Celea spent her morning in the garden. It was her favorite place in the palace, with its spicy scents from the herbs along the north wall to the riot of colors from the flowers along the east. The gardeners had grown used to having her about, patiently teaching her all manner of things. And, although she'd never been near the soil until recent years, there being no gardens in the tower, she was a quick study, much to delight of her teachers.
Normally, she would be by Alistair's side, as one of his many advisors, but today, like had been happening so often lately, the audiences seeking a word with the king did not require her presence. In fact, her attending him during these meetings would be quite awkward considering those being presented to the king were all potential brides and their noble families.
There were countless times in the past year that she wished she had arranged a marriage between Alistair and Anora – better to deal with the demon you know than the one you don't. This seemingly endless parade of nubile young noblewomen affected her more than she had imagined, but she dared not let her discomfort show. If Alistair ever found out how she felt, he'd either refuse to consider marrying or he'd send her away in a vain attempt to keep her from future pain.
"Mistress," said one of the maids, bustling along the path. "Best get in and cleaned up, m'lady. Lunch will be served shortly."
Celea rose from the flowerbed she'd been tending, brushing the dirt out of her skirt as best she could as she followed the maid back up the path and in through the kitchens.
"Could you believe the resemblance? There's no doubt as to her parentage. Now I know where she gets her beauty from." Alistair's words coming from the dining room were like icicles, sending chilling slivers of pain into her gut. "Stand them side by side and I would venture one couldn't tell which was which."
"I'm sure you could tell them apart, your majesty. You've spent enough time looking at the one, I imagine." Those icicles turned into boiling steam coursing through her veins at Teagan's reply.
She couldn't take another step towards that dining room. Not like this. So she turned and fled up the servants stairs to their chambers. Upon reaching the bedroom, she shooed the servants out and stood in the middle of the room clutching her stomach. Oh, why did it have to hurt so much? Her eyes filled with tears as she stared at the bed they'd shared for the past year. How soon would be before some stranger took her place by his side?
Hearing a commotion in the hall, Celea quickly wiped her tears and whipped open the wardrobe, rummaging through it for an appropriate luncheon skirt that was not dirt-kissed.
"There you are," said Alistair, stepping into the room. "Are you alright?"
She took a deep breath and rubbed her eyes one last time before turning around, replacement skirt in hand. "Yes, I'm fine. I just lost track of time and realized I needed to change my skirt before lunch."
Alistair chuckled and came up to her, taking the skirt from her hands and laying it on the bed before grasping her hands and pulling her into him for a deep kiss. "Didn't want to wrinkle it," he said, once they came up for air. "There's someone special joining us for lunch today and I know you'd never forgive me if I'd messed up your attire."
Celea's heart lurched. No, he couldn't be so clueless as to invite her to lunch with his future bride, could he?
She took a deep breath and forced her nerves to steady. "Well then, get out of my way, your majesty, so I can get dressed," she said light-heartedly; at least she hoped it come off light-hearted.
It must have since Alistair chuckled again before giving her one last peck on the cheek. "I'll be waiting in the dining hall, my love. Take your time."
She changed the skirt and ran a brush through her hair, all the while breathing deeply to try and calm her nerves. Her stomach was fluttering, but thankfully no more than that by the time she descended the stairs. The main staircase this time, refusing to be regulated to the backstairs until circumstances forced her to relinquish her role as Mistress of this house.
So focused was she on keeping her nerves in check that she didn't even look at the woman rising from a seat beside Alistair's until she heard her name being called.
"Celea?" Memories flooded through her mind at the sound of that voice. A voice she had thought she'd forgotten, having not heard it in nearly 20 years. Her eyes were drawn to that voice and she found herself staring at a mirror image of herself except for the style and a tiny bit of grey flecked through the otherwise vibrant Auburn hair.
"Mama?" she cried, rushing down the length of the room.
Meeting her mother half-way, Celea fell into her arms, both of them sobbing loudly, almost in unison. They hugged, they patted, they laughed, and they cried, all the while being observed by Alistair and Teagan, both beaming from ear to ear.
Finally, Celea tore her eyes away from her mother long enough to meet Alistair's grin. "How?" she asked, single syllables being all she could manage.
"It wasn't difficult, considering the likeness," he said, laughing. "But seriously, I was touring the alienage with Teagan and the workers who will begin rebuilding it shortly, and I spotted her just coming in from the North gate."
"I've been away from Denerim for years, child," said her mother, squeezing her arm. "Once they took you from me, your father and I left the alienage; it was just too painful to stay with you gone. We found a Dalish clan, and lived among them for years. It wasn't until we met another clan to trade that we heard rumors about you. Some thought I was you, at first, which caused quite a bit of confusion, to be sure. But eventually, we learned the story of our beloved daughter, a Grey Warden no less!"
"Is papa with you?" Celea asked, looking around the room.
"I'm sorry child, but the Creators took him from us this past year," she replied, wrapping her arms around her daughter and pulling her close. Celea shed tears for a man she had no memory of, crying on the shoulder of a woman she was only now beginning to remember. It made no sense, but it didn't matter.
They spent the afternoon and evening chatting away, determined to make up for lost time. Celea finally made her way to their bedroom well past midnight, after seeing her mother to her rooms. She was surprised to see Alistair was still awake, setting his book aside as she entered the room.
"Thank you," she said, her voice hoarse from the hours upon hours of conversation today. "I don't know what to say."
Alistair chuckled. "You're welcome." A sly smile stole over his face. "I do, however, have one more surprise for you, which I think you'll like. At least… I hope you'll like," he said, climbing out of the bed and padding across the floor to help her undress.
"I don't think my heart can take anymore surprises today," she replied, leaning her back against his chest.
"What if I told you I'm no longer being forced to look for a wife?" he asked, kissing her neck.
She whipped around to face him. "What? How?"
"Well… it seems I'm not the only royal bastard in Fereldan. Cailan had son and we've found him. He's being brought to Denerim to be raised here, in the palace, as the next heir."
"Truly?" she asked, stunned.
"Truly," he replied, hugging her close as he kissed her hair. "He and his mother should be arriving within the month. So, rest easy, my love. You'll have me by your side until the Calling, or at least as long as you want me."
Celea turned in his arms and hugged him fiercely. "I want you longer than that, but I'll take what I can get."