majesty." She straightened from her curtsey, habit smoothing her face to a pleasant, blank mask.
His lips pressed together. Gwyn could see him struggling with the need to keep her there with him, and the necessity of letting her go. Pulling his hands from where they had been clenched at the small of his back, he took hers. "Everyone, give me a moment with Lady Gwyneth?"
Wide-eyed, the servants hustled out of the room. As soon as the door shut, Gwyn knew the gossip would start. At the moment, feeling the tremors in Alistar's hands, she didn't give a fig if rumors flew while she was gone. They touched foreheads, and he breathed out, "Maker's breath, Gwyn, how will I survive without you? I'll go mad with worry."
"You've got Teagan and Fergus to help you, Ali-love. The children need you. I tried to explain to Duncan why I had to go, and I don't think he understands. While I'm gone-" she cut herself off on a sharp sob, "While I'm gone, you're all he has."
"When you come back, Gwyn, because I do not accept any scenario where you don't, I'm never letting you go again."
"I said the same thing when you went haring off with Varric Tethras, if you recall, but here I am, breaking that promise by leaving you."
His hands, calloused from the daily practice he still kept to with sword and shield, cupped her face. "That's not what I mean, Gwyn. I swear by the Maker, when you come back, I'm going to marry you like I should have years ago."
"But-"
"No, Gwyn. I let you step aside and arrange for me to marry Elissa for the good of the kingdom. Things are different now. You're the Hero of Ferelden. You've been the Chancellor for close to a decade. Let's do something for us when you get back."
Gwyn smiled. He was still so optimistic. The title of Hero and the near-decade of being Chancellor hadn't changed that she was still an elf, and a mage. She had never been less in his eyes for either of those. The continuing issues it lead to with trade delegations and the Chantry emphasized that no one else overlooked it. She would let him have this moment, believing that they would be able to be married when all was said and done. "If you say so."
"I'll petition the Divine if I have to, Gwyn. She might say yes just to get a break from Elemina and Ceorlic."
At that, she broke into laughter. "They're still sending petitions?"
"As dependable as the sun rises and sets."
"Andraste's ankle mole, they must be driving her up the wall."
"Leliana wrote me about it a few weeks ago." He leaned in conspiratorially, "They just use them as kindling for the evening fires now, and have one of the secretaries write out a stack of 'Thank you for your request, but no.' form letters every few weeks to send back when they get one."
"So you think that means she'll let an elf mage become queen, hmm?"
"I'd hope so, I've done an awful lot of heroic and kingly things."
"That you have, Ali-love." The smile fell off her face, "I'm going to miss you so much."
"I'm never letting you go. Once you're back, you're not leaving me again, Gwynnie, I swear."
She pretended she couldn't feel his tears on her neck as she clung to him.