1 Bloomingtide, 9:12 Dragon
Denerim Palace
‹›‹O›‹›
Summerday was warmer than usual this year.
Or perhaps it just seemed warmer because Eleanor Cousland was as big as a house. Maker's breath, but she hadn't gotten nearly this big with Fergus, had she? And the new baby wasn't even due for another two months.
Not that she had reason for complaint. For the most part, she felt perfectly healthy this time around, just as she had with Fergus. There had been a month or so of mild sickness near the beginning, and now that her center of gravity had shifted, she felt awkward and a bit clumsy, but otherwise, she had felt just fine - mercifully so - throughout the months of her pregnancy.
Her nose was a bit sensitive, though- the odor of the fish course that had just been served at dinner had made her slightly nauseous. A pity; it was Hafter River trout, grilled with rosemary, sage and thyme - usually one of Eleanor's favorite dishes - but on this particular occasion she had to take slow, deep breaths through her mouth to keep her stomach from heaving in protest.
Tonight, a single, long banquet table was set up at one end of the great hall of the Denerim palace; there were not enough members of the nobility in town at this time of the year to warrant the use of the entire room. That was a mercy; the thought of a room packed full of people, all of them talking at once, was horrible and more than a bit overwhelming just now. About twenty people were in attendance, mostly those who lived in Denerim or the Coastlands. It was a perfect number so that conversation flowed easily, and Eleanor could sit back quietly and relax for a few minutes when she felt tired, but not so many that everyone needed to shout to be heard.
Eleanor sat between Maric and Bann Esmerelle. The Bann of Amaranthine City had made only a cursory attempt to be gracious to Eleanor, and then had turned away to speak with Rendon Howe. This wasn't particularly surprising; Esmerelle had never approved of Eleanor. Apparently, being a Cousland by marriage wasn't enough to legitimize Eleanor's claim to nobility, and her own family, the Drydens, had not been ranked among the nobles for the past two hundred years. It was amusing, to be honest, to watch Esmerelle do her best not to be openly rude to her teyrna, mostly because Esmerelle's best was not at all convincing.
Not that the lack of Esmerelle's conversation was a hardship. Much nicer to have a moment to breathe, quietly, without having to make forced small talk with a woman Eleanor had always found unpleasant.
Eleanor glanced at the faces of the others seated nearby, and her gaze settled on Anora Mac Tir. She was a gorgeous child, with hair like spun gold that hung loose past her shoulders, and bright blue eyes. If it weren't for those eyes, it would almost be difficult to believe she was Loghain Mac Tir's child. In their looks, they were different as night and day - Anora was bright like the sun, while Loghain was dark, like a moonlit night. Seeing them together for any length of time, however, it was obvious they were father and daughter; they shared so many mannerisms. The tilt of a chin, the straight-backed posture, the arch of a brow. True, the child didn't often volunteer to speak, but when she did have something to say, it was always well thought out and intelligent. Again, she was like her father in that regard - conserving her words, and giving them out sparingly.
How old was Anora, anyway? She had been born just two weeks after Fergus, if Eleanor's memory served. Which made her eight years old, very nearly nine. Yes, that sounded right.
Today, Anora seemed a bit on edge. She sat perfectly straight, with her hands folded in her lap whenever they weren't engaged in carefully and precisely handling her cutlery, and glanced frequently at her father, as if she wanted to ask him something. He was deep in conversation with Leonas Bryland, though, and the girl couldn't catch his attention. Of course, she couldn't turn to her mother; Celia Mac Tir hadn't paid a visit to Denerim since Anora was a baby.
As though she sensed Eleanor's scrutiny, Anora's gaze flitted across the table. Her eyes widened when she saw Eleanor watching.
Eleanor gave a bright, warm smile.
After a moment's hesitation, Anora smiled in return.
A gentle hand on Eleanor's arm pulled her attention to Maric. "You're looking remarkably well," the king said warmly. "I hope that isn't just an illusion. Please tell me you're feeling as robust as you look."
"I do feel remarkably well," Eleanor replied, smiling at Maric's flair for the dramatic. "It's a bit warm for me today, but other than that, I cannot complain."
He beamed at her. "I'm glad to hear it. I look forward to meeting this new little person of yours. Your first little person is growing up to be fine young gentleman, after all."
Eleanor glanced at the end of the table, where Fergus sat beside Cailan. The two boys had their heads close together, as though they were whispering secrets they would prefer the grownups not to overhear.
She smiled fondly. "He is, at that, isn't he?" she mused.
"You shall have to send me a note the minute the new baby arrives," Maric continued, "so I can pay you both a visit in Highever." Fine lines appeared at the corners of his eyes when he grinned. "Well, perhaps you shouldn't send the note yourself - I expect you'll have other things on your mind besides writing notes."
Eleanor rubbed at her belly. "It's a distinct possibility," she said wryly.
"So of course you shall make Bryce do it. Yes, that's precisely what should happen - you have my authority to insist upon it." The king seemed in excellent spirits today.
"You would come all the way to Highever just to see the baby?" Eleanor lifted her chin. "Are you certain it's not just that Solace is one of the best times of the year for hunting partridge in the Coastlands?"
He flinched away dramatically, as though she'd struck a blow at him. "You wound me! It was the furthest thing from my mind, that the partridge would be in season. And it had definitely not occurred to me that Solace is the best time for catching those big hooknose salmon in the streams that run down from the hills." He gave a sheepish grin. "In truth, it's been quite a while since Loghain and I have managed a trip out of the city. I'm thinking this will give me a good excuse to bully him into coming along. But I promise, you and the baby will be fawned over excessively, and gifts brought for Fergus so he doesn't feel left out. You'll be so tired of me by the end that you'll banish us from the castle, and we'll have nothing to do but go fishing instead."
Eleanor laughed, and reached up to smooth the hair behind her ear - a gesture done more out of habit, than of any fear her hair was genuinely out of place. "I have no doubt you will shower an appropriate amount of attention on the baby, and the rest of the family. And have time for fishing." Still chuckling, she glanced at Anora. The girl's eyes were intent on Eleanor as she smoothed back her own hair, in a gesture very like the one Eleanor had made.
When Anora noticed Eleanor watching, the girl looked away quickly, and her hand dropped back into her lap.
"It's good to see Fergus and Cailan getting along so well," Maric mused, his eyes again on his son as he drew Eleanor's attention once more. "I think it's good for Cailan to be around someone his own age. He spends so much of his time alone, or with me and Loghain, or Mother Ailis. Maker knows what sort of influence the three of us are having on the boy."
"I'm sure you're doing just fine," Eleanor assured him. "But I do agree it's good for children to have friends their own age. I'd be tempted to suggest that Fergus stay here in Denerim for the rest of the summer, but I suspect he'd prefer to be in Highever when his sister - or brother - arrives."
"Are you sure?" Maric seemed visibly excited at the prospect. "Because he would be more than welcome to stay, and could travel back with us after the baby is born."
"I'll speak with Bryce about it, and see how Fergus likes the idea." She doubted Fergus would agree; he seemed genuinely excited about the baby, and more to the point Eleanor wasn't sure how well she liked the notion herself. The thought of having her first born so far away just now was vaguely terrifying; even so, she would see what Fergus wanted.
Finally, the last course was finished. Eleanor welcomed the chance to stretch her legs, and get out of the stifling heat and the motionless, stuffy air of the hall. When she rose from the table, however, she had to reach out a hand to steady herself. Her head felt muddled, and the room spun; a light sweat broke out on her forehead. A trickle of moisture slid down her spine beneath the heavy fabric of her gown.
She took in a slow, deep breath to clear her head, and Bryce appeared at her side without prompting, a gentle hand at her elbow.
"Eleanor? Is everything all right?" His smile didn't quite reach his eyes, concern settling there instead. "You look uncomfortable."
She rested her hand atop his, and gave a reassuring squeeze. "I'm fine," she said, touched by his care. "It's just a bit warm in here. I think I'm going to take a walk in the garden - see if I can find a breeze, and some reprieve from this interminable heat."
"Do you want me to come with you?"
"No." She smiled at him. "That's lovely, but not necessary. You haven't seen Leonas in months; I'm sure he'd appreciate some time with you. I'll be fine, I promise. I'm just going out to look at the roses for a few minutes."
He arched a brow. "If you're sure?"
"Very."
"All right." He gave her a brief kiss on the lips. "If you get tired, just stay where you are. I'll come looking for you if you're not back in half an hour."
As Eleanor walked toward one of the doors that led into the garden, a cluster of girls caught her attention. Morag Penrose, Liza Packton, and Bann Esmerelle's younger sister, Alvira, were huddled around a smaller figure - Anora Mac Tir.
That was odd. Anora didn't usually socialize with the other children; or perhaps it was more accurate to say that the other children had a habit of avoiding Anora. Those three girls in particular, all of them from Amaranthine, had a reputation for being snobbish and unkind.
Eleanor changed her course, and approached the group of girls.
"What a shame your mother couldn't be here today." There was an unpleasant lilt to Liza's voice.
"Yes," Morag added. "It's such a shame. Why don't we ever see the teyrna here in Denerim?"
Anora blinked, glancing between the three girls with uncertainty. "She . . . she just doesn't like making the trip. My mother prefers to stay in Gwaren."
"Oh," Alvira purred, as a grin crept across her face. "I thought it was because she never learned proper table manners. Does she even know how to use a soup spoon, or does she just drink right from the bowl?"
Anora's eyes grew wide, and the color drained from her face.
"Hello there, girls." Eleanor's voice was just a bit louder, and sharper, than usual.
All four of their faces turned towards her.
"Oh! Hello, Teyrna Eleanor," Alvira said sweetly, with a slight lift of her chin She spoke the greeting far too enthusiastically, almost simpering. "We didn't see you there."
"Of course you didn't." Eleanor caught and held the young woman's eyes until Alvira's cheeks turned pink and her smile faltered, and she dropped her gaze. "You ought to be ashamed of yourselves . . ."
She let it hang in the air for just a moment, just enough to see the fear blossom in their eyes. "Letting a pregnant woman sneak up on you like that, for shame. I'm the size of a bear, and you didn't hear me coming?"
The three girls from Amaranthine tittered with laughter, as though relieved Eleanor hadn't heard what was being said. The wretched little creatures. They deserved to be taken to task, but Anora was likely to be even more embarrassed if she knew Eleanor had overheard their nasty comments, so she decided reluctantly to let it drop.
Eleanor turned her eyes on Anora, who looked hopeful and immensely relieved. "Forgive me for interrupting, but I wonder if I could have a few minutes of your time? I have something rather important to discuss with you. A favor to ask."
"Of course, Your Grace," Anora replied instantly. "What can I do for you?"
"Let's go talk about it somewhere else, shall we?" Eleanor let her gaze pass across the faces of the other girls, and allowed a slight frown to play over her brow, as though she found them unworthy. "Somewhere private." Eleanor gave the girls a tight smile. "If you'll excuse us?"
"Of course, Teyrna Eleanor." Liza had raised the pitch of her voice to sound much younger than she had just a moment ago. Did she really think Eleanor would be fooled by this?
She gave each of the girls from Amaranthine what she hoped was a scathing enough glare that they would know she had heard exactly what was said. Perhaps it would discourage them from being so awful in the future.
Most likely it would not; they'd merely be more careful not to be overheard next time.
With a hand on Anora's shoulder, Eleanor led the way toward the door.
"Thank you for coming with me," she began. "I find myself feeling over-warm, and fancy a short walk out in the garden. Perhaps find a nice place to sit where I could feel a breeze and watch the sun set. But it makes Bryce nervous these days when I go anywhere by myself." She put a hand to the bulge at her waist. "So, I had hoped to persuade you to accompany me on my walk, if it isn't too much to ask."
"Oh, of course, Your Grace. I would be more than happy to walk in the garden with you." A crease formed across the girl's brow, but she didn't say anything more; she very carefully held the garden door for Eleanor, waiting until she was well clear before easing it gently closed behind them.
Once they were outdoors, Eleanor began to walk in the direction of the rose garden. It was her favorite part of the palace gardens; one of her favorite places in all of Denerim, in all honesty.
"Are you enjoying yourself here in the city?" Eleanor asked, trying to set the girl at ease with polite conversation.
A slight hesitation. "Yes. Of course. Denerim is much busier, and more crowded than Gwaren. It's always an adventure to visit here."
"Yes, that's how I feel about it, as well." Eleanor smiled down at Anora. "And I'm always pleased when it's time to return home to Highever."
Anora's eyes were on Eleanor rather more than the teyrna would have expected. Instead of looking at the flowers, or searching for rabbits or squirrels in the hedges, Anora seemed intent on Eleanor, and there was a slight tension in the girl's jaw.
"Have you and your father had the opportunity to do anything together since you've been here? Other than come to banquets at the palace, that is."
"Yes. He took me to Fort Drakon, so I could practice my archery. And we've walked along the waterfront, and he took me out of the city to a sort of garden where there are a lot of statues."
"Just west of the city?"
"Yes."
"I know the very place. If I'm not mistaken, there's a statue of your father there, isn't there?"
"There is." A shy smile crept across her face. "He wasn't going to show it to me, but I found it anyway. It looks silly, if you ask me. Not a thing like him."
By now, they had made their way into the rose garden. Eleanor led the way to a small arbor, and settled herself on the bench that rested in the shade of a bower of wisteria. Anora hesitated, hovering close by, until Eleanor gestured for her to sit, as well.
There was a slight breeze here, and it felt delightfully cool on Eleanor's cheeks. Already, her shoulders began to relax, and her stomach unclenched itself from the challenges of dinner. She arched her back, and then let out a long, satisfied breath.
"Thank you for coming out here with me," Eleanor said. "This is exactly what I needed. The temperature is just perfect."
"I'm glad. And I was happy to come. It was a pretty day, wasn't it? And the roses are beautiful right now." The girl looked out at the flowers, a bright smile coming to her face, the first Eleanor had seen since they left the palace. "Not quite as pretty as the ones my mother grows in Gwaren, but lovely all the same."
"Your mother likes to garden?"
"Yes." The smile slipped away slowly. "I . . . Oh. I probably shouldn't have said so."
"Why not?"
But as soon as the question left Eleanor's lips, she knew what the answer must be. Working in the garden might easily be mistaken for work best left to a commoner, not a noblewoman.
"I like to tend the gardens in Highever," Eleanor admitted quickly, to smooth over any awkwardness, "when I can find the time. There is something very satisfying about having one's hands directly in the earth. To feel its warmth, and then to watch the plants grow, and thrive. It's almost magical, really."
The smile returned to Anora's face, brighter than before. "Yes! That's exactly what my mother says. She says you can see the hand of the Maker in each small shoot that manages to push itself out the ground. That it might seem impossible that new life could come from just a tiny, hard seed. Something that looks dry and dead. But it isn't. The Maker can breath life into anything, and this is how He shows us that he loves us. Even though He doesn't talk to us anymore, we can still feel His love every time we see a plant grow."
"I'd never thought of it like that before," Eleanor mused, fighting back a smile. Anora's face had lit up while talking about the roses; it was the most animated Eleanor had ever seen the girl. "That's lovely. I suppose it's a bit like that with babies, too, isn't it? New life coming out of nowhere."
Anora went quite still - Eleanor would have almost said she tensed - but then the girl folded her hands politely in her lap. "Yes, it is," Anora agreed.
Eleanor sighed. "It is a pity your mother doesn't come to Denerim more often. I only met her once, not long after you were born."
It really was a pity; perhaps Eleanor would write to Celia Mac Tir, and extend a hand in friendship. Probably, she should have done so years ago. No wonder the teyrna of Gwaren didn't come to Denerim. Fereldan nobility was arrogant and insular, in its own way, and it had taken Eleanor a while to navigate its shark-infested waters. Perhaps Celia just hadn't had the heart to really try. The cruel words spoken by those children hadn't come out of nowhere; surely, they'd learned that from their own parents.
"I think you would like her," Anora murmured hesitantly. "She's really very nice."
Eleanor smiled gently at her. "I'm quite certain I would. Perhaps one day soon she and I will be able to spend some time together. And thank you for coming out here with me." She leaned closer, and lowered her voice to a conspiratorial tone. "Now that it's just you and me, I have a confession to make."
"A confession? What is it?" The tension Eleanor had seen earlier returned.
"Nothing bad, I promise," Eleanor reassured. "It's just that when I said I wasn't feeling well, that wasn't entirely true. Yes, it was warm in there, but the truth is that feel fine. The real reason I asked you to come with me is that I wanted an opportunity for you and I to have some time together, to get to know one another a bit better. Just the two of us, without other people around. I always find it so much nicer, and easier, to talk to people one-on-one."
"Oh." Anora let out a relieved breath, and her lips curved into a slight smile. "You're not feeling ill? That's . . . that's good. I was a little bit worried." Ah. Perhaps that explained the earlier tension in the girl? Anora leaned closer. "If you do start to feel ill, you must promise to tell me right away so I can get my father." She paused. "And your husband, of course."
"Alright, I promise." Eleanor bit back a chuckle at the earnest concern in Anora's voice. It was endearing, although somewhat baffling. The child truly seemed worried. "But you mustn't worry. I am feeling fine. Better than ever, in fact. I promise, nothing is wrong."
"Good. I don't like the thought that something might happen to you, or the baby."
Anora's shoulders were still tight. Had she heard some rumor that Eleanor was feeling poorly? That sort of gossip seemed to magically appear here in Denerim, without even a shred of evidence to support it. Although, perhaps that was to be expected, after the death of Melina Bryland just two years ago, during the birth of Leonas' daughter Habren. But had Anora even known Melina? And where had she heard details about the woman's death?
"I'm sorry to have frightened you." She paused. "Is there some particular reason that you were worried? Did someone tell you I was ill?"
"No." She shook her head. "No one said anything like that. It's just that having babies is so dangerous. Sometimes for the mother, and sometimes for the baby. And sometimes for both."
Interesting that Anora hadn't phrased any of these things as questions. What was that all about? She seemed awfully young to be worrying about complications with pregnancy. Awfully young to have more than a rudimentary understanding of the whole thing in the first place.
Perhaps she had heard about Melina, or perhaps some friend of hers or someone she knew in Gwaren had had a difficult childbirth. Even so, it seemed an excessive reaction for a young girl to have.
"All of that is true," Eleanor said carefully, "but even though childbirth can be dangerous, almost all of the time it isn't. Hundreds of healthy babies are born every year. Thousands, perhaps. And their mothers are fine. Fergus' birth was relatively easy for me, so I am confident that this child will come with equal ease." She paused. "I promise, you have no reason to be worried for me. I'm not scared, not in the slightest. Nor should you be."
The girl let out a slow breath. "All right." She turned her gaze on Eleanor's stomach. "Do you think you're going to have a boy or a girl?"
"A boy or a girl?" Eleanor slid her arm beneath her belly, gently supporting the weight of the child within. She leaned close again. "If you really want to know, I will tell you a secret. I'm certain I'm having a girl."
Anora's eyes grew slightly wider. "What do you mean? How can you be certain?"
"Well, of course I can't," Eleanor laughed. "Not really. But with Fergus, I always had the feeling he would be a boy. There was just something in my head, and in my heart, that told me he was going to be a boy, and that his name should be Fergus. And this time that same feeling is telling me I'm having a girl. So I choose to believe it." She shrugged. "Of course, I'll be equally pleased if I'm wrong. Another boy wouldn't be any sort of hardship. But I believe that this will be a girl, and I do enjoy the idea of having a daughter."
"Do you know what you're going to name her?"
"Yes. She'll be called Rhianna Elizabeth. After Bryce's grandmother and my mother."
"Rhianna." Anora spoke the name slowly, as though feeling it on her tongue. "That's a lovely name. What does it mean?"
Eleanor chuckled. "Well, that's a bit of a debate, really. There is a goddess called Rhiannon, who was worshipped by our Alamarri ancestors. Rhiannon was a goddess of the moon, and queen of the fairies, if you believe in such things, and she had a deep connection with horses. It's said that when she rode her white steed, she could outride anyone; no other horse was swift enough to catch her, even though she appeared never to move faster than an amble. And there's a story that the first time she met her husband, she was on horseback, and the sight of her was so entrancing he fell instantly in love. This is the version that Bryce prefers, and he swears that his grandmother was named after the goddess Rhiannon."
Anora nodded enthusiastically, clearly enraptured. "That's a good story. Do you think your daughter will like horses, if you name her that?"
"I think it's possible; Bryce's grandmother was exceptionally good with animals, from what I've heard."
"But what's the debate about? Is there another meaning?"
"Ah. Yes." She bit her tongue to keep from chuckling. "There is another meaning, one Bryce is not quite as fond of. In ancient Tevinter, Rhianna means 'nymph,' which is a female nature spirit."
"A nature spirit? What do nature spirits do?"
"Well . . . I suppose they spend most of their time running around in the forest dancing and singing."
"That sounds quite charming. Why doesn't the teyrn like it?"
Ah. Now this was a trick. There really wasn't any way to explain to an eight-year-old that nymphs are also associated with rampant sexuality, was there?
"I just think Bryce would prefer his child to be a bit more serious-minded, and not focused solely on dancing and singing."
Anora nodded, as though this made perfect sense.
"Anora is also a lovely name," Eleanor continued. "Is it a family name?"
The girl's cheeks turned slightly pink. "Anora is family name. My mother's grandmother was named Anora. I'm told that it means 'light and grace.'"
"Well, then it's the perfect name for you, isn't it?" Eleanor smiled. "As a matter of fact, my own name means 'light.' If you think about it, our names are very similar: Eleanor, and Anora? Practically the same name, isn't it?" Anora's smile grew even wider at this statement, and a light dawned in her eyes as though she'd never made the connection before. Almost certainly she hadn't; it was the first time Eleanor had noticed the similarity.
"And what about your middle name?" Eleanor asked.
"My middle name is Aoife, after my father's mother."
"That is one of my favorite names, ever," Eleanor said truthfully. "Such a beautiful name."
And such a tragic one, in the Mac Tir family history. Eleanor knew the story about how Loghain's mother had died, back before the rebellion. Assaulted and murdered by chevaliers. Surely Anora had no knowledge of that story, either, and wouldn't, at least for many years to come.
"I think so, too," she murmured. "I never knew my grandmother. She died before I was born. Both of them did." As had Loghain's father.
"And what about your mother's father? Is he still alive?"
"Yes, he lives in Gwaren. He's . . ." Her voice trailed off.
"He's what?"
She took a breath. "I was just going to say that he makes cabinets, and other things out of wood." The tension had returned to her shoulders, and she said it with an edge to her voice, as if she expected to be challenged.
"And I expect he's very good at it," Eleanor said gently, careful not to make light of her defensiveness. "What sort of other things does he make?"
Anora clearly hadn't expected her to take an interest. "All sorts of things," she said slowly. "Furniture. Houses. He helped rebuild Gwaren after it burned down in the war. But I think he likes making toys the best."
Helped rebuild Gwaren? "I believe I've met your grandfather, come to think of it. During the Occupation. What is his name? Saer?"
"Yes!" Anora blinked in surprise. "That's him."
"I remember him well. He worked harder than anyone to rebuild the town."
"Did he?"
"Yes, he did."
A new sort of smile appeared on the girl's face; if Eleanor had to guess, Anora looked . . . proud. Anger flared in Eleanor's chest at the cruel words the girls had thrown, as if Anora should be anything but proud of her family.
"May I give you a bit of advice?"
"Of course," Anora said. "Advice about what?"
"Don't let people intimidate you. Especially not those older girls."
Her nose wrinkled and she glanced away. "What do you mean?"
"When they say awful things, girls like Morag and Alvira. Just, try not to let them intimidate you, and you should definitely not take anything they say to heart. They think it matters that their families have been part of the nobility for a very long time. That it makes them more worthy, or gives them some knowledge that someone from a different sort of family doesn't have. But this simply isn't true. They are not worthier, or more talented, or more graceful than you, or you mother. They're just jealous, and feel threatened, and that's why they're so horrible."
"But why would anyone feel threatened by me?" A gentle frown appeared on her brow, a tiny crease above her nose.
"Because you're going to be be the queen someday. You are betrothed to Cailan, and everyone knows that. And most of them probably wish they were the ones betrothed to Cailan, or perhaps they've been told by their parents that they ought to be the one betrothed to Cailan. And it rankles that a girl whose father was not born into the nobility will end up on the throne." She paused. "Not everyone feels this way. But enough of them do that there's no incentive for them not to be nasty about it, and quite vocally so."
"But what am I supposed to do? I don't care so much when they say bad things about me, but when they say things about my mother? It makes me so angry, but I don't know what to say to make them stop."
"The best way to make them stop is to convince them that you are not bothered by their petty, awful comments. Just remember that you know who you are, and it has nothing to do with what your grandparents did for a living, and that there was nothing at all wrong with what your grandparents did for a living. If they see that their words no longer hurt you, perhaps they'll give up."
"But why do they do it?" Her voice was barely above a whisper. "I don't understand why anyone would be so horrible to another person."
Eleanor let out a breath. That was an excellent question. The truth was that all of these children were too young to remember the Occupation. They had no way of knowing real fear, real hunger. To genuinely not know what the future would bring. What it was like to starve, or to tend to wounds without the proper supplies or people to heal them. People who fought together were able to see one another's mettle in a way that was perhaps difficult to come by in times of peace. But she could hardly try and explain that to the child.
"I wish I knew," she replied. "Perhaps it's just human nature? But I do know how awful it feels to have people say such things about you, or the people you love. And I learned, over time, not to let it bother me."
"You know that? I can't imagine anyone saying those things about you."
"They did, though." Eleanor bit back a smile. "Do you want to know the truth about my family?"
"Alright."
"My father wasn't a nobleman, either. Once upon a time, my family was part of the nobility in Ferelden, but the Drydens were shamed two hundred years ago when my ancestress Sophia tried to take the throne from King Arland. Now, nobody remembers that he was a despot, and probably quite mad and tyrannical. All they remember is that the Drydens lost, miserably so, and were stripped of all titles and land. So I didn't grow up in a castle or a palace. I grew up in a small house in Amaranthine. I milked the cows every morning, and I sold the excess milk and eggs in the market to make ends meet. My father was a merchant, so a lot of times he was away from home for long periods. I'm not trying to complain; I always had a bed to sleep in, and nice clothes to wear, and I was warm and fed and loved. But because of the way I was raised, there are some people here in Denerim who think I don't deserve to be teyrna of Highever."
"But that's ridiculous!" Anora's voice held a vehemence Eleanor had not heard before. "You . . . you're the most gracious woman I've ever known. Even more gracious than my mother." Anora gave a small gasp, and her cheeks grew pink. "Although my mother is very gracious. Everyone in Gwaren says so."
"Everyone in Gwaren is right about that," Eleanor agreed. "Your mother is indeed very gracious, I remember thinking just that the first time I met her. And that she was a very good counterpart for your father." She paused. "And, from what I've seen so far, you are growing up to be just like her in that regard."
Anora blinked, and blushed again. "Th-thank you, teyrna. That's . . . that's very kind of you to say." She averted her gaze, and chewed at her bottom lip.
Perhaps it was time to move to a somewhat lighter topic of conversation.
"You mentioned that your mother's roses are even prettier than these?"
"Yes." She paused. "Was it rude of me to say that?"
"Not at all. Although you should probably refrain from saying it in front of the palace groundskeeper." Eleanor winked, and Anora giggled.
"My mother told me that the secret to roses is what you feed them. She says a lot of people don't realize they need special care. A lot of flowers, you can just put them in the ground and they don't care much what you do afterwards. They'll grow just fine. And roses will, too. Grow just fine, but they won't ever show you their full beauty unless you pamper them, just little bit."
"Is that so? And just how does your mother pamper her roses?"
"She gives them each a fish wrapped in a piece of seaweed that washed up on the beach. She buries it right above their roots, once a month, all through the summer. She says to start when the bushes begin to grow after being dormant through the winter, and then feed them through Solace, or until the weather turns cold if that happens sooner."
"And what effect does this have?"
"It makes the colors brighter, and the petals softer, and the blossoms even more fragrant. My mother's roses are the prettiest I've ever seen, anywhere."
"Perhaps I shall have to give this a try."
"You should. And then, next time we see one another, you can tell me how it worked." Her brow furrowed. "Of course, you'll probably be busy with the baby."
"Well, perhaps she'll enjoy some time out in the sunshine, while I work in the garden?"
"I expect she would like that a lot. I've always loved being in the garden with my mother." She gave another shy smile. "And I've enjoyed walking out here with you, today, as well."
"I've enjoyed it, too, my dear. Very much."
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