4 Harvestmere, 9:25 Dragon
Denerim Palace
•o•
The great hall of the Denerim palace was filled with people for the coronation, the crowd overflowing into the courtyard outside. Fires blazed in the corners of the room, and the air smelt of Chantry incense and sweat and flowers. The heat and the odors were making Rhianna feel ill.
Or perhaps the bad feelings in her stomach were caused by the thoughts churning incessantly in her head.
Prince Cailan stood at the bottom of the wide stairs at the end of the hall, the same stairs Rhianna climbed when she was presented to Empress Celene years ago. Cailan's eyes were wide and nervous; he certainly didn't look like a king. Rhianna thought he looked more like a child playing dress-up in his shining new plate mail. It was beautiful armor, with elaborate designs etched into the metal and inlaid with gold, but it looked slightly too large for him, and he fidgeted as if it were uncomfortable. Slung across his shoulders, he wore a cloak of crimson velvet, trimmed in white fur that made his face look pale and younger than his twenty years.
Far too young to be a king.
She hated this. Why, oh why, wasn't King Maric here? Maric was the real king. Not Cailan, and not anyone else, either. But Maric wasn't here, and that thought made her want to cry.
Rhianna missed him so much. She kept expecting to turn around and see him walking up to greet her, winking over some joke they shared, putting his arm around her shoulder and hugging her close. But that wasn't going to happen. She missed him, and she was so worried for him. He was still alive; he had to be. But what if Teyrn Loghain wasn't able to find him?
And she was scared, for so many reasons.
Scared she would never see King Maric ever again, a thought that made her feel like there was a hole in her heart nothing would ever be able to heal.
Scared because Cailan, with his oversized armor and his bewildered eyes, was about to become the king of Ferelden, whether he was ready for it or not.
Scared of the way people kept glancing at Rhianna, and at her father, out of the corners of their eyes, then whispering to their neighbors.
Scared Prince Cailan - no, King Cailan - would be angry with her father, angry enough to retaliate against him.
So scared she felt like crying, and scared if she started to cry, she would never be able to stop.
And now Cailan was being crowned king, which seemed a very . . . final sort of thing to be happening.
Standing between her parents, Rhianna watched as Grand Cleric Elemena stepped forward to begin the ceremony. All voices hushed as the Grand Cleric raised her arms for the benediction.
"All men are the work of our Maker's hands,
From the lowest slaves to the highest kings.
Those who bring harm
Without provocation to the least of His children
Are hated and accursed by the Maker."
The Grand Cleric motioned for Cailan to come forward, then held out her hands and began to administer the oath.
"Will you solemnly promise and swear to govern the people of Ferelden according to our laws and customs?"
"I solemnly promise so to do," Cailan replied.
"Will you solemnly promise to use your power in law and justice, tempered by mercy, in all your judgments?"
"I solemnly promise so to do."
"Will you, to the utmost of your power, maintain the Laws of the Maker and of the Chant of Light? Will you maintain and preserve the doctrine, worship and discipline of the Chantry? And will you preserve unto the Chantry all its lawful rights and privileges?"
"All this I promise so to do. In the Maker's name, I swear."
Revered Mother Perpetua stepped forward, turning to address those gathered in the hall. "I ask the people: Do you wish for such a ruler?"
As one, the people in the hall gave the traditional response: "We wish it and grant it."
At the Grand Cleric's urging, Cailan bent down on one knee. Elemena anointed his forehead with oil, its fragrance filling the air with the scent of pungent herbs. Then she set the crown upon his head, and bade him rise. He was given a sword, to represent his promise to protect his people and the Chantry, and the scepter that was the symbol of his powers as the king.
Then, Grand Cleric Elemena gave the final prayer.
"Those who oppose thee
Shall know the wrath of heaven.
Field and forest shall burn,
The seas shall rise and devour them,
The wind shall tear their nations
From the face of the earth,
Lightning shall rain down from the sky,
They shall cry out to their false gods
And find silence."
She opened her arms, in a gesture that took in the whole of the room, perhaps the whole of Ferelden. "I give you Cailan Theirin, King of Ferelden. Maker save the king!"
The crowd's response filled the room, echoing off the walls and the floors, almost deafening. "Maker save the king!"
Cailan looked around, blinking, as if he wasn't entirely sure what had just happened.
But then, he smiled. A smile that stretched across his face, parted his lips, filled his eyes with warmth. And for the first time, he looked like a king. With his crown and his sword and his armor, he looked like a king. Not as good a king as Maric; no one would ever be as good a king as Maric. But Cailan was a good man, who would do his best. And seeing him smile, Rhianna felt a glimmer of hope – the first she'd felt in days - that maybe everything would be all right, after all.
Now the coronation had ended, the nobles of Ferelden would swear fealty to their new king. The Grand Cleric excused herself, climbing the stairs to a seat reserved for her in one of the galleries. Cailan ascended the steps at the far end of the room, reaching to pull the cloak out of the way before he seated himself on the throne that awaited him.
A guard in ceremonial armor stepped forward, carrying a large staff and holding a scroll.
The guard struck the stone floor of the Great Hall three times, sharply. Then, he unrolled the scroll and read aloud:
"On this, the fourth day of Harvestmere in the twenty-fifth year of the Dragon Age, thou art welcomed to the court of King Cailan Therin, son to he who was King Maric Theirin and heir to the blood of Calenhad, First King of Ferelden. Bare not thy blade, and respect shall be shown to thee in turn."
In unison, the nobles made the appropriate response, Rhianna's voice among them: "Our blades are yours, my lord."
"Teyrn Bryce Cousland, approach the king," the guard intoned.
Rhianna's mother and father climbed the steps, with Fergus beside Eleanor and Rhianna next to Bryce. When they reached the top, Bryce stepped forward to bow on one knee in front of Cailan, taking his hand, while Eleanor and the children knelt behind Bryce. All four inclined their heads for a moment to the new king, and then looked up as Bryce spoke the words of the oath.
"I promise on the Chant of Light that I will be faithful to my King, never cause him harm, and observe my homage to him completely against all others. I give my oath in good faith and without deceit."
Cailan motioned for the Couslands to rise. The king stood, stepping forward to embrace the teyrn. Bryce seemed to hesitate for a moment, and then returned the embrace. When they pulled apart, Cailan grasped the teyrn's shoulders, and held him at arm's length.
"I should like for there to be no hard feelings," Cailan murmured. "About what happened yesterday?" Cailan's eyes were guarded, and for a moment Rhianna's stomach lurched. What if her father's response angered the king?
"I appreciate that, Your Majesty," her father replied. "More than I can say. Please know you have my support in all ways, at all times, whenever you should need it."
Cailan stared at her father for a moment, a slight frown on his face, but finally he smiled, and his eyes lit up with warmth. "I know that, Teyrn Cousland. And I thank you for it."
Rhianna let out the breath she had been holding. Was it possible the king really intended no grudge against her father for challenging the succession? Oh, that would be the most wonderful thing ever, if it were really true.
For a moment, all was quiet. Then, Cailan released Bryce's arms, and the Couslands descended the stairs, taking up a position along one side of the hall.
"Teyrn Loghain Mac Tir, approach the king."
Loghain and Anora climbed the steps as the Couslands had done before them.
Loghain's deep voice echoed throughout the hall. "I promise on the Chant of Light that I will be faithful to my King, never cause him harm, and observe my homage to him completely against all others. I give my oath in good faith and without deceit."
Cailan and Loghain embraced, then Loghain and Anora descended the stairs.
In order of rank, the other nobles were called up, one by one. In less than an hour, the ceremony was complete.
"I hope," Cailan announced, "you will all stay and join me for the banquet that will follow, about an hour from now. In the meantime, please enjoy the hospitality of the palace and the gardens."
Cailan - King Cailan, she reminded herself - walked down the steps to Anora's side, offering her his arm. They looked lovely together, a handsome king and beautiful queen, just like in a storybook. Cailan tossed his head, laughing in response to something Anora had whispered to him, and for a moment he looked so much like King Maric it brought tears to Rhianna's eyes. Tears she fought back, turning away quickly, hoping no one had seen her moment of grief.
The moment Cailan announced the end of the fealty ceremony, both of Rhianna's parents had been surrounded by people. Everyone was keen to speak with the man who had challenged Cailan for the throne. Even though Bryce's bid had been unsuccessful, the vote had been close enough that most people seemed to consider it an impressive accomplishment.
The events of the previous day's Landsmeet were definitely something Rhianna did not want to talk about, nor hear others discussing; her stomach felt even worse anytime she thought about all that had happened yesterday. So she wandered to the edge of the room and tucked herself against one of the large beams supporting the wooden gallery above. With any luck, no one would notice her standing here, and she could be alone with her thoughts, for a few minutes at least.
She glanced around the hall, where people were milling about, talking in small groups. Now Cailan and Anora were talking with Cailan's uncle, Teagan Guerrin. Bann Teagan put a hand on Cailan's arm, and for a moment, Cailan's smile slipped away, and he looked so dreadfully sad. It must be difficult for him, losing his father like this. Even if her own father decided someday Rhianna would inherit the teyrnir, she would never look forward to the day she became Teyrna of Highever, because that would mean her father was gone.
Not that Maric was gone. Not really. She refused to believe he was dead. But until they could find him, it was miserable waiting and worrying and missing him so much.
Leaning her head back against the wooden post, she closed her eyes.
A few minutes later, a shadow fell across her face, dimming the light through her eyelids, as someone came to stand beside her. She caught a familiar scent - like grass, and leather, and parchment - and she knew who it was before she'd even opened her eyes.
"Hello, Teyrn Loghain." She did her best to smile.
"Rhianna." His smile, too, looked forced, and he looked tired, dark circles ringing his eyes, and a deep furrow across his forehead. He leaned against the wooden post opposite her own.
"It's strange, isn't it," she mused, looking out once more at the people in the hall. "It's almost like a party, except the only reason we're all here is because King Maric isn't. Which doesn't make for a very good party, does it?"
"No, it doesn't." He looked down at her for a long moment. "Lady Cousland," he said, offering her his arm, "would you care to walk with me out in the garden?"
This time, her smile was genuine. "Why yes, Your Grace. I would like that very much." She tucked her arm into his, and together, they left the palace.
Outside, the sun warmed her skin, but just barely, and the wind was chill. Though the snows hadn't come yet, winter was on its way.
Arm in arm, Rhianna and Loghain walked in silence, up one path, then down another. Their wandering had seemed random, until they ended up in a part of the garden Rhianna had never seen before, and she guessed this had been Loghain's destination all along: a pool of dark water, surrounded by horsetails and reeds, with floating lilies and patches of duckweed. This must be the duck pond her father had told her about years ago.
It wasn't large - only about fifty feet to the far end - but it was lovely. As one might expect from a duck pond, mallards and widgeons and gadwall floated placidly, diving into the water every so often to dabble for food, their feathery rear ends pointing towards the sky.
But the nicest thing about the pond was that it was deserted; no other people could be seen or heard. Located in the very farthest corner of the garden, there was something about it - a solitude hanging in the air - that made Rhianna suspect it rarely saw a lot of visitors.
They settled themselves on a bench next to the water. Rhianna leaned forward with her elbows on her knees, and rested her chin in the palms of her hands. Beside her, Loghain stretched out his legs, leaning back against the bench with his hands clasped behind his neck. She peered down into the water to watch tiny fish swim by, and greeted a turtle who swam over and popped its head out of the water. Otherwise, the tranquility was undisturbed, except by the thoughts in her own head.
She missed King Maric. Perhaps it was stupid to keep worrying the subject in her mind, but she couldn't stop thinking about him. Where was he? What was he doing now? He could be injured, or sick. He could be stranded on an island, or perhaps he'd been captured by people who wished him harm. She knew wherever he was, he couldn't be happy about it. He wouldn't have chosen to leave Ferelden, not ever. So wherever the ship had sank, they just needed to find it, to find Maric and bring him home.
Unless he is already dead, a nasty voice whispered in her head.
No. King Maric wasn't dead. He just wasn't. She refused to believe something so terrible could happen.
And if Maric came home, maybe everyone would forget what had happened yesterday at the Landsmeet. Her father said not to worry, but Rhianna couldn't help it. Cailan seemed to forgive her father, judging by what he said during the fealty-swearing, but the whole thing was still so frightening. She'd paid enough attention to her tutor to know that history was filled with people who were killed for trying to take a throne, and failing. Probably that wasn't going to happen. Cailan didn't seem the sort of king to have people put to death. But there were other things a king could do to get back at someone who had crossed him.
And Cailan wasn't the only person whose opinion mattered.
She sat up to study Loghain's face. In profile, with his eyes closed, his mouth set in a faint frown, he looked older than ever before, and exhausted, and her heart ached for him. As much as she missed Maric, Loghain must miss him a great deal more.
With the back of her fingers, she reached up and stroked his cheek.
•o•o•o•o•o•
Loghain stretched his legs and leaned back against the bench. Sighing deeply, he closed his eyes, relaxing into the quiet he and Rhianna had found together. He enjoyed this part of the garden. It was peaceful, and he couldn't remember ever finding another soul out this far from the palace. Bringing Rhianna here, today of all days, seemed appropriate. It was obvious she hadn't been enjoying the gathering any more than he had. So he'd brought here her, where they could sit together without being surrounded by a palace full of chattering people.
He missed Maric. Of course, there were other things on his mind right now, urgent things, but it always came back to Maric. For most everyone else in Ferelden, it seemed three months was enough to take the edge off their grief, to go back to their lives as though nothing had happened. It was shocking, almost, to see people smiling and laughing and talking amongst themselves. Or perhaps it was just that it hadn't seemed like three months to Loghain, out at sea, searching in vain for his friend. Stranger still, it seemed as though everything had already shifted to accommodate Maric's absence. Almost as if he'd never been there in the first place.
Cailan's coronation, for example. The lad was now the King of Ferelden, in spite of having very little idea what that entailed. And the vote at yesterday's Landsmeet had been far too close. What in the world was Bryce thinking, challenging Maric's own son for the throne? It made little sense. Bryce was already one of the most powerful men in the kingdom, and to have risked so much for a claim that was bound to fail . . .
Except it might not have failed, had Eamon voted differently. Loghain sensed the Arl of Redcliffe was up to something, only he couldn't imagine what it could be. Cailan was his nephew, so why had he hesitated to cast his vote? Perhaps Eamon thought Rhianna might be a way for his young son to reach the throne, but had changed his mind at the last minute.
Either way, what had happened yesterday seemed foolhardy of Bryce. Foolhardy and stupid.
Ah well, none of that mattered now. Cailan had been crowned king, and soon Anora would be queen at his side. And the succession was, in some ways, the least of their worries.
The most pressing issue now was to predict how their neighbors would respond to the fact of a new and very inexperienced king. For once, Orlais was not Loghain's primary concern. Antiva and Nevarra, perhaps even Rivain seemed more likely to see this as an opportunity. If anything, Maric's disappearance might disrupt whatever machinations Celene already had in motion, assuming she had something in motion. An assumption Loghain always felt justified in having. Unless, of course, Celene was the one behind Maric's disappearance. That, too, was a possibility worth considering.
Regardless, it would be important to predict how this might play out, but that would need to fall to someone more clever than Loghain. Politics had never been his strong suit. Give him an enemy to face on the battlefield, and he'd tell you how to win. But politics? All the subterfuge and posturing, and smiling at people's faces while plotting against them behind their backs? No thank you. Fortunately, Anora seemed to have an innate sense of these things. Something, no doubt, that would serve Ferelden well in the coming years.
Strangely enough, Maric also had an innate sense of politics, although sometimes his naivety, his desire to believe the best in people, led him astray. Certainly he had been savvy enough to keep Orlais at bay for more than twenty years.
Damn him, anyway. Damn him for leaving, damn the Free Marches and their accord. Damn it all to the Black City.
Politics. Why was he even thinking about politics? Right now, none of that even mattered. Bryce, Cailan, Celene. None of it. All that mattered was Maric was gone, and Loghain had to find him. But where the hell was he? Loghain wasn't even sure where to start looking.
And what if he's already dead?
No. That, he refused to believe. It was just a matter of finding him, of finding the ship. And he had to find Maric. He had to. Because Loghain didn't know how he would go on without him, without his best friend. Even if the man was a fool, Maric's friendship meant . . . well, it meant everything. And of course, Maric wasn't really a fool. Foolish at times, yes. But never a fool.
And as much as Maric had relied on Loghain for companionship, Loghain had relied on Maric, as well. It hadn't mattered if Loghain even listened to Maric's chatter, so long as they were together. As long as they had one another, neither of them was alone in this world.
And now, Maric was gone.
But where? Maric wouldn't have sailed off for parts unknown intentionally, so where was that damned ship? No reports had been made of a wreck, and Rhianna's birds had found no sign of one. But if the ship was still afloat, where was it?
It didn't matter. Wherever it was, he would find it. Because without Maric, Loghain really was alone in this world.
Beside him, he sensed Rhianna sit up, and turn to face him. A moment later, he felt the touch of her fingers on his cheek, cool against his skin. Without opening his eyes, he reached up, covering her hand with one of his own. He turned her palm to rest on his face, then leaned into her hand, enjoying the warmth of her skin, grateful for her touch. Finally, he wrapped his fingers around hers, and pulled her hand away. Turning his face, he pressed his lips against her palm briefly before resting his arm on the bench between them, her hand still enclosed within his own.
It was a comfortable feeling, Rhianna's hand in his.
Perhaps he wasn't completely alone, after all.
He opened his eyes and turned to face her. She was studying his face, her eyes narrowed. She was probably thinking about Maric. The king's disappearance was clearly weighing heavily upon her.
When she spoke, however, it wasn't what he had been expecting.
"Are you angry with my father?" she asked. "For what happened yesterday at the Landsmeet?" Ah. Yes, it was no surprise this question would press on her, as well.
"Am I angry?" He considered the question.
Was he? During the Landsmeet, he'd been surprised, and shocked and disturbed, all in turn. It worried him the nobility, as a whole, thought so little of Cailan they seriously considered another king. And it was disconcerting Bryce Cousland had put himself forward, when the last thing Ferelden needed was conflict over the succession. But anger? Perhaps yesterday there had been anger, but today, he was too exhausted to feel more than deep disappointment.
"No, I'm not angry with your father. Not now. I'll admit, I was surprised. But I do believe he only wanted what was best for Ferelden. So, no. I'm not angry."
She visibly relaxed, as if a weight had gone from her shoulders. "Good. It seems as though Prince . . . I mean King Cailan isn't angry, either. I was worried he might be. That you both might be."
"Cailan isn't the sort to hold grudges. I don't think you have any reason to be concerned."
"I'm glad to hear that," Rhianna replied. "I don't think it was Father's idea, anyway. He never said anything about it to me, not until yesterday morning, right before the Landsmeet. Apparently, Arl Howe suggested it." She was quiet for a moment. "Father said if he were to be made king, Fergus would be Teyrn of Highever, and I'd have been named Father's heir. I think that's what Arl Howe wanted. For me to be the next queen. So he could have convinced Father he owed Howe something for helping him claim the throne. And that something would have been my marriage to Thomas or Nathaniel, so one of them would be king after Father's death."
Indeed. Apparently Rhianna Cousland also had an innate sense of politics.
Before he could think of a response, she continued, "And then last night, Arl Eamon came to the house to talk to my parents. I don't know what they talked about, though, since they sent me upstairs instead of letting me stay to listen."
Eamon? Eamon Guerrin spoke to Bryce after the Landsmeet? What could that have been about? Perhaps Loghain's instinct was correct: the man really was up to something. But what?
"Were you disappointed?" Loghain asked. "That your father didn't win the vote, I mean. Would you have wanted him to be king?"
"No," she said without hesitation. "I didn't want him to be king. I mean, the idea of it is all right, I suppose. Father would have been a very good king. Probably better than Cailan will be, at least at first. And I expect, if I were really his heir, I would have lived in Denerim most of the time, and I would have missed Highever. Although being able to see you more often might have made up for that. Unless," she frowned, "you decided to go back to Gwaren, because Anora wasn't going to be queen after all. When you're not here, Denerim is horrible." She turned her gaze out over the pond. "And the thought that I would have been queen someday . . . well, that part was just scary. I've never wanted to be queen."
Rhianna fell silent, and for a few minutes, they sat together, not speaking. Nearby, a flock of tiny grayish brown birds streamed through the trees along the edge of the pond, chirping to one another as they pulled berries and insects from branches. They went from one tree to another and then another, swooping in twos and threes and fours from each tree to the next. Little waves of birds, dozens of them altogether. It was several minutes before the entire flock finished foraging, and moved along out of sight.
"I miss him so much." Her voice was barely audible.
Loghain released her hand and put his arm around her shoulders. She scooted closer to him, resting against his chest. He inhaled deeply, and let the breath out again slowly.
"So do I."
"I decided something, though." She turned her head to look up into his face. "I'm not going to cry anymore. I did cry, when Father first told me the ship hadn't arrived in Wycome. But I haven't cried since that day. Not even once. I felt like it, of course, at least a hundred times, because I miss him, and I'm so worried about him." She paused. "But he isn't dead, so there's no reason to cry. And it seems like crying . . . well, it would be like giving up on him. And I'll never do that."
Loghain pulled her closer, and rested his cheek against the top of her head.
"No, I don't intend to give up on him, either."
Again, they sat in silence for several minutes. This time, he was the one to break it. "So, how long have you been in Denerim?"
Rhianna sat up, pulling away from him just enough to look into his face while she spoke. "Nearly as long as you were gone. We left Highever the day after we got the message about the ship."
"And what have you been doing with yourself all this time?"
"Playing with Dane, or wandering around the market place with Hobbes." She sighed; it wasn't a happy sound. "Well, and of course I had to go to a lot of salons."
"You're not fond of salons?"
"Blech. No. I didn't used to mind them so much, when Mother was there and I got to sit with her and listen to the grown-ups talk. But she stayed behind in Highever until just a few days ago, and Father was in meetings all day long, so most of the time I had to go to the salons all by myself."
"I never liked going to salons," he admitted. "Fortunately, I can usually avoid them, but when I have been required to attend, I didn't like them much, either. Everyone sitting around, trying too hard to be pleasant. It makes me uncomfortable."
"Exactly. It's one thing to spend time with people you like, but having to talk to everyone, just to be polite? And feeling like half the time they're trying to trap you into saying more than you should, or waiting for you to make a fool out of yourself? I hate it."
"Was it really so horrible? You're . . . well, you don't seem to have a problem getting along with people. In my experience."
"Well, if by 'people' you mean you and King Maric, and my family, and Uncle Bryland, then that's true. Everyone else?" She wrinkled her nose in dismay.
"What about Anora? Surely she was at most of the same salons, and you get along well with her, don't you?"
"Yes, Anora was there, and I get along with her just fine. But Anora is one of the grown-ups now. She doesn't get sent out to 'play' with the rest of us. And I get stuck with Habren Bryland and Thomas Howe and all of Habren's stupid friends, like Alysanne Valdric and Tanith Curwen. And when Habren is awful to me, everyone else just goes along with her. Except Delilah Howe. She's nice to me, but she's pretty much the only one."
"Habren Bryland treats you badly? In what way?" They never had discovered who locked Rhianna in that tower all those years ago; perhaps the Bryland girl did have something to do with it, after all. "She's never hurt you, has she? Physically, I mean."
"Unfortunately not." Rhianna chuckled. "I wish she would. If she hit me, I could hit her back, and she would be sorry. But she only says things. And not even directly to me most of the time. She says things about me to other people, when she knows I'm close enough to hear. Just the other day, she made up a poem about me, and I know it's meant to be mean, even though I don't completely understand it."
She sighed again. "I'm sorry for complaining. I know I shouldn't. Father says it's my duty to go the salons so I can hear all the things that get talked about away from the Landsmeet. And I used to feel like I learned interesting things, when I got to sit with Mother. I learned all about politics and who was allying themselves with whom and squabbles in the Bannorn and relations in the south. But now? All I ever hear about is Habren's new dress, or which of Tanith's father's knights is handsome, or how Thomas lost an entire sovereign playing dice with some boys in the marketplace, then accused them of cheating so he could get his money back, even though they had won fair and square. And, of course, I get to hear all about how ugly and stupid I am." She rolled her eyes. "Nothing that's going to help my father understand the political situation in Ferelden any better."
She sat up abruptly, and looked into Loghain's face. "What does it mean to 'finish wherever?'"
He didn't understand the question. "Finish what?"
Rhianna opened her mouth as if to speak then snapped it closed again. "Oh, never mind," she grumped.
Now he was curious. "No, what? You can talk to me about anything, Rhianna. You know that."
She frowned, but then she shrugged her head from side to side, as if conceding the point. "Well, it's from the poem Habren's been saying about me. I don't understand what it means, but I'm fairly certain it's dirty. Mostly because Habren wrote it, but also because everyone laughs rather a lot when she says it."
"Poem?"
Rhianna took a deep breath.
"There once was a girl from Highever,
Who would tell all the boys to stop never.
On her back or her knees,
She would do as they pleased,
And she told them to finish wherever."
"It's the part about being on my back that makes me think it's dirty," she added. "That it's about . . . you know . . . about . . . sex. But I don't understand the rest. Finish what? And what would I be doing on my knees? Scrubbing the floor?"
Maker's balls.
She looked up at him, blinking, waiting for him to give her an answer.
Maker's balls!
There once was a girl from Highever? What sort of person makes up a limerick like this? About Rhianna? On her back or her knees?
Damn the Bryland girl, anyway.
And just what in the Maker's name was he supposed to say? Rhianna was staring up at him, a slight frown on her face. Waiting. He needed to say something. But what? What could he possible say about a poem like that?
Maker's balls!
When he said she could tell him anything, he hadn't anticipated something like this.
"Perhaps," he suggested, "you should talk about this with your mother."
"My mother?" Rhianna bit her lip. "I . . . I don't know. Mother and Father get angry with me when I complain about Habren. Besides, I don't want them know it bothers me. They'll think I'm a baby, and then I'll never get to do things on my own, ever."
"Oh." Of course she wouldn't want to tell her parents about this. "All right. Um . . . all right. The poem. Let me see . . ." What could he say that would explain this properly without being ridiculously inappropriate?
"You're right. The poem is about . . . sex." He frowned. "You do know about sex, right? How it happens?" Heat erupted across his cheeks, and he realized - infuriatingly - he was blushing. When was the last time that had happened? He honestly couldn't remember, but right now he was certain his cheeks were flaming red with embarrassment. Andraste's arse. How did he manage to stumble into a conversation like this? With Rhianna? He'd never had a conversation anything like this with Anora.
"I guess so," Rhianna answered. "I mean, I've seen animals do it before. Cows and sheep and horses. Dogs. A pair of badgers, once. The male puts his . . . thing into the female, right?"
Damn, damn, damn! He should have sent the girl to her mother.
"Yes," he said slowly, gazing out over the water instead of looking at her face. "That's the basic idea. And that is what the poem is about, really. About doing . . . it."
"I still don't understand. I mean, I suppose the part about being on my back makes sense. That's how people do it, right? Laying down, face to face?"
"That is one way. But sometimes people do . . . it . . ." His voice trailed off.
Andraste's arse. This was possibly the most awkward conversation he had ever had in the entirety of his life. But there was nothing else to do but forge ahead.
"Sometimes people do it other ways. Other than just lying down." He glanced at her. "You'll understand better when you're older. But in any case, you don't need to worry about it. Everyone will know it's just Habren being mean, and not anything that's true about you."
Damn the Bryland girl anyway.
"All right." Rhianna seemed satisfied with his answer, thank the Maker. "So, she's just saying I like to have sex with people? That's kind of a stupid thing to write a poem about isn't it? I just wish . . . well, I wish I could get her to stop."
Yes. This sounded like a way to shift the subject to something new. "Have you tried? Tried standing up to her?"
"No. I suppose not."
"You do know why she's so awful to you, right?"
"Not really, no. I've never done anything bad to her, not that I can remember."
"It's not about anything you've done, Rhianna. It's about who you are. She's jealous. You are everything Habren Bryland is not, but desperately wishes she was. You're the daughter of a teyrn, and she's the daughter of an arl. Which shouldn't make any difference, but in Denerim it does. On top of that, you're also pretty and smart and funny and people like you. All of which makes Habren jealous. So she's cruel in the hope it will make you feel bad about yourself. As if, by making you feel small, Habren somehow gets to feel bigger. But it doesn't work, not really. Because at the end of the day, you're still the very lovely Rhianna, smart and pretty and all the rest of it. And she's still Habren. I'd almost feel sorry for her, if she weren't making up dirty poems about you."
Rhianna studied Loghain's face. "So, I should just ignore her, then? That's what my parents seem to think."
"That's one way. Although, standing up for yourself might not be a bad idea. Telling her to stop. After all, when it comes right down to it, you do outrank her, and always will. Maybe if she were reminded of that, she would think twice about tormenting you. Or, you could just punch her in the face."
Rhianna giggled. "Don't tempt me. I can't tell you how many times I've dreamed of punching her in her stupid face."
"Well, if you do it, just don't say I gave you the idea." He winked at her.
"Of course I will. I'll say it was all Teyrn Loghain's idea. He's such a bad influence!" She started to laugh, but then the smile slipped away from her face. "Honestly, though, I would never say that. My parents might not want me to talk to you anymore, and I don't think I could bear for that to happen. I don't know what I would do if it weren't for you." Her eyes grew wide as she remembered something. "Oh, I almost forgot. Look at this!" she exclaimed, pulling up her skirt to expose the bottom half of her leg. Strapped to her ankle was the dagger he'd given her. "I wear it all the time. I never go out of the house without it."
"Good."
And with that, he was certain the topic of Habren's damned poem was put behind them.
Thank the Maker.
He raised an eyebrow at her. "So, how many times have you had to use it? I assume you've fought off at least a dozen bandits by now, yes?"
She giggled. "No. I haven't had to use it at all. Well, once I cut through a piece of vine Dane had gotten tangled around his legs. But no bandits." Rhianna bit her lip, and gave him a side-long look.
Loghain narrowed his eyes at her. "What's that look for?"
"I was just wondering . . . When are you going to leave? To look for Maric, I mean?"
"About a month from now. After Anora and Cailan's wedding."
"Ah. That makes sense." She chewed again at her bottom lip.
"What are you thinking?" Clearly, there was something on her mind.
She stared at him for a moment, then she shrugged and shook her head. "Nothing. I expect the wedding will be beautiful, won't it?" she said, changing the subject.
•o•o•o•o•o•
When they returned to the great hall, Rhianna rejoined her parents, as the feast was just about to be served. The food was very fancy: course after course of superbly prepared delicacies, some of which Rhianna had never even imagined, let alone tasted before. So, this was what it was like to welcome a new king. Maybe they had so much lovely food to try and make everyone forget how sorry we are the old king isn't here anymore.
After dinner, once again, the guests formed into small knots, to say their goodnights and make plans for the rest of the week. Now that the succession had been decided and the coronation complete, there really wasn't much call for political meetings, but hardly anyone intended to leave Denerim. What was the point of returning home when the royal wedding would take place a month from now? So, an impromptu "season" had begun, and already the nobles were gearing up to see who could provide the best entertainment, whose salons would be "the" ones to attend.
As Rhianna rose from the table, preparing to follow her father, she was intercepted by Anora Mac Tir.
"Rhianna, could I possibly have a word with you?"
"Of course," Rhianna agreed. It was funny Anora had asked so formally. Then again, Anora had always been like that - acting like a proper grown up with impeccable manners - as long as Rhianna could remember.
"I was hoping," Anora began, "you and I could have lunch together one day soon. Perhaps the day after tomorrow, if you don't already have another engagement?"
"I don't have anything planned for the day after tomorrow," Rhianna replied. "I would love to have lunch with you."
"Lovely. It will be just the two of us, then. I'll send a carriage for you at mid-day, to bring you to the Gwaren Estate. Unless you would rather have lunch at the Gnawed Noble?"
Oh. That was a difficult choice. She'd only been to the Gnawed Noble a few times. That's where everyone went to drink ale and tell stories, and it always seemed so exciting. But if they had lunch at the Gwaren Estate, maybe Teyrn Loghain would join them.
"I'd rather have lunch at Gwaren House, if it's not too much trouble."
Anora smiled. "It's no trouble at all. I'll send a carriage for you just before noon, day after tomorrow."
"You don't have to send a carriage. I know the way, and it's not at all far from Highever House. I'm more than happy to walk."
"No, I insist." Ah. Anora was probably remembering when Rhianna had been locked away in the tower. Everyone seemed to remember it; that was the reason Rhianna wasn't allowed to go anywhere by herself. "I'll send a carriage."
"All right." She had a thought. "Would you like to meet my puppy? He's a mabari. I just got him for my birthday. If you don't like dogs I can leave him at home, but if you do like dogs, he is very cute. Would you like to meet him?"
"I would love to meet your mabari." Anora sounded sincere. "Please do bring him. I'll have cook fix something special just for him."
The daughters of Ferelden's two teyrns bid one another a good evening, and Anora walked away to speak with someone else, while Rhianna looked around for her father.
Oh, no. He was across the room, talking to Uncle Leonas, Lady Harriet, and - horror of horrors - Habren Bryland. Rhianna started to turn and walk in the other direction before her father noticed her, but he saw her and waved her over before she could make an escape.
As she crossed the room, trying not to drag her feet, she felt someone fall into step beside her. Teyrn Loghain.
He leaned over and whispered in her ear, "Let Habren do her worst. We'll take her down together." She looked up at him, and he winked.
"Ah, there you are, Pup," her father said genially when they joined the conversation. "We were just talking about you."
"You were?" she asked, feeling a flutter of something uncomfortable in her stomach.
"Oh yes" Lady Harriet gushed. "Your father claims not to have heard anything about the invitation to our salon for tomorrow. Habren's been planning it for weeks. It's to be her first time hosting her own salon, in the South Reach Estate. It's quite an achievement for her."
"Invitation?" Rhianna asked, genuinely confused. "I don't remember getting an invitation for anything tomorrow."
Habren smirked, while her aunt replied, "Don't be ridiculous, dear. Habren sent them out two weeks ago. I know you were on the list. We couldn't have a salon without Bryce's daughter, now, could we?" She gave Rhianna's father a rather exuberant grin.
"Oh," Habren simpered, "but if Rhianna's invitation got . . . lost, somehow, I'm sure she won't be able to come. I mean, we're getting to have a whole second season now, with the royal wedding approaching. And Rhianna has so many friends, I'm sure her social calendar has been filled up for ages. I mean, who wouldn't already have plans for the very next day?" She smiled nastily, and the uncomfortable feeling in Rhianna's stomach worsened, as she realized she was being set up.
Her father, however, failed to grasp the significance. "Oh, I'm sure Rhianna is available tomorrow, aren't you, Pup? And you'd love to attend Habren's salon."
Before she could think of what to say, Loghain interrupted. "Forgive me, Bryce, but tomorrow? That's . . . unfortunate timing. I had planned to take your daughter out riding tomorrow." He glanced at Rhianna. "To the coast. To look for sea lions."
Oh, Maker bless him. "Yes, that's right," Rhianna agreed. "We're going to look for sea lions."
"Sea lions?" Lady Harriet sounded confused. "What in the world is sea lion?"
"They're like seals," Rhianna explained, "only bigger and they have earflaps on the sides of their heads. They're quite interesting. We have them near Highever, and Teyrn Loghain says he's seen them at Gwaren as well, but neither one of us know if they live near Denerim."
"So," Loghain added, "Rhianna and I are going to go out and see for ourselves. It's the least I could do, after how gracious she's always been, escorting Maric and I around Highever whenever we come to visit. Of course . . ." he said, turning to Rhianna, "we could postpone our trip, Rhianna, if you'd really rather attend the salon."
What? What was he saying? Of course she didn't want to attend the salon! Why would he make up a story about plans, only to suggest she go to the salon anyway?
But Lady Harriet interrupted before Rhianna could think of anything to say. "Oh, no!" she insisted. "Rhianna, you can't possibly break the engagement you have with Teyrn Loghain." She frowned deeply at the girl, as if Rhianna had been the one to suggest something very impolite. "We'll just have to figure out some way to get along without you. I do hope your mother will be able to attend, at least."
Bryce glanced from Harriet, to Loghain, to Rhianna, a slight frown on his face, as though he suspected something wasn't quite right about this, but couldn't decide exactly what.
Rhianna glanced at Loghain out of the corner of her eye, giving him the quickest of conspiratorial grins. But Lady's Harriet's next words drove away some of her good cheer.
"You will have to come and have lunch with us one day this week, though, Rhianna. I won't take no for an answer. How about the day after tomorrow? Hopefully you don't yet have anything planned? Habren and I have the entire day free."
"The day after tomorrow?" Rhianna tried to contain her surprise, and her pleasure. "Oh, Lady Harriet, I'm so sorry, but I'm afraid I can't make it the day after tomorrow, either."
"You can't?" Her father was unable to keep the surprise from his voice. "What are you doing the day after tomorrow?"
"I'm having lunch with Lady Anora."
"Lady Anora is having a luncheon party?" Lady Harriet frowned. "This must be some sort of last-minute affair. Habren and I have not yet received our invitations."
"Oh, I don't believe it's going to be a party," Rhianna replied. "Lady Anora said it would be just the two of us." To her father, she added, "She's going to send a carriage for me, just before noon. I told her I'd be happy to walk, but she insisted. Dane's to come with me, as well."
Bryce laughed. "Well, Rhianna. I can see I have some catching up to do with you and your busy schedule. Are there any other outings planned of which I should be aware?"
"No." Then she had an idea, and decided to take a calculated risk. Although it didn't seem like too much of a risk. "Well, not really. Except Teyrn Loghain and I are going to spend some time training over the next few weeks. At Fort Drakon. Isn't that right?" She turned to Loghain and smiled brightly.
"Fort Drakon. Yes. Although I had thought we might also train outside the city. I want to see how you're coming along with your bow from the back of a horse. That's difficult to manage inside the fort."
Rhianna rewarded him with the most brilliant smile she could manage. Oh, this was wonderful. Not only had she managed to get out of the salon and lunch at the South Reach estate, but they would go riding tomorrow to the coast, and now they'd be able to train together as well. This was the best thing that could have happened. And all thanks to Habren trying to be so awful.
Eleanor and Fergus approached, coming to stand next to Rhianna. "Are you about ready to leave, dear?" Eleanor asked her husband.
"Certainly. We were just reviewing the details of our daughter's surprisingly busy social calendar for the next week."
'Indeed?" Eleanor, her brow furrowed, glanced at Rhianna.
"Yes, Mother. Teyrn Loghain and I plan to go riding tomorrow. So, unfortunately, I won't be able to attend Habren's salon."
"Oh, well riding sounds lovely." To Habren, "I didn't realize you were having a salon. But I don't have anything planned for tomorrow, so I'll make sure to come along."
Loghain turned to Rhianna. "Shall I call for you first thing in the morning? It's a good two hour ride to where I think we should start looking, so we should get a reasonably early start."
"I'll be up at day break, so anytime after that will be fine."
"All right. I'll be by right after breakfast, then." He gave her a rather formal bow, then nodded at the others. "And with that, I'll say my good nights." Loghain turned, and began walking through the hall to where Anora was standing with Cailan.
As she watched him walk away, Rhianna remembered something important.
"Oh, excuse me!" she said to her parents, "There's something I forgot to tell the teyrn." She hurried after Loghain, catching up with him before he'd made it to his daughter.
•o•o•o•o•o•
"Teyrn Loghain!" Rhianna rushed up to him, grasping him by the arm.
This was a surprise, although not an unpleasant one. "Be careful you say," he warned. "You don't want anyone to catch on to what we did back there." Although his voice was stern, he gave her a wink, which made her giggle.
"No, don't worry. I'm not going to say anything to give us away," she whispered. "Although you gave me quite a scare just now. What were you thinking, saying we could postpone our trip so I could attend the salon? What if Lady Harriet had insisted?"
"There was no chance of that, Rhianna. I've known Harriet Bryland for nearly thirty years, and appearances and social standing are everything to her. The woman is constitutionally incapable of allowing you to cancel your plans with a teyrn, even for her own niece's salon. I promise, you were never in any danger. And if by some strange twist of fate she had insisted, I would invited myself along, and made certain you weren't forced to spend the day being taunted by Habren and her friends."
"Oh. All right. Although for a minute there, I thought you had lost your mind," she giggled. Then, her expression grew serious. "But there is something I need to tell you. There's a problem with going riding tomorrow."
"Oh. You've decided you would rather attend Habren's salon, after all. For its historical significance, perhaps?"
She giggled again, loudly, and brought her hands to her mouth to stifle the noise. "No, silly." She swatted at his arm playfully, "I'm serious." She stopped laughing, and continued. "I want to go riding, only I don't have a horse to ride."
"What happened to Carrot? Nothing's wrong with her, I hope."
"Oh, she's fine. Sort of. She hurt her leg, not long after the festival. And it hadn't healed properly before Father and I came to the city. To be honest, I'm not sure it ever will. So, I can't ride her. She's back in Highever, living with the other horses, and she's happy enough. But it means I don't have a horse to ride here in Denerim."
"That's not a problem. We'll stop at the royal stables and find a mount for you."
"Really? That's not a problem?"
"Far from it. Most of the horses don't get ridden often enough, in my opinion. You'll be doing us a favor, giving one of them some exercise."
"Oh, that's wonderful." She smiled happily. "Thank you."
"Of course."
"All right, then. Good night. Again."
As she turned to go, a question occurred to him. He grasped her arm to stop her.
"Are you really having lunch with Anora? The day after tomorrow?"
"Of course I am. She invited me to lunch just before we started talking to Lady Harriet. Did you really think I might have been making that up?"
"I don't know. With you, anything's possible."
"No," she giggled. "I'm not nearly cheeky enough to do something like that."
"Oh, I see. You're only cheeky enough to make up something like us training together at Fort Drakon?"
She gasped. "You're one to talk. Taking me to see the sea lions, indeed."
"I didn't make that up!" he insisted. "I did promise to take you to the sea lions the next time we were in Denerim. Well, perhaps I didn't promise. Come to think of it, I might not have ever mentioned it. But I'd been planning to ask you. You certainly caught on quickly enough. You do want to try and find sea lions tomorrow, don't you?"
"Of course I do. You know better than to ask that. And don't worry. Your secret is safe with me, considering it's my secret, too." She giggled again, then smiled up at him gratefully. "Thank you, Teyrn Loghain. You really are the best." She reached up on tiptoe to kiss him on the cheek, before hurrying off toward her parents.
He watched her go, enjoying the warmth on his cheek where she had pressed her lips to his skin. He was glad he'd managed to get her out of what promised to be the most dreadful salon yet, and with a minimum of subterfuge. And he couldn't think of anything he'd rather do on the morrow than ride with her to the coast. With any luck, they'd find sea lions; she'd enjoy that.
As he turned to look for his own daughter, he caught a glimpse of Eamon Guerrin. His eyes, too, had been tracking Rhianna's progress across the room. Just what was that all about? And why had the Arl of Redcliffe paid the Couslands a visit the night before? He felt certain it had something to do with Rhianna. But what?
The thought left him feeling vaguely uncomfortable.
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Note: Thank you to Xogs, my marvelous beta, and also to my lovely reviewers: DutchNight, Psyche-Sinclair, WardenVaer, milly-finalfantasy, Arsinoe de Blassenville, Doom-N-GloomGal, and RobinGrace.