30 August, 9:20 Dragon
Gwaren Estate, Denerim

•o•

Sitting at the large kitchen table, Eleanor Cousland considered the plate of food in front of her, feeling vaguely nauseous. It was chicken, a chicken Loghain had roasted himself, and afterwards put the carcass in a pot over the fire for the beginnings of soup he intended to feed to Rhianna when she was strong enough to eat. It tasted quite good, seasoned with rosemary, basil and thyme, but Eleanor's stomach wanted nothing whatsoever to do with food. If she neglected to eat, however, if she failed to take proper care of herself, she would be of no use to her daughter. And possibly at higher risk of getting sick herself.

Eleanor had never been more exhausted in her entire life, nor had she ever felt more afraid. Seeing Rhianna like this, so desperately ill, was indescribably horrible. This was the first time Eleanor had seen the plague at such close range, or at any range, really, and it was a truly awful disease. Watching it progress, watching its corruption spread across her daughter's flesh, was worse than anything she had ever witnessed, even during the Occupation. And she had seen terrible things during the Occupation.

Then there was the pain. Such a lot of pain. At first, there had been aches in Rhianna's muscles and back, and the inflamed bites on her arm had become tender to the touch. Then more swellings appeared, on her neck and in her armpits. These were horrifying to see, dark red and swollen, some beginning to turn black as though the girl's flesh were rotting. Even a slight amount of pressure against any of them caused Rhianna to cry out in agony; wearing a nightgown had become impossible, because even the touch of the fabric had been more than she could bear. Instead, they had stoked up the fire in the bedroom Rhianna had been given, and covered her with just the lightest of sheets.

That, along with the potions from Jocelyn, seemed to ease the girl's suffering enough that she could spend most of her time asleep. But even that wasn't a perfect refuge; Rhianna often whimpered and moaned while she was sleeping. Hearing her daughter - her sweet, beautiful, beloved daughter - cry out from the pain, even in her sleep, was almost unbearable. Even now, Eleanor imagined she could hear the sound of Rhianna's cries.

She stabbed a piece of chicken onto her fork and forced it past her lips, then washed it down with a swallow of sweet honey mead. When it threatened to come back up again, she breathed slowly, deeply, through her nose, willing her stomach to be calm, to accept the food. Her breath caught in her chest, and she fought back the urge to cry, an urge that had been a familiar visitor these past few days.

If only she could give into the feeling and allow herself the luxury of crying, of really crying. To let out everything bottled up inside, all the fear and anger and guilt and dread. But if she started crying, if she let herself go, she might not be able to stop. She might not be able to put herself back together again.

Perhaps it would have been possible if Bryce were here, to hold her, to whisper in her ear the words she wanted to hear: that Rhianna would recover, that everything was going to be all right. So many times over the past two days, she had considered writing to him, begging him to come. But she hadn't. She couldn't. It wasn't worth the risk of him being infected. So far, none of the adults tending to Rhianna had shown any signs of illness, thank the Maker, but there was no point in taking chances, not with so deadly a disease. And perhaps it was better for Bryce he was not here to see this, to watch his daughter suffer. He was surely going through his own version of hell, worrying about her from afar, but that had to be better than seeing the girl in so much pain.

Thankfully, everything had been quiet for the past couple of hours. The mage's potions and spells did seem to ease Rhianna's suffering, for a time at least.

Eleanor lifted another mouthful of food to her lips, but simply couldn't bring herself to eat it. Her stomach was so tied up in knots, she feared she might throw up if she tried to force down another bite. She set down the fork, and pushed the plate away.

Closing her eyes for a moment, Eleanor took a few deep, calming breaths before getting up from the table. She walked up the stairs, taking them slowly, one at a time, and holding tight to the railing. Maker's breath, she was exhausted, and desperately needed to sleep. Since Rhianna had fallen ill, Eleanor, Loghain, and Jocelyn had taken turns caring for the girl during the day and sitting up with her through the dark hours of the night. With three of them on hand, there had been plenty of opportunities for Eleanor to rest, but she often found herself unable to sleep. She tossed and turned, and imagined Rhianna's voice calling out for her, and when she did manage to sleep, her dreams were dark and horrible.

But there was only so long she could go without proper rest; it seemed she had passed that point this evening. Perhaps Loghain would agree to sit up with Rhianna for just a few more hours, while Eleanor lay down and tried to sleep.

She hated to ask more of him, but she was certain if she did ask, he would agree. Loghain had been wonderful. On the first day of Rhianna's illness, while the mage had prepared potions, Loghain had carried Rhianna up the stairs into one of the guest bedrooms, and given Eleanor the room next door. When Rhianna cried out because the light hurt her eyes, he had hurried to close all the curtains, making sure not even a sliver of daylight peeked through. Then he had put up a screen in front of the hearth, to dim the light from the fire. He'd cooked food for them to eat, and had found clothes for Eleanor to borrow, things belonging to Anora, since the teyrna certainly hadn't come prepared for an extended stay.

Now, from the doorway of the bedroom, Eleanor watched as Loghain sat in a chair pulled close to the bed, holding one of Rhianna's hands in his own as the girl slept.

Maker bless him. The Couslands, and Rhianna in particular, were fortunate to have Loghain Mac Tir as a friend.

The pleasure this sight had given her faded when she took a closer look at her daughter. Rhianna's face was so pale her skin appeared almost transparent, and dark smudges circled her eyes. Her lips were dry and cracked, her hair was stringy, and her forehead shone with sweat from the fever that had yet to break. Even in her sleep, breathing was a chore. She pulled breath in through her opened mouth, and her chest rose and fell erratically with the effort. To keep the pressure off the swellings on her neck and her arms, her head was tilted back at an awkward angle, and her arms were splayed as though she were trying to make a snow angel. Some of those lesions had darkened, the skin becoming nearly black.

She looked so small, so helpless, her lips pinched together in a slight frown, even as she slept.

Yes, this was, without a doubt, the worst, the most frightening, the most difficult thing Eleanor had ever experienced.

"Blessed Andraste," she prayed silently, "please don't take my daughter from me. Please let her recover from this. Please."

As if he heard her prayer, Loghain looked up.

"Eleanor." His mouth stretched into a thin line, and turned up at one corner, an expression that was probably meant to be a smile, but rather failed the mark. She could hardly blame him; smiling was difficult at the moment.

"Did you eat?" he asked.

"I did. A few bites, anyway." Eleanor sat down on the bed near her daughter's feet. "Please don't be offended that I didn't eat much. It is not a reflection on the quality of your cooking; I just don't have much of an appetite at the moment."

At that, he did smile, briefly, a smile that looked genuine. "Fair enough." His eyes narrowed. "Why don't you go get some rest, Eleanor? I'll sit up with Rhianna a while longer."

"Oh, Loghain, are you sure you don't mind? To be honest, I had come in here thinking to ask if you wouldn't mind sitting up with her. But you've done so much already. And you look as exhausted as I feel." It was true. He had dark circles to rival Rhianna's, and sat slumped in the chair as though he didn't have the energy to hold himself upright.

"I look exhausted? So, is that the way things are done in Highever? Insulting one's host? It's a wonder your daughter ever learned any manners at all." One corner of his mouth turned up, and he winked at her, a wink that took rather longer than usual, but a wink, nonetheless.

"Yes, well fortunately," she joked, "Rhianna learned most of her manners from her father. He's far more civilized than I am." She gave him a smile, or attempted to, anyway.

"And good thing, too." He chuckled, deep in his throat. "In all honesty, though? I have long suspected my own daughter spent rather a lot of time studying your manners. Not that there was anything wrong with the way Celia comported herself, but I think Anora felt the need for a role model who had been raised in the nobility, someone she could watch, and mimic to make certain she never made any hideously improper mistakes. She chose well, in my opinion." Before Eleanor could respond to this unexpected and quite touching compliment, he continued, "And don't worry about me, Eleanor, I'm fine for a few more hours, if you'd like to sleep."

She let out a long, slow breath. "Thank you, Loghain. I know it's a lot to ask, but I would like to try and rest, just a bit. I'll be next door, so call if you need anything."

Moving to the side of the bed opposite where Loghain sat, Eleanor placed a kiss on her daughter's forehead. Rhianna moaned in her sleep, and Eleanor thought she was going to wake, but after a few ragged breaths, the girl fell silent again. After exchanging another set of tired smiles with Loghain, Eleanor went next door to the bedroom she was using, and laid down on the bed, not bothering to remove her clothes or climb under the sheets.

•o•

"Mummy?"

Eleanor turned at the sound of her daughter's voice. Rhianna stood in the middle of a meadow filled with flowers. Funny to see so many flowers at this time of year. It was obvious, however, Rhianna was pleased: her smile lit her entire face. She looked so lovely, in a white dress with a ribbon at the neck, her hair hanging down past her shoulders, her feet bare.

"I have something for you, Mummy." Rhianna's use of the word brought a smile to Eleanor's face. Rhianna had stopped calling her "Mummy" a few years ago, and only used the term occasionally now. Usually when she was very sleepy, or not feeling well.

Not feeling well? Oh, that was a worrisome thought.

"You're not feeling ill, darling, are you?" A finger of anxiety traced its way down Eleanor's spine. The sunlight was so bright, almost too bright, reflecting off Rhianna's hair in a way that seemed to sparkle.

"Of course not, Mummy," the girl replied. "I feel fine." Stepping closer, she held out her hand. "Look what I found for you." Clutched between her slightly chubby fingers was a flower: a daffodil, yellow with an orange center. "It's a flower. Isn't it pretty?"

It was, indeed, pretty, but where had she found a daffodil, at this time of the year? It was late autumn, nearly winter. Daffodils were spring flowers, and should have all been dead months ago.

Dead.

Another tendril of fear wormed its way into Eleanor's consciousness.

Rhianna lifted her hand, offering the flower to Eleanor. "Take it. It's for you, Mummy." Rhianna's smile revealed her pearly white teeth. Her cheeks were round, and her green eyes shone in the sunlight. Her skin was kissed with a healthy glow, as though she'd spent the day out of doors.

Eleanor reached for the flower, but before her fingers could grasp it, it began to change. It turned black, first at the orange center, and then the darkness spread outward, engulfing the entire flower. In only a very few seconds, the daffodil was nothing but a blackened, shriveled thing, like the curled remains of leaves that had been burned in a fire.

Rhianna cried out in surprise and horror, and tried to throw the flower to the ground, but it wouldn't leave her hand. The corruption spread onto Rhianna's fingers, and then to her hand, and then began to creep up Rhianna's arm, turning the girl's skin black.

Eleanor screamed, and reached for her daughter, but Rhianna was too far away. The blackness crawled up her neck, and onto her face. Whimpering in fear and pain, Rhianna stumbled, and before Eleanor could reach her, the ground split open beneath the girl, the grass tearing apart with a sound like ripping fabric. Red earth was revealed beneath her. Red, like the gaping maw of some gigantic, ancient creature.

Rhianna fell backwards into the hole, and before Eleanor could grab her, stop her from falling, the ground closed up again, leaving nothing but a rough scar where the edges of the grass knit themselves back together again, leaving no trace that Rhianna had ever existed.

Falling to her knees, Eleanor clawed at the dirt and the grass, hot tears streaming down her face. But she could make no progress; for every clump of grass she torn away, a new one took its place, and the ground remained solid; she could find no trace of the hole into which Rhianna had disappeared.

With a sob rising in her chest, Eleanor knew it was far too late, and Rhianna was gone from her forever. She felt one of her fingernails tear away from its socket, but still she could not stop digging. How could she ever stop trying to find Rhianna, to rescue her, to bring her home where she would be safe and warm and loved? Eleanor's fingers, bloody now, dug into the soft earth again and again and again.

"ELEANOR!" It was a man's voice, but when she peered back over her shoulder, she saw no one.

She returned to her work, her fingers aching.

Again, the voice rang out loudly through the air.

•o•

"ELEANOR!"

She sat up in bed. The room was dark, although a dim light flickered in through the open door. She wiped at her cheek, and her fingers came away damp.

Where was she? Nothing looked familiar; this wasn't her bedroom in Highever, nor the one in the Denerim estate. Where in the world was she?

There had been a meadow. And Rhianna. Rhianna had fallen into a hole in the ground, her face dark with corruption. And there had been a flower . . .

That still didn't explain where she was now . . . and she needed to know, so she could look for her daughter . . .

In a rush, as her mind came fully awake, she remembered.

She was in the Gwaren estate. Teyrn Loghain's home in Denerim. And Rhianna was ill, but there were no flowers, and the girl hadn't been swallowed up by the ground.

A dream. It had been a dream. Eleanor nearly sobbed with relief. Thank the Maker. It had been nothing more than a dream.

"No! Please, no! It hurts . . . Teyrn Loghain, it hurts, it hurts, it hurts, it hurts, it hurts, it hurts. Make it stop, please . . . please make it stop. Please."

Rhianna's voice, ringing through the dark house. This was no dream.

"Eleanor! I need you NOW!"

Blessed Andraste, it was Loghain she had heard, Loghain's voice that had roused her from her sleep.

Something was wrong.

Eleanor slid off the bed, and hurried into the adjacent room. Loghain was on the bed, with Rhianna cradled in his arms as she whimpered and clutched at him, her entire body shaking with the effort. Loghain's hands were covered in something dark, something that glistened in the flickering light, and there were dark stains on his shirt. Rhianna, too, was covered in it, in swathes down her chest.

Blood. Rhianna's blood.

"Oh, Maker," Eleanor moaned.

Loghain's head snapped in her direction. "Eleanor, go downstairs and get Jocelyn. Please."

"But . . .?" Eleanor's voice could barely be heard over the sounds of Rhianna's sobbing. "Oh, Maker, what happened?"

"The swellings have begun to burst. Please, Eleanor," he pleaded. "Get Jocelyn. Rhianna is in a great deal of pain."

As if to prove the point, the girl whimpered again, a pitiful sound. "Please . . . please, Teyrn Loghain, make it stop."

Eleanor turned and hurtled down the stairs.

Mere minutes later, Eleanor hovered at the foot of the bed while the healer examined Rhianna, who was still sobbing, her chest heaving as she panted for breath. Some of the lesions on Rhianna's neck had, indeed, burst open. The black skin at the edges was cracked and furled, and blood and yellow pus oozed from the wounds. An incredibly foul stench permeated the room, and a tear slid down Eleanor's face. She fought back the urge to vomit, not from the smell itself, but from the knowledge that this smell of death was coming from her daughter. Her precious little daughter.

Blessed Andraste. The dream. That horrible, horrifying dream. Rhianna standing on the grass clutching a daffodil, and then being eaten alive by some sort of corruption before she disappeared into the ground. Was it a premonition? Had some spirit from the Fade come to Eleanor in her sleep, warning that her daughter was going to die?

Jocelyn waved her hands in the air above Rhianna's head, and a ball of blue light formed between them. Slowly, the mage lowered her hands, causing the light to cascade down Rhianna's forehead. Immediately, the girl's whimpering lessened. The open sores on her neck looked no better, and her breathing was still labored, but she relaxed against Loghain. He shifted his position, supporting her body with his own while the mage did her work.

With a clean cloth and water, Jocelyn dabbed gently at the sores, cleaning away the worst of the pus and the blood, It was slow work, though, as Rhianna moaned with each touch of the cloth. After cleaning the wounds, Jocelyn wrapped bandages very loosely over the sores.

"Is there no poultice, or salve, you could use to heal those? Or a spell, perhaps?" Eleanor asked.

"I know they look awful," Jocelyn apologized, giving the teyrna a strained smile, "but they should be allowed to breathe for the time being. The illness is poisoning Rhianna's blood, and we want the poison to drain out. If I heal those sores, I fear it will all be trapped within her body."

When the mage had finished, she excused herself and returned downstairs. Rhianna seemed to be in less pain now. She was calm and quiet, clinging to one of Loghain's arms as he held her, rocking her slowly back and forth, his cheek resting on the top of her head, his eyes closed. He looked utterly exhausted.

"Loghain," Eleanor murmured, "you should go rest. I'll take over watching Rhianna."

He opened his eyes. "Yes. As soon as she falls back to sleep."

That appeared imminent; the girl's eyes were half closed and her mouth hung open, and her grip on Loghain's arm was starting to loosen. Eleanor sat on the bed to wait, focusing on her breath, trying to quench the fear raging inside of her. The dream. Again, she saw the flower turning black, watched her daughter fall backwards into a chasm in the ground. It wasn't real, none of it was real, nor was it a premonition. It was just a dream. That's all. Merely a dream.

Within a very few minutes, Rhianna's eyes had closed completely, and her breathing had settled into a fairly smooth rhythm. Loghain shifted himself off of the bed, supporting Rhianna's head carefully while he flipped over the pillow, turning the side covered in blood to the bottom, and then easing her down. The rest of the bedclothes were equally soiled, but changing them would have to wait until morning; there was no way Eleanor would consider disturbing Rhianna's rest. Not now. Not after . . . that.

Loghain quietly left the room, and Eleanor settled herself into the chair beside the bed. Rhianna looked calm now, a slight frown on her lips, but otherwise resting peacefully.

Eleanor glanced at the clock. It was only just past midnight. Maker's blood. There were still far too many dark hours stretching ahead until dawn. Hours of being haunted by images from her dream. Hours filled with dread of the moment her daughter would awaken, crying out in pain. Hours filled with terror that her daughter might never awaken at all.

She could think of just one thing that might help. Help her pass the time, and possibly help Rhianna, as well.

Prayer.

Although never particularly devout, Eleanor did believe in the Maker. She doubted, however, that He was watching now, or that He cared one way or the other about the small girl lying near death in this bed. The Maker had turned his back on the world more than once, and Eleanor had no patience for a god willing to do that. So she wouldn't pray to the Maker.

But there was someone else who might listen, someone who had loved Her people enough to sacrifice her own life to save them. Someone who had taken her first breath right here, in Denerim. Surely, the Maker's bride would spare a moment to hear a prayer for another small girl from Ferelden.

Eleanor closed her eyes, and bowed her head. Blessed Andraste . . .

Eleanor's eyes fluttered open. Maker's blood. She'd fallen asleep again, sitting up in the chair. In truth, she couldn't remember more than a few minutes of her prayer, and she had no idea how much time had passed.

She glanced at her daughter. It appeared as though Rhianna was still asleep . . . or was something wrong? The girl wasn't moving at all. Oh, Blessed Andraste . . . had something happened while Eleanor was sleeping? Had she stopped breathing? Eleanor leaned forward, meaning to grab one of Rhianna's hands, and feel for her pulse . . .

But then the girl's chest rose and fell again, with the rasping sound of breath.

Ah. It was fine. Everything was fine. Rhianna was still merely sleeping.

Eleanor sank back into the chair and turned her gaze to the clock on the wall. Three o'clock. Damn. Still a few hours to go before daylight. And her unintended nap hadn't even taken the edge off her exhaustion; if anything, she felt more tired than before. But she didn't dare nod off again. She couldn't take any chances . . .

A movement caught her eye, and she gasped with surprise. Someone else was in the room with her.

"I'm sorry, Eleanor," a deep voice murmured. "I didn't mean to startle you."

Loghain. Eleanor let out a relieved breath, and chuckled, chiding herself silently for being startled. Of course it was Loghain. Who else could it possibly be? He sat in a chair in the corner of the room, mostly hidden in shadow.

"Oh, Loghain. I'm sorry. I didn't know you were there. I think . . . well, I closed my eyes for just a moment, intending to pray, and I fell asleep. Which is what I thought you were going to do. Get some sleep."

"That's what I thought as well," he replied. "And I slept for a bit, two hours perhaps, before waking. I stared at the ceiling for some time, then decided to see if you wanted me to sit up with Rhianna. So when I found you asleep, I didn't bother to wake you. You looked comfortable enough."

"I haven't been this tired since . . . well, I can't remember when. Not since the Rebellion, most likely. Maybe not ever." Eleanor let out a long sigh. "At least just now I was able to sleep without dreaming. I had the worst dream earlier. Right before Rhianna woke up."

Loghain stood, and dragged his chair close beside Eleanor's. "That's hardly surprising. Bad dreams, I mean. Seeing Rhianna like this is horrible, and it must be far worse for you than it is for me."

"It is horrible. But I know you've been through your share of . . . troubles. You and Anora, both, this past year. It must have been dreadful for you when Celia died, and it wasn't all that long ago."

Loghain was silent for a moment, closing his eyes as he rubbed at the back of his neck. "No, it wasn't all that long ago." His voice was rough, and Eleanor regretted bringing up the subject. Surely, he didn't need to be reminded of his own heartache, especially not now.

She'd always wondered about Loghain's relationship with his wife, whom Eleanor had met two or three times at most. It seemed as though he spent almost all his time in Denerim, and Celia had remained always in Gwaren. Certainly, she had never accompanied him on any of his visits to Highever. Eleanor hated being apart from Bryce, even for a few weeks at a time, but it seemed as though the Mac Tirs had spent hardly any time together. But she'd never felt quite close enough to Loghain to ask about it, not about something so personal. He was a rather private, taciturn sort of man, after all. Not the sort to readily divulge intimate details of his life.

Now, however, she wished she had asked. She wished she'd made more of an effort to get to know this man who had shown himself such a good friend to Rhianna. If Eleanor understood more about him and his life, perhaps she could have said something comforting. Something more than the rote condolences she offered after she heard Celia Mac Tir had died.

But for the present, she would have to continue to wonder. This was hardly the time to ask such personal questions.

"It's a good thing, isn't it?" Eleanor asked. "That the swellings have started to burst? As Jocelyn said, it's better for the poison to drain out of her body, rather than remaining inside."

"Yes, I'm sure it's a good thing. I just wish . . ." He glanced at Eleanor, a slight frown on his lips. With a small sigh, he continued, "I just wish it wasn't so damned painful."

"Yes. Seeing her like this . . . it's killing me. I'd do anything to take away her pain, to bring it all on myself, but that's not possible, is it? If only . . ." Her voice trailed off. Oh, Maker. She didn't want to finish that thought.

Loghain cocked his head to one side. "If only what, Eleanor?"

She ran a hand across her face before answering. "If only I'd paid more attention. If only Landra hadn't been drunk again. If only I hadn't sent Rhianna away." Eleanor felt tears begin to form at the corners of her eyes, and she fought them back. "I knew she wanted to tell me something - I knew it - but I waved my hand at her and sent her away. If only I'd listened, she would have never gone to that terrible place on her own."

Loghain took one of her hands in his own. "This is not your fault, Eleanor."

"Isn't it? She's ill because she was locked away in that cell. In the cold. In the dark. With whatever had the fleas that bit her. The kitten, I suppose. That's how she caught the plague, isn't it?"

His fingers tightened slightly around hers. "Probably, yes. But you mustn't blame yourself. You could not have known this would happen. That someone would lure your daughter away from the house. No one could have foreseen this, Eleanor. It is not your fault."

"Then whose fault is it?" She forced herself to whisper, for fear the anger in her voice would wake her daughter. "Who did this to her, Loghain? Was it someone we know? Someone who knows Rhianna?" All the questions she'd asked herself while Rhianna was missing flooded back. "I don't understand how that could be possible. How could anyone who knows Rhianna want to harm her? Rhianna? I don't think I've ever known a sweeter child in all my life, and I'm not just saying that because I'm her mother." A flare of pain erupted in her head, and she rubbed at her temple.

"But," she continued, "it also makes no sense that a stranger would do such a thing. A kidnapper, holding her for ransom, yes. And of course there are people who take young girls for . . . other reasons. But to lock her away and leave her to die? That doesn't seem like a random act, something a stranger would do. Besides, how would someone who didn't know her have the idea to lure her away with the promise of kittens?" Eleanor let her fingers tighten around Loghain's, grateful for his warmth, for the human contact.

"It terrifies me, Loghain," she whispered. "It can't have been a stranger. It must be someone we know. But who? Who could do such a thing to her? And what if he comes after her again someday?"

"I've asked myself all those same questions, Eleanor, and I agree it must have been someone who knows her. This wasn't random." He hesitated for a moment. "You do know about the bracelet Bryce and I found in the tower?"

"Yes. Bryce intended to ask Leonas about it, see if it belongs to Habren. He told me Anora has heard rumors about Habren harming small animals?" Loghain nodded. "I'll admit I've never been particularly fond of the girl," Eleanor continued. "She's unpleasant and a bit . . . shallow. But it's difficult for me to imagine her doing something truly harmful. To animals, or to Rhianna." Eleanor rubbed at her forehead again. "Of course, children often have their own secrets they keep hidden from the adults, don't they? The fact Anora heard a rumor like this probably means there's some truth to it."

"My thought exactly."

"Even so, Habren is only ten years old. How could she have set such a deliberate trap, and how would she have even known about the guardhouse?" She sighed, knowing neither she nor Loghain had the answers to those questions. "At any rate, if it was Habren, I'm sure Bryce will get to the bottom of it. Perhaps he already has. He's spoken to Leonas; that's where he went right after the funeral we held for that kitten. And if it wasn't Habren, I know Bryce won't rest until he finds out who did do it."

"Yes," Loghain agreed. "Chances are the entire mystery has been solved, and we just haven't heard the outcome yet."

"Oh, I hope that's the case. It would be such a relief to know for certain who wrote that note. So I wouldn't have to keep worrying about it once this is . . . once Rhianna is well again."

Eleanor glanced at her daughter, verifying the girl's chest was still rising and falling with breath. Despair washed over her, and she found herself unable to push it completely aside.

"I have never felt more helpless," she confessed, unwilling to look into Loghain's face, not wanting him to see the look in her eyes. "Not ever, in my entire life. Watching her suffer like this. Not being able to do anything - anything - to help. Oh, Loghain, I hate it. She looks so . . . small. So fragile, as though at any moment she could just slip away from me." Again, tears welled up, and Eleanor blinked them away. "As though at any moment, she could . . . die."

Finally, she had said it out loud. The fear that haunted her since she arrived at Gwaren House and Loghain spoke the word, "plague." The disease that killed three out of four of its victims. Especially children. And Rhianna was so young, and small for her age.

Loghain squeezed Eleanor's hand again, more firmly this time. "It's going to be all right, Eleanor." He caught her gaze, and held it. "Rhianna is not going to die."

Suddenly, she could no longer hold back her tears. "How can you say that, Loghain? How do you know? Oh, Maker, I'm so afraid," she sobbed, as quietly as possible, not wanting to disturb her daughter's rest. "I can't stop being afraid." She sobbed again, her breath catching in her chest.

Loghain tugged on her hand, pulling her up out of the chair and then down to the floor. Side by side, they sat with their backs resting against Rhianna's bed. He released her hand, and put his arm around her, and Eleanor fell against him, clinging to his shoulder as she began to cry in earnest. She buried her face against his shirt, and felt his hand on the back of her head as he stroked her hair, which for once she hadn't bothered to braid. He whispered soothing words into her ear, and allowed her to cry.

Several minutes later, the front of Loghain's shirt was damp with her tears. She sat up, placing a hand on his chest to steady herself.

"Thank you." Her voice was ragged. "I think I've needed to do that for days." She brushed her fingers against his shirt. It wasn't the same one he'd been wearing earlier; he'd changed clothes. Well, of course he'd changed clothes. He'd been covered in Rhianna's blood. "I'm sorry about this." She touched the damp spot. "I've cried all over your clean shirt."

He raised an eyebrow. "Yes, well don't worry about that. I'll just send the cleaning bill to Highever House."

Eleanor laughed, a genuine laugh, the first one she'd had in days and days. For all people complained about Loghain being dour, he really wasn't. He was a lovely man, considerate and charming and funny. And he'd been so incredibly generous in helping care for Rhianna . . .

Rhianna. Her little girl, her baby, who was so horribly ill . . .

Eleanor began sobbing again. Again, Loghain pulled her close, and she rested her head on his shoulder.

"I'm so scared," she admitted. "Seeing her like this, all covered in blood and sweat, and crying from the pain. I'm so scared, Loghain. So scared she's going to die. My daughter. Oh, Maker, my beautiful daughter. I can't lose her. I can't. I don't know how I would be able to go on living without her."

Loghain sat up, grasping Eleanor by the shoulders. "You will go on living, Eleanor. No matter what happens." He stared into her eyes with an intensity that took her breath away. "But Rhianna is not going to die. Do you hear me, Eleanor?" His fingers pressed into her flesh almost enough to cause pain. "I swear this to you. Rhianna is going to recover, and be stronger than ever before."

Eleanor clutched at one of his arms, clinging to him as though she would drown if she let go. She wanted to believe him. She was desperate to believe him, and it was clear he truly did believe what he was saying. But she was still so very scared.

"How do you know? People die from the plague, Loghain, and Rhianna is so very sick." Her voice trembled, but she managed to stop crying. "How can you be so sure?"

He grasped her chin, forcing her to hold his gaze. She'd never noticed before just how blue his eyes were. How clear, how icy. "Because we are not going to let her die. You and I, Eleanor. We are going to hold on to Rhianna so tightly she won't be able to slip away. We'll go the gates of the Black City and back again, if that's what it takes to keep her here with us."

Eleanor's chest heaved as she struggled to breathe through her fears, though her anxiety. The intensity in his eyes was almost too much for her to bear, but she couldn't look away. She had known this man for years, more than twenty, but it was as if she had never really seen him before. Never seen the true strength of his will.

Of course he was strong-willed. This was the man who defeated the Orlesians at River Dane, the man who put King Maric on the throne. The man who ruled Ferelden in those years after Rowan died, when Maric was too grief-stricken to do it himself.

This was the man who pulled Rhianna out of the dungeon where someone had locked her away to die.

Eleanor had known him for years, but never before realized the reason he was able to do all these things, these amazing things, the reason he overcame all the odds, was because Loghain Mac Tir believed things would go as he willed them.

She could see it in his eyes. His determination, his refusal to believe any other outcome was possible. Right now, Loghain Mac Tir believed Rhianna was going to survive this illness.

And, looking into his eyes, unable to look away from those eyes, Eleanor believed it, too.

•o•