Gwyneth nodded to the guards as she walked through the halls of the Denerim palace. It had been a short ttime since the end of the Blight, but they already knew the petite redheaded elf by sight as well as they knew King Alistair. Chancellor as well as Warden-Commander of Ferelden, she was a force to be reckoned with, and none of them would question why she was roaming the palace halls instead of sleeping the night before the king's wedding to Elissa Cousland.
Her slippers made a faint scuffing noise on the flagstones as she climbed the steps to the royal cathedral and she slipped inside, avoiding Chantry sisters and lay brothers as she ducked into the tiny private chapel that was usually guaranteed to be vacant at this time of night, and especially this night of all nights. The Denerim Cathedral was as decorated as the recovering nation could afford,. Paper bunting and sprays of flowers graced the pews, grown by the citizens both human and elven who had survived the chaos.
The chapel for the royal family and those like Gwyneth who had permission to use it was simple compared to the splendour outside the doors. An unadorned statue of the Maker's Bride stood before a linen-upholstered kneeler. Immediately inside the chapel was a plain wicker basket of tapers to offer with prayers. Gwyn slid the shoes off her feet and approached the statue of Andraste, picking up a taper and lighting it with a delicate flutter of her fingers before placing it in front of the icon. Never a religious woman in the Circle, she knelt awkwardly, and clasped her hands together to pray.
"This is probably going to be a bit rambly, Blessed Andraste. I don't pray as much as I might, or as much as the Chant says I should, but...
Please, Lady, don't make me regret this. Making Alistair King, that is. Or arranging for Elissa to be his Queen. Let them find some semblance of happiness together. I'm sorry for being selfish and not being able to let go of Alistair. I'm sorry for allowing Morrigan to use blood magic to keep both of us alive instead of sacrificing myself for him, and staying here as his mistress. I just couldn't step aside and bury everything I feel for him. I hope… I pray that as another woman, you can understand that.
Holy Bride, he's already grown so much as a man from the one I met at Ostagar. And Elissa… she's been so kind and understanding, and she's survived so much herself. Please let her be the queen he needs, that Ferelden needs. Help them be friends. Let them have the family Alistair wants so badly. Don't let his only child be the one Morrigan's carrying. Help them have many children, please."
Gwyneth's voice broke, and she stopped to wipe away the tears that were pouring down her cheeks, "Let his reign be long, and prosperous. Guide them to the best decisions. Show Alistair what a good leader he is, despite what he believes about himself. That's all I ask."
She stood, brushing out her skirts and turning away. Gwyn started to slide her feet into the slippers, then a thought struck her. Picking up her skirt and flicking the shoes away quickly, she hustled back to the kneeler. Clasping her hands in prayer again, "One last request, Blessed Andraste. Please let Anora Mac Tir see reason and give up her claim to the throne, for everyone's sake. Mostly mine. It may be a little selfish, but I have enough on my plate between being Chancellor, Warden-Commander, and Arlessa. Being Teyrna on top of all that is just- too much. Please."
Standing and straightening herself again, she gazed up into the statue's face. Whomever had sculpted this effigy had given Andraste a harsh, disapproving expression, the same as the one in the Circle Tower. The one she could vaguely remember from the little chapel in Highever had a kind, almost motherly expression. Emboldened by the statue's glare, Gwyneth stood at the base, bare-footed and proud.
"I swear on my own life, Andraste, if anything happens to Alistair, I will make the Archdemon look like a mewling kitten. The world will burn before I let something happen to him. Unlike the Maker, I do not abandon those I love to their fate as if I were helpless." Gwyn waited with bated breath, expecting to be struck where she stood.
Instead, her taper sputtered momentarily in a draft, and the murmur of the laysisters and brothers finishing up the preparations for the wedding drifted through the door. Feeling she had made her point, and somewhat surprised she hadn't burst into flames or been struck by lightning for blasphemy, Gwyn put the slippers on. Squaring her shoulders and holding her head high, she stepped back into the main cathedral.
One of the laysisters shrieked in surprise, stepping back and clutching her chest. "My Lady Chancellor! When- how?!"
"I'm sorry I frightened you, Sister. I just needed to unburden myself for a moment. It is a big day tomorrow, after all." Gwyn gave her a small smile, and continued out of the cathedral. She needed sleep if she was going to keep her mask on during the wedding.