Chapter 1: Loose Ends
It was a morbid business, going through the belongings of the old king to make room for the new; no wonder Alistair hadn't the stomach for it. Like so many things, the task fell to his wife only because she didn't trust it to anyone else. It was perhaps telling that, in over two years, Anora could not bring herself to do it. For the first time, Elissa felt a little sorry for her.
The letters troubled her most; the private correspondence of the king seemed something sacrosanct. Some were dull formalities of course, thank yous and well-wishings. Others were intimate—far too intimate to be entrusted to a steward or a servant. Too intimate even for the eyes of the new queen. Cailan's indiscretions…she'd heard of them before, the idle chatter of the noble class. It wasn't without precedent, as Alistair's very existence amply demonstrated. No doubt a half-dozen families of the minor gentry were at that very moment surveying their daughters with an eye toward her husband's bed. It should have bothered her more, and might have, if she thought they'd have any chance of success.
One letter in particular caught her eye. She recognized the hand, the same as a letter she'd found at Ostagar…one she'd have just as soon forgotten. This one, sadly, seemed to be in the same vein.
Your Majesty, in the months since we last parted, I've come to regret the bluntness with which I stated my position on the matter of your heir, or rather, lack of one. Disrespecting the queen was not my intent; you know how I respect both her and her father's contributions to the nation. But the stability of Ferelden demands a crown prince, and on that account, Anora has failed in her responsibilities to you and to Ferelden. I can only entreat you to pursue another strategy. And yes, as your uncle, I would dare go so far as to offer a suggestion. You may remember, Bryce Cousland has a daughter, perhaps a bit young, but pretty enough as I understand it, who would be eminently suitable for—
She slammed the paper down on the desk, unable to read further, her hands shaking. Thankfully, a rap at the door of her study shook her from her rage.
"Zevran!" she cried, grateful for the distraction, "it's an uncommonly good pleasure to see you right now."
The Queen's new spymaster repaid her sardonic smile and queer greeting with a short, insolent bow. How fine she looked, he thought, radiating authority from behind that massive mahogany desk. At court she took such great pains to make herself smaller next to Alistair, to melt into his side and preserve the illusion that he was in charge. Zevran liked her better like this, all easy authority and benevolent power. Benevolent to a point, he reminded himself.
"Your Majesty, I have a present for you." He snapped his fingers, and two armed elves (the Queen didn't bother asking where he got his manpower) escorted a young woman into her chambers at knifepoint. A very pregnant young woman.
"Ser Cauthrien," Zevran said, with mock formality, "I believe you've had the pleasure before."
All the frivolity had drained from Elissa's face now and she stared hard at the former knight, processing what she saw before her, comprehending what Zevran was asking her to see. Cauthrien for her part stared right back, eyes full of barely contained rage and a jaw set hard enough to snap.
"Leave us, please," she said, waiving her hand in a gesture of royal dismissal. Zevran gave her an arched eyebrow, but she nodded her assurance that she would be fine, and he closed the door behind him.
Elissa placed her fingers on her temples, still trying to wrap her head around the situation dropped unceremoniously in her lap.
"Should I even ask?" she finally broke the silence. Cauthrien said nothing. She had nothing to explain to this woman.
Elissa changed her tack. "Does Anora know?"
This was a practical question, reasonable, and almost empathetic, and it threw Cauthrien momentarily, long enough to allow, "I believe she…suspected."
Elissa nodded slowly, and stood up, quickly crossing the room toward Cauthrien, who instinctively tensed and assumed a defensive stance. Elissa rolled her eyes as she passed Cauthrien on her way to the door beyond.
"Cauthrien, if I wanted to kill you, I would have done it already," she scoffed. She opened the door and called for a page.
"I need to speak with the Teyrn of Highever."
Teyrn Fergus Cousland looked from his sister to the angry, pregnant woman, and back again.
"Tonight?" he asked, and Elissa looked relieved. She needn't have worried. He'd never been able to say no to her, and he wasn't about to start now that she was the queen.
"I need her out of Denerim," Elissa said, "somewhere I can keep a trusted eye on her."
"You know what they'll say, don't you, if I bring a woman with child back from Denerim with me?"
She couldn't lie to her brother. "I'm sort of hoping they will."
Cauthrien wanted to scream. She wanted to grab the sword from the Teyrn of Highever's scabbard and plunge into his royal sister's heart. This woman had killed Teyrn Loghain, her general, her love; she had killed him in cold blood, in front of his daughter, in front of his countrymen. Cauthrien had begged the warden to show mercy, and instead she had taken vengeance and then the throne.
"There will be no goodbyes, Cauthrien," Elissa said, "no packing. You'll want for nothing...both of you."
For the first time in recent memory, Cauthrien felt helpless. And that was almost worse than death.