Chapter 2 Suspicious Mind
This was going to be a one-shot, but a plot bunny wouldn't leave me alone. It started from a question, "Who would be sent to Kirkwall seeking aid against Orlais if Alistair wasn't king?" That led to my next question: "What does a Prince Consort do once he's done his duty and fathered an heir?" Eventually this roving ambassador will meet Hawke at the Gallows.
Usual disclaimer: The characters in this story are owned by Bioware and other people, and not by me, with the exception of my incarnation of a roguish Cousland.
The baby arrived in the dead of night, and their plan would have worked perfectly, except for the death of the young mother soon after delivering the heir to the Ferelden throne, due to an unexpected, but not unusual, hemorrhage. The Prince Consort stood in stunned silence checking the woman's pulse again, wracked with guilt that they hadn't brought a mage trained in healing into their plot. But Wynne was off in Cumberland, and Anders had left the Wardens in a fit of pique when the new commander made him give up his beloved Ser-Pounce-a-Lot. There simply wasn't another mage they knew well enough to trust with such a secret. So instead, they had to make due with Zevran, Anora's maid Erlina, and a devoted, but ancient elven midwife, who had delivered Fergus and Nigel both as well as their father.
While she regretted the woman's death, Anora's razor-sharp political mind was focused on the advantage in this tragedy. The baby she cradled lovingly in her arms was truly hers now. There would be no worry that her husband's former lover might change her mind about their arrangement, nor that she might decide that her silence was worth quite a bit more than gold and the commission she had already been given. The only problem was what to do with the body.
Zevran immediately took charge. At his whispered suggestion, Anora distracted the midwife by demanding a thorough examination of the newborn girl in her chamber. He nudged Erlina, frozen in shock at seeing so much blood. As they had planned, she quickly removed some of the bloody sheets to be placed in the Queen's own chamber then led the Queen and the midwife there through a hidden passage inside the thick walls, built mainly for use by servants. Zevran slapped Nigel gently to rouse him, whispering, "Snap out of it, mi amor. We are neither of us strangers to death, no? We have work to do this night if we're going to pull this off."
Recovering his wits, Nigel whispered, "Indeed, I think I know just the place." He helped him gently wrap the woman's body in the comforter and spirit her away through one of the many internal passages in Highever castle that Nigel had known of since he was a boy, and that Zevran had also spotted the first day he arrived. Nigel's mabari Buddy led the way to ensure they didn't run into anyone, but few servants were up at this hour, and there were no guards in this part of the castle.
They went outside through the same door in the root cellar that Nigel and Duncan had used to make their escape from Howe a few years before. Once outside, Zevran retrieved shovels from a tool shed, and they buried the body in a locked garden that had once been Eleanor Cousland's private retreat. The garden brought Fergus too many painful memories, and his new bride had no interest in gardening. Thus it was locked up except for when tended infrequently by an elven gardener.
Nigel leaned close and whispered, "'Tis a pity we cannot offer her a proper cremation, but I pray the Maker understands."
Zevran nodded in agreement and embraced his love warmly as he only did when they were alone. After they said a benediction over the body, they returned to the castle to finish cleaning up and burning any evidence so that Nigel could join the Queen.
The joyous news of the birth of an heir was sent out throughout the kingdom the next morning. Prince Nigel and his mabari kept at bay the courtiers and visiting nobles and ambassadors who requested to see Queen Anora, insisting that she was exhausted from her ordeal and must have rest. Anora got into bed and played the part of invalid for the few visitors who were allowed in briefly, mainly the Teyrn and Teyrna, because they were family, and the Revered Mother from the Highever Chantry, who blessed the baby.
They considered themselves fortunate that the babe had been nearly a month overdue. Yet she was also small at just over six pounds, which added credence to their story that she had been born a few weeks early. Anora had wrapped the baby in a soft blanket the minute she was born, and she had hardly allowed her to leave her side since her birth. She even changed some of her diapers herself and only reluctantly gave her up to hand her over to the wet nurse for feeding. It was also fortunate that it was the custom of many Ferelden noblewomen to use the services of wet nurses rather than feeding their babies themselves.
Nigel was amused at how quickly his wife adapted to motherhood, and by how quickly white lies sprang from her lips. She said when asked that she had told no one about her condition, not the Prince, not even Erlina at first, because she simply hadn't realized she was with child until she was on her progress through the Bannorn. When she did realize it, she didn't want to announce it until she was far enough along she was sure she wasn't going to lose the child. Her story was plausible, and none had a reason to question it.
The baby had a full head of the same golden hair as her mother, which was also the same shade as the Queen's, and those who were allowed to see her convinced themselves after Nigel's prompting that she resembled her presumed mother. While some wags whispered that it was too bad the heir was a girl, the kingdom as a whole celebrated the news of the birth of the Princess Leanora with feasting and fireworks. The succession was now secure, and her birth was seen as a further sign of the Maker's favor, the first sign being how quickly the Blight had been put down by good Prince Nigel and the Grey Wardens.
After a little more than a month, the Queen grew restless with her forced convalescence and delegation of duties and declared herself fit to travel back to Denerim. The royal entourage began a slow progress home, which was a relief to the Teyrn and Teyrna, who hadn't had Highever to themselves since their marriage. The Queen and her Prince were greeted by crowds, who lined the roads to see them in the villages and towns they passed through on their way. The Prince Consort rode alongside the royal coach on his black charger with Buddy trotting alongside, and he delighted the children by tossing handfuls of coins, while the Queen held the baby up to the coach's window when they stopped to rest for the night. Only Erlina knew that every night the Prince slipped through the shadows to share the Queen's bed, because she discretely slipped into his bed, having a tryst with Zevran. The drawback was that she had been seen, and it was assumed she was sleeping with the Prince. She also complained that her things began to smell of mabari, but it was worth it to see her Lady so happy.
And they were happy. Since that day a few months before when Anora watched from the balcony as her Prince made his triumphant return from Amaranthine, they had behaved like the honeymooners they had never been during the first two years of their union. Erlina teased her Lady one night when she was preparing her for bed, as only she could tease her, reminding her how in the weeks prior to their lavish wedding, she had confided that her biggest fear had been that her husband-to-be would find any excuse to avoid consummating their marriage because of his obvious attachment to the Antivan elf.
Anora arched an eyebrow and replied, "That wasn't all I was concerned about, as you recall." She reminded her of the rumors about his visits to The Pearl and his rather exotic requests there, which he managed despite being hunted by darkspawn and by her father (she rejected the story about him, the Antivan, the female pirate, the Orlesian 'Sister,' and the three greased nugs as too ridiculous to believe, the nug part anyway).
Erlina smiled at her as she prepared to take the baby away to the tent reserved for her and the nurse, where they would be guarded by half a dozen soldiers and three mabaris hounds. "It was as I told you, your Majesty. Gentlemen reserved their more exotic appetites for places like The Pearl and only the most vulgar make such demands of their wives, unless of course their wives shared their appetites. And the Prince has been a gentleman, no?"
Anora smirked in response in a way that said, "Not always," but didn't reply. She gave the baby a final kiss on her forehead before Erlina left with her, then lay back on her bed as she waited in anticipation of her husband's visit. She thought back to that time as she loosened her hair. It was right after the Wardens had defeated the Archdemon, and besides the tremendous work of rebuilding Ferelden, she was planning her lavish wedding to the Hero of Ferelden as she had agreed to tentatively, to gain his support for her remaining on the throne.
But it had occurred to her one night as she lay in bed, too tired to sleep, that she didn't really know her betrothed very well, apart from his rescuing her from Howe. He was several years younger, nearly a decade. She recalled meeting him once before that night, in the receiving line after her marriage to Cailan. He was a brash, cocksure, beardless boy then, just old enough to have accompanied his family instead of being left home with his tutor. He did have impeccable manners though, a testament to Eleanor Cousland. He was thoroughly charming. Still, he had only stood out amongst the other noble youth in attendance for wearing the latest Orlesian hat and boots and quite a ridiculous bit of paint to hide a few teenage blemishes, and by the way he had brazenly flirted with her. And with Cailan, she recalled now, though she hadn't realized it at the time, and her husband hadn't seemed to notice either. If the Couslands had come to town more often, she was sure he would have eventually made his way into Cailan's inner circle.
She decided she had to know. She had a pair of personal spies she had acquired at her father's suggestion, to keep tabs on Cailan's frequent excursions to taverns and The Pearl. They also tried to keep tabs on her father for her after Cailan's death. At her request, they had investigated these rumors about her betrothed, and confirmed some of them. They reported he had recently visited and given money to an elven woman in the alienage, and that her elf-blooded human son bore a remarkable resemblance to him. That was difficult for Anora to believe because he would have to have been barely past boyhood himself when the boy was conceived. The spies reported he also had sent or delivered personally a gold sovereign weekly to a former laundry woman turned flower shop owner named Goldana. But that was all that they could learn, for after a run-in one night with the notorious Dark Wolf, the spies reported that they feared her betrothed had some powerful associates, perhaps even the Antivan Crows, and they were reluctant to investigate him further.
She had felt it was better to get it out in the open before she married another Cailan (and she reminded herself, while she could still control his behavior by threatening to call the wedding off), so she had confronted Nigel about what her spies had learned, demanding to know how many mistresses and bastards he had. She had expected him to be angry, or to lie, but instead he seemed amused at hearing that she had been investigating him, which made her want to slap the smug grin off his lean, wolfish face. She tried, but he caught her hand in the blink of an eye and held it in an iron-like grip. She could see cold hard steel in his eyes for a moment, behind the foppish facade, as if a mask had slipped aside. She remembered feeling frozen.
He gave her a kiss on the forehead then answered her accusations. "Ah yes, Goldana. I only help that wench as a favor to Alistair, who believes her to be his half-sister. As for the boy in the alienage," he shrugged dismissively. She felt the anger flare anew, but he deftly caught her other hand."In my defense, I was very young, and he is merely the result of a youthful indiscretion. I've only recently, and accidentally I might add, found them. Maker's breath, Anora, his mother's an elf! I will see he's educated or apprenticed in a good trade, but that child could never be threat to your throne."
He then had confessed one affair she hadn't learned about, telling her it was a gesture of good faith. While still firmly holding her hands, he had told her about the apostate's "ritual" too, but he promised her that Morrigan's condition for saving his life was that she be allowed to leave, and the child would never know who his father was. She remembered his exact words: "You may see it as yet another dalliance. I saw it as a way of ensuring that Alistair, Riordan, or I wouldn't have to die to defeat the Archdemon. I'm sure you know all about my exotic tastes, but she's the only one out of all my companions I wouldn't have thought of bedding. If you could have seen the look on her face as she approached the bed—I can only liken it to a snake slithering towards its prey—you would understand me when I tell you it was all I could do to perform."
He grew serious and raised her hands and kissed them. Her heart had leaped. She had expected lies, and she wasn't unconscious of the danger she had placed herself in, being alone with him. But two years later, she still shivered at the earnestness of his proclamation. "That's all of it, my Queen. I swear by Blessed Andraste's sacred ashes I will never knowingly publicly embarrass or humiliate you. Let me be frank. It's not in my nature to promise fidelity, but I do promise no more visits to The Pearl by Nigel Cousland, and no one will know of my indiscretions."
Anora hadn't known whether to embrace him or slap him again, but she couldn't deny her relief. He had told her when they were talking one night about how overwhelmed he had felt to have been allowed by the Maker to find Andraste's ashes. His promise was genuine. She had felt embarrassed by her inquisition, and she told him she felt it was a pity Alistair's presumed sister had to suffer as a child for Maric's indiscretion. She had offered to take on the responsibility for her children's support and schooling from then on as a peace offering to Alistair (and to her betrothed), on the condition that he knew it came from her. She hadn't made the same promise for his elvish son. That was his responsibility.
Once that had been settled, she had returned her attention to their wedding, which she hoped would help her subjects forget the Blight. Yet Nigel had taken such an active hand in helping her with the wedding arrangements that it had given her pause. He found roses that perfectly matched the pink of her gown, suggested the food and wine pairings, insisted they use a Fereldan tailor as a point of national pride, rather than the Orlesian tailor she favored, and styled her hair himself. She had to admit that it was lovely when he finished, but she hadn't known what to think of a man who was a deft with a comb as he was with his twin daggers.
She smiled remembering their wedding day like it was yesterday. It had begun before dawn, with a quick breakfast of toast and marmalade. Over an hour was spent with dressing and Nigel styling her hair before rushing off to get himself ready, and then another hour traveling in a slow procession by coach with her ladies to the Chantry. The formal service itself lasted nearly two hours, and she had felt a pang of jealousy as the flame-haired former 'Sister' who had traveled with Nigel's band, stepped forward to begin the processional hymn. She had suspected there had been something between them too, but had been consoled by the look in the woman's eyes when they met hers, along with the note of love lost that carried in her lovely voice, that told her that whatever had been between them, was over. She had been further consoled that Leliana would be leaving to return the next day to the Chantry in Val Royeaux to give a report to the Divine herself, accompanying Alistair, who was going there to rejoin the Grey Wardens.
Where was that man? She got up and poured herself some wine, frowning as her thoughts drifted to Maric's bastard, who had stood awkwardly at Nigel's side as his best man. To think Nigel had suggested she marry him at first before suggesting himself as a husband. The very thought of marrying Cailan's brother still provoked a shudder! Nigel had been adamant about having him as his best man, telling her firmly, 'It will be one of my best friends, either Alistair, Oghren, or Buddy." The drunk was certainly out of the question! He loved that dog, and she knew he would do it, so she tolerated Alistair's presence.
If it had been left to her, the expedient thing would have have been to execute Alistair to prevent him from changing his mind and return to Denerim's gates leading an army. She hadn't forgiven him for killing her father either. But Nigel had seemed to anticipate her the night he first proposed, and had been adamant that she promise to spare his friend's life. As a compromise, he made that his condition of accepting the lesser title of Prince Consort rather than becoming her King, as was his right as the heir and presumptive next Teyrn of Highever. He had pointed out that Alistair had no interest in her throne, but a great interest in remaining with the Wardens. He had also convinced her that by allowing Alistair to be his best man, they would send a subtle message to Arl Eamon and the other nobles who wanted to put a Theirin on the throne, bastard or not, that Alistair supported her as undisputed Queen of Ferelden. Sometimes she thought Nigel was as shrewd a politician as she was, but he hid it well.
She had another goblet of wine and sprinkled some lavender oil on their bed while she waited. It had been mid-afternoon before they concluded the wedding ceremony, which was followed immediately by the Prince's coronation, and returned to the palace to face an endless receiving line. They had hardly had time to use the privy, much less to enjoy the delicious food and wine provided for their guests. If not for Erlina, she might not have gotten much more than a sip of water here and there all day. Her feet ached in the adorable Orlesian shoes that she had insisted on, that matched her gown but pinched her feet. By the time they had finished with all the official duties and could be escorted to their chambers, she with her ladies and he with his Antivan and a collection of young nobles vying to become his courtiers, every step she took was an exquisite torture.
Luckily getting out of her jewels and gown had required far less effort than getting her into them. Getting the shoes off was another matter because her feet had swollen. Her head was pounding, her back ached, and removing the shoes only seemed to intensify the pain in her feet. It had been all she could do not to snap at her ladies' silly prattle. They seemed to move deliberately slowly. As one of her ladies pulled back the covers and another stood by to help remove her chemise so the next could help her into her nightgown, while yet another stood by to remove her stockings, she wanted nothing more than to conclude her wedding night so she could get some sleep. Then she had looked around, sensing someone else in the room, and saw him there, watching them, with that smug amused grin.
No one else had noticed him. He stepped forward when she nodded to acknowledge him, a bottle of wine under his arm, a covered plate in one hand, and two goblets in the other. He was wearing only a silken nightshirt that clung to his lithe body, ties undone, which left it open halfway down his muscular but smooth chest. He had a lean, wiry dancer's body, which reflected his acrobatic fighting style that she had the opportunity to observe first hand when he rescued her from Howe's estate. His long, wheat-colored hair was unbraided and hung loose around his shoulders. He bowed gracefully to her, straightened, and purred, "I shall take it from here, ladies. Adieu."
She mused as she lay there remembering that night, that if he had been an Antivan Crow sent to take her life, they would all have been dead before anyone was aware of his presence. Several of her ladies had gasped in alarm, and Erlina had protested that the Queen was not ready to receive him. He set the plate and goblets down on a side table along with the wine and glided over like a cat. "What do you say, my Queen? I say, why bother? I shall soon cast it aside on the floor anyway. Now go. Shoo!" He waved them towards the door.
Anora had sat on the bed watching them scurry off indignantly, and fought back a chuckle, relieved that with any luck, he would do his duty, return to his chamber, and she might be asleep within half an hour. "Your Prince has spoken." She watched him as he hustled them out then shut the door behind them and placed a chair under the door handle to block it. His smile was more of a leer. He poured them some wine, then brought the goblets and the plate over to the bed, handed her one to her and drained the other then and handed her the plate.
She hadn't realized how hungry she was until the smell of the food reached her. She remembered looking up and seeing him watching her after she devoured most of the food, her cheeks burning as it occurred to her it had been brought for them both. She had asked quietly, "Have you eaten?" as she held what was left towards him.
His reply was another smirk. He finished the goblet of wine and dropped gracefully onto the bed beside her. "I have. Alistair said that was his last duty as Best Man. Well, that and taking Buddy to the royal kennels to service one of Bann Teagan's bitches. It's his wedding night too, you see."
She had been tempted to ask if he was planning to service her now, but his words had sunk in through the haze of sleepiness, and she looked suspiciously at the bite on her fork. "Alistair brought this?"
He had replied with a chuckle and waved his hand dismissively. "Not to worry, my Queen...my wife. He brought it for us both. He certainly wouldn't spit in my food. And besides, Zevran tested it and certified it to be poison-free and delicious for the most part, except he said the meat pies have too much marjoram."
She had set the plate aside once her hunger was sated and accepted another goblet of wine, which made her more sleepy, though the food had done wonders for her headache. She remembered awkward minutes passing, wondering if he was going to make a move, or if she should say something. She gained a new sympathy for those who who made arranged marriages. It was far different than the mad passion of her wedding night with Cailan.
Finally he had spoken, only stating flatly, "You are exhausted." He had added, "I can tell from the way you're sitting you're in desperate need of a massage, and I've learned a few techniques during my travels. Allow me." He hadn't waited for a response, gently massaging her shoulders with his long, strong fingers then suggesting when she relaxed that she lie down so he could attend to her back. At first she assumed this was foreplay, but he clearly had been taught by someone trained in healing massage techniques. She still had expected a hand to slip up her thigh raising her chemise, and wondered if since he liked men, he would want to have her from behind. Instead he kissed the back of her neck and turned his attention to her feet, vowing grimly to burn those shoes. It was wonderful.
She had been so relaxed that it was all she could do to stay awake. He had stopped when she dozed off again and stretched out beside her, pulling up the silk coverlet. "We have the rest of our lives. Let us sleep for now, for that merchants' guild breakfast in the morning will be here before you know it." He massaged her temples as she drifted off to sleep, her last thought being that he had shown her an unexpected way of avoiding intimacy.
Not that he avoided it for long, as she recalled. When she awakened, he was lying on his side watching her with that same cocky grin. She could tell he was one of those people who were instantly awake and disgustingly chipper even before the coffee. He took her hand and kissed it then said, "Good morning, my dear. I was lying here thinking about how beautiful you are when you sleep. Maker's breath, your lashes! I could get lost in them. Now, I believe we have unfinished business to attend to, and there's just enough time before Erlina begins pounding on the door." She remembered lips covered hers before she had time to respond, and he had finished and rolled off her just as she was beginning to warm to him. With a final smooch on the cheek, he bounded off to his own chamber.
That had been their married life for the first two years. But after the first year, his visits to her had come less frequently. He was her amiable Prince Consort, letting her rule as they had agreed, and he only had given his opinion on matters of state when asked. But after nearly two years and no heir...Neither of them had said it, but his time in Amaranthine was considered by both a trial separation. Despite regular visits to her chamber (twice weekly at the very least, to her surprise), she remained childless, and either adoption, or making squires of the children of the banns until they found a one who showed promise to groom for the throne, was no solution. It would have only be a matter of time before the nation once again exploded in civil war. Neither of them wanted that. It was painfully obvious that she was barren, or that the Maker was punishing her, or both of them. So he had gone to Vigil's Keep, and she worked on the problem of coming up with an acceptable successor.
That all changed that evening he made his triumphant return after several months' absence, once again the Hero of Ferelden, despite having put Amaranthine to the torch to purify it of the darkspawn taint. He was wearing gleaming new dragon wing armor that was black as night. He rode slowly towards the castle through the cheering crowds, accompanied by his personal guard, having discovered and defeated a previously unknown type of darkspawn. She hadn't realized until she was without him how much she had grown accustomed to his presence, his thoughtful advice, and especially, his skilled massages. He was waving to the crowd and looked up at the balcony and saw her. He drew up his horse and smiled broadly at her and saluted, then held up a rose bush wrapped in a burlap sack that was draped across his horse. He had remembered her story of her father bringing a rose bush to her mother! Her heart had melted as he nudged his horse to speed his way to her side.
He had missed her as well. They had found passion that night, like she had known with Cailan. Yet after a few blissful days, he came to her room one night and broke away after one kiss. She remembered he didn't make eye contact, or couldn't. She had finally asked what was wrong.
It had taken two goblets of wine for him to work up the courage to talk to her, and she had two as well, anticipating the worst, which he confirmed. "I have something I must confess, love. It's something I wish I could spare you from hearing, but I don't want us to have secrets. I missed you terribly while I was away...I was very lonely, and...I wasn't looking for company, but a yeoman was assigned to me who looked enough like you that she could be your sister. In fact, I think you might be related, but that's beside the point." Her heart had felt like a lump of ice as she listened. She only heard half of his words. She knew this was no mere fling he was confessing. As she had guessed, the woman was carrying his child, further proof to the world that the Maker had cursed her.
He had tried to reassure her that if they hadn't been apart for so long, the affair never would have happened. "It only happened one time, late one night after too much wine. She looks so much like you. She sounds like you. She even arches her eyebrow the same way. But she's not you, and I'm so sorry. I would be confessing to the Maker alone if it weren't for the child...I shall send her away to Highever. Fergus will keep the child out of sight for us. She doesn't even want to become a mother. She told me if I couldn't help her, she said she knew of a woman who would help her be rid of it. She only wants me to give it over to someone else to raise so she can rejoin the army. I wish it had been you, love. I truly do. You deserve a child. I wish there was a way it could be yours, that some mage could wave a staff and make it yours. Please forgive me."
She had been heartbroken, but he was so contrite. She had missed him terribly too, but as he said, women were stronger and could control their urges. On the one hand, she wanted to slap him senseless. On the other hand, she wanted to console him, for it was partly her fault. Most of all, she had wanted him to shut up and leave her to her thoughts. But his words he repeated over and over bled through the pain and disappointment. If only there was a way...thank the Maker they had Fergus they could turn to, someone they could trust. It wasn't fair...no, it wasn't! The woman didn't even want it and would gladly be rid of it. It wasn't fair, when she wanted, no, needed a child. She deserved a child.
And then a plot was born. She heard herself saying, "Pity we can't hide her and tell everyone it's mine when the time comes. I wonder how much she would want to go away after," as if she was listening in to another Anora talking to him. Was it even possible? Even now she couldn't believe she came up with the plan.
He had put his arms around her, and his gray eyes met hers. She had to admit he was very clever about so many things, but not as clever as she. He had all but said it. She still marveled that he didn't see what she was getting at. He had finally frowned and asked, "What are you saying, love? Did you think I was suggesting we should somehow raise her child as our own? How could we even do such a thing? Unless..." And that was all it took.
Within an hour, he had run with her idea. It had been thrilling, being co-conspirators. She could trust Erlina implicitly, and he could trust his brother. She had been fascinated by watching him set her plan in motion. He would contact the Antivan elf to help, and he told her there was another, the mysterious Dark Wolf, who had helped him in Amaranthine. She had been afraid that would open them to blackmail, but he trusted him with his life after what he had done for him there, though he warned his help would come at a price. He had a few contacts who could probably get in touch with him...it was better if she didn't know about it. He was also certain the woman would agree to their plan with the promise of a modest amount of sovereigns, in addition to a commission. Captain should do, one of many promotions planned for the survivors of the attacks on Amaranthine and Vigils Keep anyway. So it was settled, and she had left it to him to persuade the woman while she conspired with Erlina.
Anora got up and peered outside through a crack in the tent's entrance. She was beginning to fear that something was wrong, but she wasn't about to call one of the guards to go in search of him. He had gone to meet a courier, who was to deliver a bag of sovereigns and a letter of condolence for the woman's family, which she had signed along with other documents while they were setting up camp. It occurred to her that she didn't even know her name; she hadn't wanted to know. At Nigel's suggestion, her death had been ascribed to darkspawn taint, yet another victim of the siege of Vigil's Keep. He had told her it was possible for victims to survive for weeks, even months, before the taint took them, No one would question the story. By last count, twenty-four soldiers and civilians who were at the Keep that week had either died of the taint or had been forced to become Gray Wardens to survive.
A sound behind her made her jump, and she turned and came face to face with her husband, grinning at her and holding out a hand to her. In his other, he held a small whip, odd because she knew he didn't abide whipping dogs, horses, or elves. She arched an eyebrow as he pulled her towards him, thinking again that she should be unnerved that he could slip into her tent without anyone noticing. She whispered into his neck as he kissed hers, "I was beginning to think you weren't coming."
He grabbed her hair and pulled her head back and gave her a hard kiss that took her breath away. "It's done. I fear I have kept you waiting. Perhaps I should be disciplined."
She arched an eyebrow and glanced at the whip, not sure how to take this turn in their relationship. But she was game. "Perhaps."
Two months more passed. The princess was thriving, as was the kingdom, except in places touched most by the Blight that they feared might be wastelands forever. Anora was content, though at times she was troubled by a distant look in her husband's eyes, which he quickly hid. Zevran had left to stay a few steps ahead of the Crows again, and she suspected that darkened both her husband's, and Erlina's, moods. But she herself was pleased. Life was good.
One morning they had just finished breakfast with a delegation from Nevarra, and she was discussing the morning's agenda with her chatelaine. Nigel was going to take some of the younger Nevarrans hawking, and after a kiss on her cheek, led them away to the stables to find suitable horses. She turned her attention to the agenda again but suddenly felt light headed, then like a fire was burning through her. Her last thought was that the sausage might have been off. The next thing she knew, she was lying on her back on the floor, surrounded by her guards and with the senior Nevarran ambassador, who had stayed behind, loosening her bodice as her chatelaine looked on in horror. Erlina brushed the ambassador aside just as Nigel, alerted by a guard, ran back into the room. He scooped her up and carried her to her chamber while Erlina sent one of the servants for a healer.
She promptly lost her breakfast all over the front of Nigel's hunting doublet, which added to her belief that something in the meal had been off. As Erlina gingerly removed her gown and Nigel handed his doublet off to one of the servants to be cleaned, she asked weakly, "Is anyone else sick?"
Nigel shook his head, frowning with concern. "Why, no. Not that I've heard. I ate lightly, anticipating the ride. But I shall find out." He called another servant and a guard and sent them to the kitchen to set all the leftover food aside along with the Queen's dishes and goblets. He lay his slender, calloused hand on her forehead. "No fever, but it's said a pox is rampant in the alienage. I think we should have Leanora and her nurse removed to another wing just in case." He called to another servant and sent the message.
Anora grumbled to Erlina, "I'm sure I'm fine, and I have far too much to do to lie abed."
Nigel was adamant. "I can't take any chances. I will attend to your duties until you feel better. I managed to rule Amaranthine despite having to deal with intelligent darkspawn and unintelligent Howe lackeys." Nigel paused on the way out the door, and for a moment, she thought she saw a look of regret as he looked at her before he turned away. Or was it her imagination?
He certainly had grown more competent since his return from Amarantine. He spoke his mind, and wasn't shy about asking questions or voicing his opinion when he disagreed with her. But he always capitulated, though sometimes the way things worked out, he got his way anyway. Bann Desmond had been one of her father's loyal supporters (and Howe's, though she forgave him for that). She had wanted to recognize his service with a diamond-studded brooch. Nigel had been vehemently against it arguing that there were others just as worthy who weren't traitors, but as she would not be moved, he suddenly threw up his hands and muttered before he stalked off (as he usually did), "Do what you think best, my Queen."
And she had, but the Bann's estate in Denerim had been burgled within two weeks, and the brooch was among the items taken and later donated to the Chantry. It had been blamed on the Dark Wolf, but there was no proof, only speculation that it had to be the work of Denerim's latest bogeyman. That put her in mind too of a canary diamond that vanished from her things that night that Nigel had first proposed. After their wedding, she had noticed the Antivan wearing an earring with a similar diamond, though it was smaller, and the cut was different. She scowled at herself as she accepted a cup of herbal tea that Nigel had sent for her from the kitchen. This was ridiculous, this suspicion of her husband. Her stomach was making her peevish.
But the tea didn't stay down long either. It didn't help that it was bitter, despite a generous addition of honey. She had sent a servant after the one sent to summon a Revered Mother, telling her not to bother because she was sure there was nothing that required her service. Nigel came to check on her early in the afternoon with more of that awful tea that he told her was a special recipe of his old Nan's. He had concluded the morning's business, as well as the afternoon's in record time, though he had laughed and told her he would still rather fight a cavern full of hurlocks armed only with a soup spoon than deal with court again. But he would, if she still wasn't feeling better on the morrow. With a last kiss on the cheek, he left to entertain the Nevarrans at The Pearl.
She drifted off to sleep for a good hour, and when she awoke, she was alone except for Erlina, also asleep in a chair near her bed. She was about to take a drink of the tea, but thought better of it and poured herself water instead. But she immediately chided herself. It was sweet of him to bring it, even if it tasted vile. He was always doing little things for her. It was in much the same way his mother had been so kind to her after she lost her own, though she was years away of being anyone of consequence other than the daughter of the other teyrn. He was like his mother in many ways. They had been good people, the Couslands. Probably because they mainly stayed in Highever and away from the politics of Denerim. She stood, still feeling a bit light-headed, and picked up the cup and walked to the window to take the warm afternoon breeze.
But she was very much like her father, who had suspected ulterior motives in everything, even in Eleanor Cousland's taking notice of and corresponding with, a grieving teenage girl. That was before Fergus' marriage, when she was probably on the short list of potential brides for him. (Even back then she had decided that she was at the top of the list to marry Prince Cailan. It had only been a matter of waiting for him to see it.) She scowled looking at the cup and impulsively poured the tea out the window, then drank as much water as she could hold.
She couldn't deny that this illness had come on suddenly. Was it poison? Who would do such a thing? Who had a motive? She treated the servants well, even the elves. Was she a threat to Nevarra then? That was too ludicrous to waste another thought on. She glanced out the window, where the tea had stained the wall. That only left...Was she seriously considering that he would...poison her then? Yes, she was, considering it at least.
She knew for a fact that he was skilled in its use, something he had picked up from the Antivan. Zevran had said something she barely overheard about leaving him a parting gift of flowers and deadly poison. Nigel had warned her and the servants not to touch his weapons or his pack when they were first married. But to what end? He had told her he himself was immune to his favorites from ingesting low daily doses, which was unnerving enough. He had shrugged off her concern by telling her in strictest confidence that he was already slowly dying of the darkspawn taint anyway. But he had given her everything she needed. Truth be told, he was the one who was no longer needed now that she had an heir. His child. What a wicked thing she was thinking! But she couldn't dilute the poison idea no matter how much water she drank, which she promptly made herself throw up.
Erlina awakened and came to help her. "Still feeling sick, your Majesty? I insist, I am sending for a healer."
She smiled wanly at her, the one person she knew she could trust. "I am feeling better now, but perhaps you should send for a healer and the Revered Mother. Do it yourself...But do not trouble the Prince about it. If he should inquire about my condition, tell him I am sleeping. And do look in on the baby for me."
Erlina curtsied. "I cannot. The Prince, he said he thought it best if she was kept isolated, in case you had caught the pox or some other filthy disease from one of the servants, no?"
Anora groused, "Yes, but no one else is sick, correct?" At least he was thinking of their daughter's safety. And she need not worry about him bringing home some filthy disease from The Pearl, since she knew he was only there to see that the delegation was entertained and wouldn't be hiring one of the workers himself.
Erlina paused on her way out the door. "No, your Majesty. Your chamberlain says that other than a few elven servants who didn't report to work, no one else is sick."
Anora sat back down on the edge of her bed and pulled a shawl around her shoulders, suddenly chilled to the bone. She was also ravenously hungry, and was tempted to send a servant to the kitchen, but she was afraid she wouldn't be able to keep the food down. Perhaps some bread and broth would be best. Erlina could send for something when she returned, or better yet, go and get it herself so that no one else touched it.
"This suspicion is like a poison!" She picked up a chemise she was embroidering for the baby in the evenings. It had been cut big, because she was practical enough to know the girl would probably pass her first year before it was finished. She had everything she wanted now. Life was good, for her as well as for him, other than his elf being away. Motive...And then an evil thought occurred to her, and she dropped the chemise in horror at it. She had expected him to return to his old ways now that they had an heir. But the truth was, now that he had an heir, she was the one who was no longer needed.
"He wouldn't do that!" she murmured as she picked up the chemise and set it aside. Wouldn't he? Maker's breath, he would gain everything by her death. The Landsmeet would waste no time in making the grieving heroic young prince the King of Ferelden. What was their option? Another war for the succession? Any who opposed him might find themselves victims of the Dark Wolf, or worse. He had told her about his travels to Orzammar, where political assassination was a way of life, as it was in Antiva. But they had been so happy these past months. She had grown to care for him, even love him. She thought he loved her too.
The door to her outer chamber opened, and Erlina entered, along with the Revered Mother Ardis and a young mage, who also wore the symbol of the Chantry. Erlina gasped in alarm. "You so are pale, your Majesty. I am glad now I ran the whole way there."
This Revered Mother was a plain, plump, elderly woman, with a reputation for being hard-working and not tolerating what she called "nonsense" from anyone. She didn't waste time on pleasantries. "If you will lie down, your Majesty, we can have a look at you and get back to the Chantry in time for evening prayers."
Erlina shut the door and waited, biting her lip nervously. After a moment she said, "The Prince saw me and caught up with me to see what I was doing, even though I ran. I...told him you were asleep, but he said he will be here after he makes an excuse to the Nevarrans."
The Revered Mother scowled witheringly at Erlina's interruption then turned back to her patient, pulling her lower eyelids down and peering into her eyes as the mage examined Anora's fingers. "Good of him to be concerned, but all he'll do is get underfoot. At least you know how to make yourself useful as long as you're quiet." She probed the sides of Anora's neck. "Now open your mouth and stick out your tongue."
Nigel took the stairs to the royal apartments two at a time followed by Buddy. He was concerned about his wife and hoped that nothing was wrong. It had taken too long to break away from the Nevarrans. On the other hand, if nothing was wrong, he would have to put his assignation with the stunningly handsome Guillermo, the youngest of the delegation, off until later, if not indefinitely. He had fair skin, shining black eyes, and a wild mop of curly black hair, and though no words had passed other than a vague hint at meeting later, his eyes had said it all. He could taste him already.
He had been annoyed when he first spotted Erlina tearing through the city and chased her down and she told him of her errand. Especially since she was obviously lying to him about Anora sending for a healer if she was asleep. But at the same time he felt ashamed of himself for thinking of himself first. After all, Anora was not given to hysterical illnesses. He had seen her work through a bout of the dreaded influenza that had felled him and most of her courtiers with only breaks for an afternoon nap. If she thought she needed a healer, it was serious.
He burst through the door and nearly ran into Revered Mother Ardis, second in command to the Grand Cleric, the oldest and most severe Mother in the Denerim Chantry. She knit her thick iron gray brows and poked a thick finger in his chest. "You have some explaining to do!"
He gently pushed her finger aside as Buddy got into a defensive crouch and snarled. "I? What is the matter?" He didn't bother using her title as she had ignored his. He glanced away over at Anora, who was lying in bed crying, Erlina sitting beside her with an arm around her, though on closer look, she didn't appear upset. He stepped deftly around the enormous crone, leaving Buddy still snarling and scooting so as to keep himself between the large female and his master.
He put his arms around Anora, whose cheeks were wet with tears, and also flushed crimson. "What did I do, love?" He suppressed a sigh that the handsome Guillermo would have to wait until another night as his wife clearly needed him more.
Anora couldn't speak, but she finally managed to get out, "The Maker has a sense of humor." She blushed again, thinking she deserved to be humiliated, even if only to herself.
The Revered Mother snarled at Buddy too, finally sidestepping the dog with impressive dexterity. "Most gentlemen would do the right thing by their wives and wait a decent interval before making demands of them! You should have been more considerate before getting her with another, Ser. I swear, males have no self control!" She spit the last with a look of thorough disgust with him as Buddy continued to snarl, though even he was cowed by her.
Anora recovered enough to draw herself up regally and wipe away her tears. "Your Grace, remember this is your Prince you're rebuking."
Nigel turned a confused look from the angry crone to the young mage to Erlina. And then the reason for the crone's anger and Anora's happy distress hit him. Erlina nodded, guessing that he figured it out. He did some fast mental math. Not even a year. All he could do was mumble lamely, "But I...we...but we're in love." He muttered under his breath to Anora, "The Maker does have a sense of humor."
She whispered back, "He certainly does test us in interesting ways."