"Surprise, darling, I'm back!" His dear, familiar smile winked at me under at least a week's growth of beard and his grey chain was rusty with blood and old grime. He smelled – just as Leliana had told me all Fereldans do – of wet dog and mildew. Funny, how I had never noticed the stench before I became a cosseted national treasure, subjected to two steaming baths a day, and all the luxuries a small, war-torn nation could provide.
"Alistair!" I got up from the breakfast table, heavy-bodied and clumsy. His strong arms enfolded me, mail digging into the soft skin of my arms, hauberk bumping against my belly. Smiling, I watched his eyes drink in my new shape, enjoying–at least for the moment –the pure simplicity of his gaze. For a moment, that was all we were: a husband and wife expecting their first child, lost in the miracle of the blessed event.
"I thought you would be gone another month, at least!" I chided him. "The nobles will want to see you, and the Lady Anora says there's something in her father's research that we need to see – I was going to leave tomorrow for Gwaren, but now that you're back, perhaps we should both go—"
His smile faded slightly and he drew back from me. "This isn't another attempt to marry me off to her, is it? Because, I have it on good authority from the Maker that Kings of Ferelden are only allowed the one wife, Wife. And you're not getting out of being Queen that easily."
"No. If I wanted to get out of being Queen, I'd just have you killed and abdicate." I smiled sweetly at him and picked up a piece of pastry from the table.
"You wouldn't have to order me killed. I'm sure you could manage to slay me yourself," he muttered. Then smiled again, bright as brass. "Is this about the rumor that Lady Rowan cuckolded Meric? That Anora and Cailan were both Loghain's get and he betrayed his son rather than have their issue be damned? Because, you know, I rather like that one, considering it has nothing at all to do with me and my claim to the throne."
"No," I said flatly. "But your claim to the throne might be less tenuous if you stuck aroundto sit your arse on it."
"It's cold and hard as dragonbone," he sniped. "And there's more to being a King than sitting on my ass, flower. I've been to Anderfels, and Orlais and Weisshaupt. The darkspawn are still a threat, and we need more Gray Wardens. You know this as well as I do." His eyes dropped to my swollen belly, and the rest went unspoken. He went to look for a cure to the taint. Or at least a guarantee that our child would not suffer the same fate as its parents. No madness, no early death, no fate worse than either.
I made my smile stick, but he sensed my unease, as he always did and came closer again. "Don't you want to hear what I found?" he asked softly. "There have been female Gray Wardens before, and they've borne healthy children. Mage-gifted sometimes, but normal. Elissa, there's still hope for ours."
"Were both of their parents tainted?" I asked bluntly. I didn't want to ask the other question, the one that gave me nightmares worse than dreaming of any archdemon: nightmares of Hespith's story and Laryn's swollen, bloated body giving birth to an army of darkspawn. Why were there no female wardens now? Male wardens simply went mad. But women infected with the taint…they became the mothers of monsters. I prayed to the Andraste I didn't believe in that I was wrong. The Joining was different, surely? It made us immune to the taint… at least for a time. And was one parent with the taint better than two? Would that matter, if it were true? Was it even possible? Did elves and humans – alas, there was no one I trusted to ask. No one I could ask. If Mother had lived – oh, but she would have killed me for being this stupid, much as Fergus had threatened to when I'd been fool enough to confide in him.
"I don't know." Alistair's warm hands smoothed back my braids, ran through the thick fall of my hair. "I only know women with the taint have born healthy children and lived. I met one of them. An elf. She said her babe was born healthy and grew up strong."
I breathed a small sigh of relief. In my belly, the babe curled and rolled. Did Laryn feel as protective of her demonspawn as I did of this one? Would I know the difference, if it came to that? "You met a female Gray Warden?"
"Yes." His smile crinkled the corners around his eyes. "Her name was Fiona. She sends congratulations to us, by the way."
Congratulations were a poor substitute for an army. I bit back my impatient sigh. "Is she Riordan's successor? Did she agree to send more troops?"
"No. She's a mage. But he did, yes. Riordan's successor, I mean. Captain Grais. He is sending more Gray Wardens. Does that make you happy?"
"Yes. Good." More Gray Wardens would help a great deal – even ones from Orlais. Loghain Mac Tir was mad, I reminded myself. Paranoid and mad. The Orleisians are no threat to Ferelden. The only threats we have to worry about are within. Within ourselves and our country. And which is worse?
My husband's mouth pressed down on mine again, strong and hungry. I could not refuse him, but he desperately needed a bath. I wondered if there was a polite way to mention it. A Queen should be polite to her husband. My stomach roiled and my tongue loosened as I jerked my head back from his. "You stink. Can you change your clothes before eating?"
His laughter did my heart good, although it did nothing for my babe-sickness. "Oh, my Lady – don't ever change." Alistair planted a firm kiss on my lips and went off towards the bath chambers that adjoined both of our rooms, leaving me swallowing down the strange mix of love, relief, bile – and regret.
A light round of applause filtered through the rose-velvet curtains to the side of my balcony. "Well done," an amused Antivan voice murmured. "You two looked very convincing. I might be quite touched, if I had not just come from your bed myself."
"That was too close," I muttered, glancing nervously at the door that had closed behind Alistair. "I thought we had another week, at least."
"Perhaps he wanted the element of surprise." A golden head appeared out of the drapery, soon followed by golden arms, a golden chest, thighs, and -- the rest of him. Zevran was still naked. I, at least, had had time to throw on an underrobe before the tripwire Zev insisted I set every night in the hallway had rung the bells and woken us in my chamber. "I know, if my wife were as delectable as you, I would worry about her fidelity myself." He paused for a moment, and his smile twisted, knife-edge. "If I were the jealous type, like him."
"Right." I pulled his nightrobes out from under the coverlet. "You need to get back to your rooms, Zev."
"I could stay and watch your happy reunion." He grinned impishly at me, but there was something underneath. At least – Maker, I hoped there was something underneath. On the surface there was little to love about Zevran Arainai. But there was more to him than what he seemed. Either that or possibly he'd had me drugged for the last eleven months. "You'd find that interesting too, no?"
"No!" I said firmly, handing him his clothes.
"Then I may have to seek satisfaction elsewhere." He managed to give me a nonchalant shrug, while at the same time slipping into his smallclothes. "As I have before."
"I don't own you," I answered dully. "Do what you like."
"Who," he corrected me with a kiss. His hand slipped over the swell of my belly and moved down. Despite myself, I caught my breath. "Who I like. Farewell for now, my Queen. See you in the afternoon, at court, yes?"
I didn't trust my voice. My head jerked in a nod, and I willed my body to cease its inappropriate thrill to his touch. Spawn it, but the elf had a bloody gift for these things.
Zevran left through the balcony, as silently as he had come, climbing down the balustrade to his apartments below ours. I had heard stories of secret passages within Denerim's castle walls – ways for the King and Queen to entertain discrete visitors – political or personal – but Zev and I had found none of them. Perhaps they were state secrets – secrets that we, in our status as near-usurpers—had not been privy to. Perhaps Alistair knew more – but I could hardly ask.
I felt tired, and still a little sick. Mother had never mentioned this aspect of pregnancy to me – her lectures on the subject were mostly concerned with shaming the Couslands, and why I must make sure to drink pennyroyal tea until I married – advice I'd always taken, until slaying the darkspawn had driven such petty concerns out of my head.
She had also never been clear about what I should do if I were to marry one man while loving another -- and how to proceed if I trusted neither. Nor how to accurately ensure that my babe would belong to the proper father, and not the one I'd bedded first.
My head ached and I was stricken with a bout of nausea and the sudden need to use the chamberpot – twin curses of pregnancy. Thus, I was not in a dignified state when my husband returned, shaved and shining from his ablutions. The flush on his cheeks at catching me so indisposed was refreshing, I supposed – or would be to one less jaded and bitter than I.
"I-I'll be in the next room," he stammered, beating a hasty retreat.
Zevran would have held my hand while I was sick, had he still been there. I tried not to remind myself of the unfortunate comparison, finishing my business instead, and lacing myself (no easy task!) into some queenly garments as best I could. I did have serving maids, but I kept them at a distance–cultivating a reputation for being strong-willed and self-sufficient that Mother would have admired, if it were true, instead of just the easiest way to conceal my adulterous tendencies. Zevran would have held my hand, laced my corset, and laughed while he emptied my stinking chamberpot in the midden. Alistair just ran away. I suppose it was his own way of respecting my privacy, leaving me to my bodily functions, but it still rang false. Would he run when our babe was born too? From what I had seen, (and not just in the Deep Roads, forget about the Deep Roads), childbirth was not a simple – or tidy – process.
My solarium had been built for Queen Anora, I'd been told. Alistair had had the variety of Ferelden plants she'd cultivated replaced all with rosebushes. A bold romantic gesture, all for me. Touching, and the gift made my eyes prickle in a way that was extremely irritating, even now, six months after he'd presented it.
"I ordered a tray from the kitchen for you," he said, jumping to his feet at my reappearance.
"That was kind," I replied politely. True to the curse of pregnancy, I was now starving and no longer sick. I looked around, hopeful, but the tray had yet to put in its appearance.
"It should be here soon—" my husband added, easing me into the settee next to him. He'd changed, into simple clothes made of clean wool and homespun. They suited him, for what it was worth. He smiled at me. "I missed you, Elissa."
"And I you," I said, mostly lying. "But I've been busy. The kingdom doesn't govern itself."
If it did, it would certainly be better off. I had made a dogshit cake mess of most of it. Thank goodness for the Arl and Wynne, or the banns and arls would have already united to take me down. Apparently, ruling had a great deal more to do with morale and trade agreements than slaying dragons. Not that I could slay another one in my current condition, but diplomacy was not my strong suit. Alistair and I were well-matched in that at least – we'd been fantastic Gray Wardens. Less so, rulers of a small, war-torn and impoverished nation.
"Arl Eamon said he'd help," Alistair almost sounded defensive. "You were raised to this more than I ever was. If you'd been a little older, they might have married you off to Cailan instead of Anora in the first place."
I sincerely doubted Anora's father, the late Teyrn Loghain, would have let that happen. My exasperation broke through. "Anora knew how to rule a kingdom, Alistair. I know how to train a pack of hunting dogs and embroider a tapestry."
"You're pretty handy with a knife too," he remarked. "And I've heard you give some very inspirational speeches. Much better than mine."
I bit my lip, torn between saying what I thought and what was prudent. But I have never been wise. "You should have married her," I told him flatly.
"I didn't love her." He hesitated for a moment and gave me a smile that seemed somewhat mocking. "And she didn't love me."
Guilt. Guilt was the worst of all sins. The Chantry might not say that, but they should. "Alistair –" I began.
His dark eyes looked at mine. There was love in his. Acceptance. Warmth. I couldn't finish. "Elissa," he said back. "Did I ever tell you how beautiful you are?"
Often. It didn't mean much. Men had been telling me I was beautiful since I was thirteen years old. Words were just a dance, a game, a trap. Zev said I was beautiful too, but he'd said far more. He said I was deadly, skilled, a dancer. He said I was smart and kind. I still wore his cheap gold earring and Alistair never asked why I'd never replaced it with something more regal. Perhaps, for all my kingly husband's talk of my beauty, he'd never gotten around to noticing my ears.
Still, maybe that was for the best, him not noticing ears. It was the ears, I feared, that might give the whole game away when the babe was born.
"I hate this," I groused, gesturing at my swollen belly. "I hate being clumsy. They won't let me ride. And I'm starving all the time. And I have to pee. Again."
He laughed, although mention of my bodily function again brought a flush to his cheeks. "I could fetch the food for you, milady. Would that be acceptable?"
"Yes." I muttered. "Please."
"Your wish is my command." He drew me into another embrace, this one more familial than passionate, thankfully. "I'll be right back."
"I'll be waiting." I eased myself back onto the settee, stretching out my cramping legs. The chamberpot was in the other room. I wondered if Alistair would be palsied if I asked him to fetch it. Probably.
He paused at the doorway and tilted his head. There was something in his expression that gave me pause. "You do look beautiful, Elissa. And – thank you. Thank you for putting up with me." He gestured. "Putting up with all of this."
"You can bear the next one," I quipped.
He smiled at me painfully. "That would be one way to ensure that it's mine."
My mouth opened and closed. His set itself in a thin line and then he turned and walked away from me. I closed my eyes, nausea returning like a bad holiday. "Maker's tits," I breathed. Suddenly, all I wanted was to be gone. Zevran had told me we should just run away, but I – no, but I – I had wanted to stay. The Hero of Ferelden wanted to help save the Kingdom. I had wanted to help. And, Andraste help me, I had loved them both – at least a little.
Pity the archdemon had died so easily, it seemed killing them was really all I was good for. That and the tapestries.