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The child was a girl.

A gorgeous little girl, with her father's dark hair, and skin the color of walnut shells, and piercing green eyes. From the first, she was a docile and happy baby, quick to laugh and smile.

Gauvain was ridiculously in love with her, that much was obvious, and Rhianna had to struggle against her desire to keep her beautiful daughter all to herself. She feared that if she passed little Eleanor into someone else's arms for even a minute, the girl would be whisked away and Rhianna would never see her again.

This was foolish, though. Gauvain had made it clear that such a thing would not happen; he would kill to protect the baby, just as he would either of his sons.

Since Claire and the boys arrived, Gauvain had continued to be gentle with Rhianna, and respectful, even though Rhianna avoided him as much as possible. That had been easy enough to accomplish; the Denerim palace was huge, and Rhianna had her own suite of rooms, while Gauvain spent most of his time with his family in another wing of the palace. Since Eleanor was conceived, Rhianna had not even had to endure Gauvain's weekly visits; sometimes days went by when she didn't see him at all, or hear his voice.

Rhianna spent a great deal of time on her own. At first entirely alone, and now that the baby had come, with her daughter. They stayed in her rooms, or occasionally walked out in the gardens, but never strayed far from the palace. She couldn't bear to visit the duck pond, where she'd sat on the day she realized she was in love with Loghain, and where they'd kissed not long before they were wed. So many happy times spent there - and a few unhappy ones - but all those memories were best kept locked away, where they didn't hurt quite so much.

"Pardonnez-moi, Madame Pres'deaux."

Rhianna turned to the servant who stood in the doorway to her bedchamber. "Oui?"

"Your husband has asked that you come downstairs at once," she said in Orlesian. "There is a visitor here you must greet. I've been asked to help you dress in something appropriate."

A visitor? She wasn't aware that anyone was expected. Then again, it was possible Gauvain had told her - or tried to tell her - and she'd ignored him, as she did with most everything he said.

When she was dressed in the finery appropriate to her station, she glanced at herself in the mirror. Her cheeks were pasty and gaunt, even after the maid powdered them with rouge. The gown was gorgeous, but looked somewhat awkward. Rhianna had lost so much weight over the past year that the fabric hung lifelessly from her shoulders.

She shrugged and turned away from the looking glass; it's not as though her appearance mattered to anyone.

Rhianna went downstairs, Eleanor held firmly in her arms.

When she walked into the audience room, her heart nearly stopped.

Empress Celene sat in the throne atop the low platform.

At her side was a child. A small boy with dark hair that brushed his shoulders, and blue eyes exactly like his father's.

"Ah, Rhianna." Celene had her arm around the boy's shoulders, and she pulled him almost imperceptibly closer. "What a pleasure it is to see you. You are looking very well."

"Thank you, Your Radiance." She stared at Gareth, completely mesmerized to see him. He was so big - no longer a baby, but standing on his own feet, and dressed like a proper little man, in breeches and a doublet, and shining black boots.

Belatedly, she realized she should say something more. "Welcome to Denerim. To what do we owe the pleasure of your visit?"

"What a silly question! I am here to meet your lovely daughter, of course."

A trickle of ice cold fear slid down Rhianna's spine.

"Oh. Yes," she managed. "Of course."

Celene reached out her arms, and gestured that Rhianna should come closer. "Come. Let me hold her."

Rhianna didn't move. She couldn't bring herself to take even a single step closer, and her breath began to come faster.

No.

No. She couldn't possibly put her daughter into that woman's arms. She would not have another child taken from her. Not again.

Gauvain appeared at her side, and put a comforting arm around her shoulders. "It is all right, cher," he murmured in Fereldan, and then guided her - gently, but firmly - forward. "She will not take our daughter. I promise."

Trembling, Rhianna nodded, and then stepped forward and put Eleanor into Celene's arms.

The empress smiled broadly, and cooed at the child and rubbed noses with her. Eleanor giggled and reached her hand toward one of Celene's blond curls, and Celene laughed merrily.

"She is perfect! And absolutely gorgeous. Such a treasure!"

While Celene held Eleanor, Rhianna turned her attention to Gareth. She knelt, and reached out her arms.

"Gareth?"

But he didn't come to her. He merely stared, wide-eyed.

She felt as though she had been punched in the gut. "You don't remember me, do you?" Her vision blurred, and she struggled to calm her breath. "That's all right. I remember you." Again, she held out her hands. "Would you like to come and say hello?"

The boy trembled visibly, and pressed his face against Celene's skirt.

Blessed Andraste. He was frightened of her. Her own son was frightened of her. She didn't even try to stop the tear that rolled down her cheek.

"Who is this lady, maman?" he asked in Orlesian.

"This is the queen of Ferelden," Celene murmured. "It is alright. She is a very nice lady, and would never hurt you, mon petit chou. You have nothing to be afraid of, I promise."

"Does he . . . doesn't he speak Fereldan?"

"No," Celene replied. "Not yet. When he is a bit older, he will have a tutor of course."

Rhianna forced back a sob. Her son - Loghain's son - and the boy spoke only Orlesian? Rhianna's lower lip trembled, and she forced herself to her feet.

"Please." She reached for Eleanor. "May I have my daughter? Please." She hated how small her voice sounded, how scared, but she was only just able to keep herself under control.

One corner of Celene's mouth turned up in a cruel smile. "Of course, petite souris."

Rhianna forced herself to take the infant slowly, and not snatch her back from the empress.

Again, Gauvain appeared at her side. "Come, cher. I think Eleanor has had enough excitement for today. Perhaps you should take her back to our quarters where she can rest."

No.

She stood still, and resisted his tug on her shoulder. How could she walk away from Gareth? Her beloved son?

She turned to him again. "Gareth?" Her voice was barely more than a whisper.

Again, he leaned close to Celene and clutched at her hand with his own.

Something inside of Rhianna shattered into a thousand tiny pieces.

He wasn't Rhianna's son anymore, was he? He'd called Celene 'mother.' And there was nothing now but fear in his eyes when he looked upon the woman who had given birth to him.

Celene would never give him back. It didn't matter what Rhianna did, how obedient she was. How many heirs she gave Gauvain, how nicely she behaved or how sweetly she spoke. Her own son didn't know who she was. He didn't even speak Fereldan. He was lost to her now, as thoroughly as Loghain was, and her parents.

He had called Celene 'maman.'

Rhianna turned to Gauvain. "Yes, I think that would be best." What point was there in staying, and tormenting herself further?

"It was a pleasure to see you again, Your Radiance." She put a hand on Gauvain's arm to steady herself. Then she turned her eyes on the child at Celene's side. "And it was a pleasure to see you again, as well. Gareth."

Upstairs, she sent the servants away and put the baby in her cot. She had expected there to be tears, but found they'd all been spent, long ago. There was nothing but emptiness now.

Rhianna sat at her desk, and pulled out a parchment and quill.

My Darling Eleanor,

I want you to know how much I love you, my sweet, beautiful girl. I know you won't believe it once I'm gone, but it's true. I'm sorry I can't stay, but there are just too many things in this world that hurt me. You'll be better off without me, I promise. Better off with your father, who is a kind and good man, and with Claire, who will care for you as if you were her own, and with brothers who love you. I am too broken, and have nothing to give you, nothing but sorrow, so I've decided it's time for me to go.

Even so, please believe that I love you. I love you so much, as much as I have ever loved anyone. Never doubt it. I wish you only happiness and good things.

All of my love, forever,

~ Your Mother

She folded the parchment, and tucked it into the cot beside the sleeping infant. Leaning close, Rhianna kissed her daughter's forehead.

"I love you." A single tear splashed on the girl's cheek, but she didn't stir from her slumber. "I love you so much. And I'm so sorry. But it will be easier this way for you. If you don't remember me at all, there won't be any memories to cause you pain. If I stay . . . I don't think I'll ever find a way to be happy, and that isn't fair to you."

Rhianna avoided the servants, and left the palace. In a matter of minutes, she'd climbed to the top of Fort Drakon.

The sun had begun to dip low in the sky, a wash of yellow that stained the western horizon. Golden sunlight sparkled brightly on the water as boats crisscrossed the harbor, and gulls and kittiwakes circled and cried overhead.

Something welled up inside of her, something that pressed against her ribcage as though it was desperate to break free. Again, she expected tears to come, but they didn't. The thing inside of her now wasn't sorrow.

It was hope.

Hope that she would see Loghain again.

Would he be there at the Maker's side? Would he pull her into his arms, and kiss her? Would they really be together again, forever, like the Chantry sisters promised?

Rhianna climbed onto the crenellated wall, and stepped up to the edge.

Please, Andraste. Forgive me. And please let him be waiting.

She closed her eyes, and took one last step.

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