Elendra
I did everything I could to prepare myself to be a mother, yet the reality of it surprises me anew with each cry, shriek or giggle my son makes, with each inexplicable twitch of his ten miraculous fingers or each wriggle of his ten wonderful toes. I have become quite a worshipper of this plump little god, carrying him around swaddled in a yellow blanket and attending to his every infantile whim with the speed of one who lives in dread of a deity's mighty wrath or at the very least, his powerful lungs, which wake me in the middle of the night with some frequency.
A few of the noblewomen have criticized me for interrupting court occasions to go forth and breastfeed the babe, a concern that the impertinent creatures felt was better left to a wet nurse - as if I would condescend to let those meddling gooses tell me how to care for my child. I am quite proud of my solution to this, which was absurdly simple and for that reason, marvellously effective. When they inquired if I had procured the services of a wet nurse, I feigned utter ignorance and said, "Oh, isn't that an Orlesian fashion? Oh, but I should not like to be a slave to such unnatural and immodest affectations as those practiced in Vaux Royaux". What a delight it was to see these same ladies scramble to prove themselves true Fereldans, lauding me for the very acts that they had once claimed to be the doings of only peasants and elves. I must give credit where it is due and confess that it was none other than Loghain MacTir who inspired me in this ingenious stratagem. If the sour old trout were still among the living, I should have to convey my thanks, although I suspect he'd only glower at me and remark on the fact that I am a wicked hypocrite who sings Orlesian lullabies to put my child to sleep.
In our correspondence, I inquired if Alistair wished to suggest a particular name for his child-to-be. He replied that he would defer to my judgement in the matter, but that it would please him if the baby was not named after any great or famous predecessor and thus did not have to bear the burden of another man's legacy from his birth. I do not understand his qualms in this matter, for the child will have to claim the Theirin legacy that Alistair so fears, regardless of whether we call our baby 'Duncan' or 'Maric' or 'Rumplestiltskin'. Nevertheless, I have taken him at his word and chosen a name free from the weight of dynasty or national history. The child shall be known as Ciaran, a well-loved name amongst the people of Highever, the place that I shall always account my spiritual home.
Indeed, Ciaran underwent his official naming ceremony today in the Chantry of Denerim amidst much pomp and circumstance for one so small, little more than a few weeks old. Ciaran acquitted himself admirably, although I fear he did not enjoy having water splashed on his forehead and already appears to share his father's dislike of ostentatious public occasions. I enjoyed the sight of him in his white satin christening gown, for his tufts of blond hair have a peculiar way of sticking up in all directions and he looked quite befuddled by all the strange big people kissing his forehead, pinching his plump cheeks, joggling him upon their knees and doting upon his every yawn, sneeze or smile. His head is impossibly large for his body, too, and when I have him sitting upright, he often gives me the impression that he shall shortly topple over under the sheer weight of his enormous noggin.
True to form, Leliana is over the moon with him and has spent most of this afternoon in raptures over the presents he has received from various dignitaries.
"Oh, but this is so sweet! He must try it on!" she says, grabbing up a golden helmet sent from King Bhelen in honour of my son's birth.
"It's much too heavy for him," I reply, laughing. "And his head is already fat enough as it is! I fear his poor neck will not endure the strain."
"Oh, you're just mean," Leliana replies. "His head is the perfect size."
She puts down the helmet and takes up a much more sensible gift sent from Zevran. "What's in this bottle?"
"Very expensive, very potent liquor."
Leliana raises an eyebrow. "I know Zev had an unusual upbringing, but really – for an infant?"
"I think he intends it for the infant's foolish mother."
She shakes her head as if entirely at a loss, although I know that she and Zevran understand one another quite well. "That wicked rascal - he has no love for children at all, does he?"
I smile at my Antivan ally's impressive foresight. "Oh, I think he enjoys little people well enough from a safe distance. He just knows that their parents could sometimes use a stiff drink. Oghren brought booze too. I'm lucky to have such considerate friends."
"You know, I'm starting think that I want a baby."
I give her a look of genuine surprise, which should flatter her, for it's becoming increasingly difficult to shock me. "So you can receive such lovely gifts of alcohol?"
"No! For the sake of having a baby, you madwoman!"
"Really? Well, you're so charming and lovely, I'm sure any man in this room would oblige you in the essentials."
"Oh, I don't want a man and certainly not a husband. How tiresome that would be. I just want an adorable little baby to dress in clothes and play with all day long."
"Leli, dear, I do hope you realize they're not nugs."
She giggles. "Yes, I know that they're people and that they're a terrible responsibility. Anyway, can you imagine what Brother Genitivi would think if I went back to Haven pregnant with some noble's baby?"
"You could tell the good brother that it came from the Maker," I whisper. "Why, the Maker heard you singing and was so touched by your song..."
Leliana gasps and smacks my arm in feigned indignation. "Oh, you! You are wicked! They would declare a Divine March against you for that!"
Really, I believe that she enjoys my petty blasphemies, which must prove a refreshing change from the company she usually keeps. I imagine that Brother Genitivi and his relic-crazed horde of pilgrims get dreadfully dull sometimes, with all that high-mindedness and holiness and unremitting piety.
"Now, now, you must admit that, by Chantry standards, it's a perfectly logical explanation," I inform her. "I'm surprised that no wanton Sister has ever tried to make use of it before."
"You are very bad, but we have fun, don't we? It's much like old times," Lelianna says. "But I do wish Alistair were here. It seems silly that he should miss this."
I wish the same. Much as I have yearned to be reunited with my husband these last few months, I missed his presence most after Ciaran's birth. Alistair has denied himself so much in his decision to remain absent and, while there will always be room for him in his son's life, he will never regain the benefit of these first days - the sweet, milky smell of a swaddled baby, the soft down of his hair or the sudden laughter that springs from his funny, toothless mouth. I wish that he was here to enjoy these pleasures with me, for children grow quickly and the delights of infancy are fleeting. I wish, too, that my mother and father could be here, so that my son might know his grandparents. There are so many gaps in Ciaran's life, ones that I fear my own decisions and mistakes have had a part in, and although he is much too young to realize, it pains me that he should lack for anything.
"Yes, it is unfortunate," I say, hoping that my face does not display the true nature of my thoughts. "Yet he shall see Ciaran when he returns. I trust he will get to have his fair share of smiles and baby spit-up and sleepless nights."
"You're very brave about it all," she replies. "I am just furious with him for being away! If I cross his path, I plan to give him a terrible scolding."
"Oh, do let the poor fellow be, Leliana! He may be able to face ogres, but you are much too fierce an opponent. Besides, he is only doing what he feels is right."
Leliana toys with another of Ciaran's christening gifts, a small viridian shield, and pretends to pout. "Duty and honour and doing the mighty work of the Grey Wardens – yes, yes, I know. Men are much too fond of such silliness."
"What are you saying about men now? Every time I turn around, I catch you ladies sullying our good names! I must rescue this poor boy from these cruel women." Fergus says, swooping in to snatch Ciaran from my arms.
He has experience with children and he does not handle him with the same reverent, anxious delicacy I often employ. He plucks the baby up as if he's hefting a sack of potatoes – seeing it leaves me a nervous wreck and yet I cannot fault him, for I know he was a very good father and would never do anything to put Ciaran in jeopardy.
I was worried that the sight of his nephew might cause Fergus sorrow at the terrible losses of Oren and Oriana, but he has seemed in high spirits during this visit and his presence has been a wonderful comfort to me. It occurs to me that he must be lonely in Highever and is grateful to have the distraction of company. I hope that, in coming months, my dear brother will recover enough to consider taking a wife to the Cousland name, for the companionship and the stability would be good for him and for our house. At the very least, I shall suggest that he invite more knights and squires onto the estate, so he might have a larger group of fellows to carouse with and engage in the hunting parties he once so enjoyed. It is better, I think, that he be kept busy, for when left to one's own devices, it is easy to despair and drift into a brooding melancholy.
"We're talking of the king and how I plan to box his ears for not attending his own son's christening," Leliana says.
"Well, he has his task to perform and it wouldn't do for a man to look over-fond," Fergus replies, poking at Ciaran's nose. "You can trust that the news has brought him much joy and he is all too eager to hie himself home."
I hope that is true, but it is hard for me not to have reservations, to wonder precisely how much joy the news will bring Alistair and just how much doubt or grief it may give him to question whether the boy is his.
I have not acquainted Fergus with my troubles and would never confess the lengths I have gone to in order to bear my husband's heir and ensure the line of succession. It's not that I don't trust my brother, although he has a rather conventional turn of mind and my choices would likely appal him. The more pressing issue, however, is that I would not wish him to be implicated what I have done; to have knowledge of it and not speak out against me would be enough to make him a traitor. If I am to be shamed and condemned, I will not have Fergus and all that remains of House Cousland fall with me.
"I am sorely disappointed with that Alistair," Leliana gripes. "You should have seen the way he used to court your little sister, Fergus. He was the most chivalrous of knights, so attentive and bashful and awkward! It was very sweet, like something out of the ballads."
Fergus chuckles. "You're a bard and you've listened to too many old tales. Nobody goes on like that forever."
"I shall have to remind myself never to fall in love in with you, Fergus," Leliana teases. "Handsome, you may be, Teyrn Cousland, but you are far too cynical!"
"Oh, but the baby in his arms makes for a lovely accessory, you must confess," I chime in. "Why, Leliana, I think you're half in love with him already."
Fergus scowls at my jibe, though I know for a fact that he finds the bard attractive. He displays a marked fondness for foreign accents. "Pah, can you imagine how ridiculous it'd be to see a king flouncing about reciting all sorts of mushy sonnets and tossing flowers at his lady love night and day? Why, Len, you wouldn't be able to stand anything so sickly sweet. Any fellow stupid enough to do it, you'd punch him in the nose!"
"Not so," I mutter. "Not true at all. You know absolutely nothing on the subject. I've never made you privy to any of my affairs of the heart."
"Is that so? Well, I remember how cruelly you mocked poor Ser Gilmore when his head got addled and he went batty enough to go fond on you," Fergus replies. "Such a shrewish thing, you were. I was right glad of it, too, or I should have been forced to fight the fellow and I liked him too much for that."
I shoot Leliana an enigmatic smile and say nothing at all to contradict my big brother's delusions. What Fergus missed, of course, after the initial incident when Gilmore and I had a falling-out, were the ensuing few months in which we were engaged in quite a tempestuous adolescent affair - one that ended in many sighs and tears, I might add, for Aldous caught me writing a love note during one of his history lectures and tattled on me to Mother. I suppose I should be glad that Father and my vexatious elder brother never found out or I expect I should have been put to much more shame in the matter.
"I hope you won't have me exact any sort of brotherly vengeance upon your husband, Len. I shouldn't like to fight a king and a Grey Warden, even if he has annoyed my little sister."
"But what a wondrous comfort it would be to watch the two of you beating one another senseless," I reply. "It would do my heart such marvellous good and heap so much honour upon the Cousland name."
"If you give up that withering sarcasm, I may just invite you back to Highever," Fergus says. "Believe it or not, you're missed there. I haven't the least idea why."
I smile at him. "I should like that very much. It's a slow season here, with summer coming on. Perhaps I will accompany you back to the estate when you depart Denerim and we shall show Ciaran where his mother's family hails from."
"Will you be joining us, as well, Leliana?" Fergus inquires.
My, but he is suave about it, too, this Teyrn Cousland – he gives a lady the invitation to look over his estate just as casual as you please. Now if only I could convince that flighty, dear Orlesian girl to stop obsessing over that blasted Andraste and her vase full of holy dust. Her prospects here in civilized society just became a sight more intriguing.
"It is an enticing offer, but I must decline for now," Leliana says, much as I anticipated. "There's so much to do back in Haven. The scholars said they would delay the next expedition for me and I don't want to make them wait any longer."
"But surely the fellows know you're worth waiting for," I say, grinning at my friend.
"Of course, I am, but the Maker waits for no man...and very few women," Leliana replies with a wink. "Only Andraste, I think, and I'm certainly not in her league."
"Oh well, I shall have my sarcastic sister for company, anyway," Fergus says, grinning as he rocks Ciaran back and forth. "And this little one, too. Good enough, for the time being, I suppose."
The idea of another trip to Highever pleases me more than I can say. It will be lovely to have a little rest from the frantic pace of life in Denerim and the constant scrum of Court. Besides, I will still be within hailing distance should any emergencies pop up. I know that Arl Eamon and the chief of treasury, as well as my veritable army of secretaries will do a creditable job dealing with day-to-day business, as long as I leave a heap of instructions and set clear priorities regarding our shared work.
It is not my natural tendency to cede control, not of state affairs, or of anything else, for that matter, but it will good to visit again with my brother and, truth be told, it will ease my heart, too, to be amongst family for a week or two. Although we fret and quarrel as all siblings do, my brother and I have learned to lean upon one another in trying times. These days, more than ever, I feel that I could benefit from his faithful heart, his steady nature, for I am not as brave as my bluster and there are moments when even my blessings appear as burdens.
