It was harder than she could have possibly dreamed, handing her babe to the waiting arms of a wet-nurse.

For the first week after Caila Eleanor—whom Rìona quickly took to calling Ella—was born, she flatly refused to do so. She had, perhaps, allowed herself to become complacent in the idea that with the Blight and an almost-certain famine looming, there would be no wet-nurses available when the time came. She'd had it in her mind that she would be allowed to have a traditional lying-in. She couldn't describe how jealously protective she felt of her time with Ella; the idea of turning over caring for the babe to another was maddening.

But, as it happened, one of the village women had been delivered of an early and stillborn babe only a week before Rìona gave birth. She'd been helping to suckle some of the other babes in the village at need, but if she didn't find employment as a wet-nurse soon, her milk would dry up and the opportunity would be lost entirely.

Still, Rìona resisted.

"I can't, Wynne!" Rìona said desperately, clutching Ella protectively to her breast. It seemed strange to think that not long ago, she'd been in a panic over the prospect of the Blight continuing unabated while she was held back by her pregnancy. Now, it seemed impossible that anything could be more important than these precious early days with her babe. The feel of Ella in her arms, the peace that suffused her when the babe suckled, the smell of that downy head when Rìona nuzzled her face against it... the idea of giving even a moment of that up ached. "Please! A few more days, at least!"

"You've always known this day would come, child," Wynne said, not unkindly. "I understand all too well how hard it is. I felt the same on the day the templars took my babe from my arms and delivered him to the Chantry. I'm sorry. Normally I would not encourage putting a babe to a wet nurse until a full forty days had passed, since suckling helps speed a woman's recovery from the ordeal of childbirth. But you are a Grey Warden, and you have a greater responsibility than most women will ever know. The Blight will not wait, not even for this."

"Surely a few days isn't so much to ask!" Alistair argued. He looked ill at the sight of her distress.

"If we wait too long, we may have no nursemaid to suckle the child, and then it will be a choice between the babe's life, or Rìona's duties as a Grey Warden," Wynne said sternly. "Do you wish to make that decision, Alistair?"

"No, of course not."

"Arl Eamon proposes leaving for Denerim within a fortnight. Who knows what we will face when we get there? Fortunately for us, the wet nurse has no other ties to Redcliffe and will be able to accompany us to Denerim. But we must act now, before she loses her milk."

Wynne kept Rìona pinned under that chiding look until at last, she sighed and nodded. Wynne was right, she knew. Rìona was being utterly unreasonable. And yet...

She hadn't known it would feel this way, as though she were being asked to part with a limb, rather than a babe. Every instinct within her struggled against the idea. She wondered if this was how templars felt, once they were addicted to lyrium. It was an agony too fierce to comprehend.

"Very well," she said, ducking her head to hide the tears which came so readily to her eyes. "Have the woman come in the morning. She may nurse Ella during the day so that I can begin to prepare for our departure for Denerim, and I'll care for Ella at night."

The woman, Muirne, turned out to be a village lass not much older than Rìona herself. She'd been wed only half a year before her husband was killed in the initial onslaught of undead which had besieged Redcliffe during Connor Guerrin's possession. She hadn't even known she was with child yet when she lost her husband, and then she lost her babe as well. There was a great deal of sorrow in her eyes, and she was genuinely happy to have the opportunity to care for another infant. She had no family save an older sister who lived in a neighboring village, and Muirne was only too glad to have the opportunity to leave Redcliffe, which held so many memories of loss for her.

Still, it hurt beyond anything Rìona could have imagined to lay Ella in her arms. Muirne smiled at the babe, and when Ella rooted at her bodice, she sat in a chair and guided Ella to her nipple.

Rìona turned away, tears burning her eyes.

"How do you feel?" Wynne asked gently. It was the first time Rìona had risen from bed, for longer than it took to use the privy, in the week since Ella had been born.

"Still a bit sore," Rìona replied, moving experimentally.

"That I can help with. It should be safe enough to use a small touch of healing magic on the worst of your aches. Come, child. We'll get you to the baths, and then you can go about the business of ending this Blight so that Ferelden is safe for your Ella."

Being clean and relatively pain-free did little to alleviate the pang Rìona felt when she returned to her chamber to find Ella sleeping peacefully on the bed while Muirne plied a spindle in a nearby chair, making the thread that would be woven into linen for bandages. As with the rest of the village, she, too, was contributing to the preparations for war.

Seeing it, Rìona resolved herself to make the best of the situation and do what she knew needed to be done. Lacing herself into her Dalish armor and shouldering her bow, she made her way down the stairs to the courtyard where the knights of Redcliffe trained.

The weight of the men's eyes upon her as she walked down the steps of the castle into the courtyard was daunting, making her feel self-conscious. At first, she assumed it was simply her Dalish armor, until one of them bowed deeply and made room for her at the target range.

"May I get you some practice arrows, Warden?"

"Thank you," she murmured, beginning to understand.

Most of them had seen her, in those weeks before Ella was born. They knew she'd only just had a child. For her to be up and out of her child-bed so soon must be strange to them indeed.

Perhaps, then, it was good that she was here, that they see her, that they have some inkling of what she was sacrificing to face the Blight beside them. These precious early days with her babe in her arms, she could never get back. But if the men she was to help lead knew and understood that not even she was above making sacrifices, then perhaps there was more value to this than she had originally imagined.

She only wished it didn't ache so.

The truth was, she was of limited utility planning the journey to Denerim. She and her company would merely be additions to Arl Eamon's entourage, and the arl had the logistics well in-hand. No, what she needed to do was get back in fighting form. She'd been out of combat for months; their skirmish with bounty hunters on the way to Redcliffe had taken all her endurance, and that had been a relatively minor battle.

Even with her heightened Grey Warden stamina, it didn't take long before the effort of drawing back her bowstring began to tell on her. Still, she persisted, though sweat beaded on her brow and her arms ached with the strain. Not until she literally could not hold her draw long enough to take aim did she set the bow down, and allow herself to rest.

Immediately, there was a dipper of water at her elbow. She looked up to thank her benefactor, only to find herself staring into Alistair's concerned eyes. Behind him, Zevran stood casually by the stairs leading up to the castle, and Rìona knew the only thing that kept him from offering the same level of solicitude was appearances. Between now and the Landsmeet, they would have to be exceptionally careful to give no-one any indication of... well, anything. Not if Alistair's desire to wed her had any hope of succeeding.

Zevran, pragmatic as always, didn't seem to mind. But it troubled Rìona, that she would never be able to acknowledge him openly. Even Alistair was at greater liberty to show Zevran affection than she was.

Her mother had been right, all those months ago, when she direly predicted that Rìona wouldn't be happy with the need for discretion that being queen called for. How strange. She'd fought so hard to overcome and out-argue her mother's objections, back then, but the teyrna had been right. Now, Rìona would gladly give up the opportunity to be queen if it meant she could acknowledge her love for Zevran in the bold light of day.

What a hideous trick of fate, that now all their hopes rested upon exactly the thing she wished for least. Alistair must depose Loghain if they were to undo the accusation of treason against them, and Rìona must help him with that and give Ella the birthright she was due. It was a matter of duty. That they would all be happier in obscurity didn't factor into it.

"I thought you'd be on the boats today," she murmured to Alistair, slinging her bow onto her shoulder and falling into step beside him as they made their way to join Zevran.

"We decided we would be better off helping you today, Guardiana," Zevran answered, sheathing the dagger whose edge he'd been examining. "Come, let us see what you remember about stealth and evasion. We'll play a game of hide-and-seek around the castle. And then, when you have your wind back, we will see if you remember how to use your daggers."

If she hadn't understood how extraordinarily blessed she was to have the love of both these men before, Rìona knew it well that day. They made the ache of separation from Ella endurable. They gave her a reason to keep from dashing back into the castle and reclaiming the babe from Muirne, ignoring her duties for the sake of the instinct that pulled at her body like a lodestone. Not until her breasts began to ache abominably and leaking milk saturated her bindings did she finally yield to that imperative to return to her child, tearing frantically at the strips of cloth binding her and bringing the rooting babe to her breast.

She wept with relief and sorrow at the knowledge that she would need to do it all again the next day.

Alistair and Zevran came to her that night, as they had not done since she'd given birth. The bed was more than large enough to accommodate them all, and so Rìona slept with their reassuring presence on either side of her and Ella nestled snugly against her chest, where she might suckle with little movement or effort as Rìona slept. Sometime well before dawn she felt a kiss on her brow and, when she awoke at Muirne's tentative knock at her chamber door, they were both gone.


The day before they were due to depart for Denerim, Rìona found herself alone in the practice yard, for the knights were all preparing for the journey, and Rìona had encouraged Alistair, and the rest of their people, to join the townsfolk in their labors that day to emphasize their common purpose. It was there that a servant found her, summoning her to Arl Eamon's study.

"Thank you for coming, Lady Cousland," Eamon greeted her politely, gesturing her to a chair. Rìona noted with amusement that he deliberately avoided looking at her in her Dalish armor. "First of all, I wish to apologize that we couldn't delay our departure for Denerim any longer. Having to skirt Lake Calenhad and take the North Road to avoid the Darkspawn encroachment to the south is going to add over a week to our journey, as it is. Any longer, and we would not arrive in time to meet face-to-face with our allies and make our case against Loghain before the Landsmeet."

"Please, my lord arl, do not apologize. We will do what we must."

"Are you certain you would not rather leave your babe here in Redcliffe?" the arl asked, frowning. "The journey to Denerim will not be an easy one, even in carriages. Isolde has decided to remain in Redcliffe, as she has recently discovered she is with child again herself. Your child would be well looked-after."

Leaving her child in the care of the unstable arlessa was the last thing Rìona wished to contemplate, but she smiled diplomatically and shook her head. "Thank you, Arl Eamon, but if matters in the Landsmeet play out according to plan, it is possible I may be in Denerim for many months to come. I will need to have the babe with me. If Alistair's plan succeeds, Ella will need to have a Naming in the Grand Cathedral as soon as possible to confirm her as Alistair's heir. She is still young enough that, with luck, she will be content enough to sleep nearly the entire way in a sling at the wet-nurse's breast. Hopefully that far north, we won't encounter any darkspawn, and if we do, Muirne has been instructed to stay sheltered within the carriage and avoid touching anything that's been in contact with darkspawn blood. It's the best we can do."

"Yes." Eamon grimaced, and Rìona braced herself. "About Alistair's plan. He's being rash, Lady Cousland. It will be much harder to make a case for his ascent to the throne with the complicating factors of you and your babe. You know this."

It was a struggle, to keep her voice level and not give vent to her annoyance. "It could, my lord. It could also ease the way, depending on the whim of the Landsmeet. We have no way of knowing for certain."

"Marriage amongst people of our rank is a practical and political alliance. It cannot be made for... sentimental reasons."

Rìona's eyes narrowed. "If you would seek to lecture me on that subject, perhaps first you'll indulge me with an explanation. Tell me, was it practicality that drove you to court the ire of your king in order to wed an Orlesian lass, when public sentiment was still so firmly against Orlais?" she asked tartly.

The arl drew himself up in rigid indignation. "My marriage did not affect the entire realm!"

"Perhaps not, but your hypocrisy is worthy of examination, nonetheless."

"We cannot let Alistair throw his chance at the throne away, when the safety of the realm is at stake!"

"Do you think you need to tell me that? Rest assured that any argument you make to me here now, I've made to him a dozen times since he decided upon this course!" Rìona snapped, losing her struggle to remain cool and unaffected. Maker! Since Ella's birth her temper had been on a fine thread, she knew, but she seemed utterly unable to moderate her response. "I am a Cousland, lest you've forgotten. I came to womanhood fully expecting to be wed where it would be most advantageous to my family. Sentiment never weighed into the equation."

"So then you seek to advance your name in all this?" The arl demanded sharply.

Rìona cursed herself for walking into that trap. "What would you have of me, Arl Eamon? If I say no, you accuse me of foolish and impractical sentiment. If I say yes, you accuse me of placing my own interests above those of the realm. It seems you've judged me wanting without ever giving me the benefit of a hearing. You had scarcely made my acquaintance before you were questioning my honor and integrity. So what is it you hope to accomplish with this harangue?"

"The lad won't be guided by me in this, and refuses to see reason. Remove yourself from consideration as his queen. Let the Landsmeet choose him on his own merits."

"Oh, my lord arl," Rìona laughed softly. "You have drastically misjudged 'the lad' if you believe that will dissuade him. Alistair is his own man. He's made his decision."

"He knows nothing of politics."

"He knew nothing of politics, it's true. You and his father saw to it, by refusing to acknowledge him or give him the recognition he was due. You kept him in ignorance, and worse, you made him fear to be anything other than ignorant. You made him your stable boy, for the love of Andraste! It was a despicable neglect!"

"You presume to judge me!"

Maker, she needed to stop this! Certainly she was not aiding her cause any by convincing the arl she was irrational. But the words fell from her lips in a heedless torrent. "I cannot fathom your reasons, unless it was to neutralize anyone who might threaten your blood connection to the throne through Cailan, or to give you a handle with which to control Alistair should Cailan be lost. If that was your aim, I assure you, it was a futile one. He's made it his business to learn to lead. He will be no one's puppet. Not mine, and most assuredly not yours!"

"Your impertinence is out of line, Lady Cousland," the arl said coldly. "Think what you will; I cared for Alistair and attempted to protect him, as best I could. I have his best interests, and those of the realm, at heart."

"Interests that just so conveniently happen to be defined by you. But now there is another heir to consider. Cailan's legacy. His only child. Who will meet their obligation to our fallen king and look after her interests? For I assure you, ser, she will not be raised in a barn!"

Strange, Rìona thought, how far she had come in a matter of weeks. In Orzammar, she had been willing to let Ella bear the label of bastard if it improved Alistair's chances to supplant Loghain. But now everything was different. She had a duty to her daughter.

"I see this is a fruitless conversation," the arl said, sighing. "I had hoped you would see reason."

"You've yet to present me with anything resembling reason, my lord arl. Make a valid argument for how Alistair's chances to take the throne and bring down Loghain will be improved significantly, and I promise you I will consider it. The truth is, Cailan was Ella's father. The truth is, he intended to wed me. Any claim otherwise is false. So please, present me with a case that doesn't boil down to sacrificing the truth to make lies seem less valid."

"You will confirm Loghain's assertions that the Grey Wardens wish to control Ferelden." Eamon stated bluntly. "Alistair's illegitimacy already casts question upon his suitability to rule. We have only my word and his resemblance to Cailan and Maric to support our claim that he is Maric's son. To compound that with—forgive me, but I must speak the truth—a potentially scandalous choice of queen will only make matters worse."

"I know," Rìona felt her anger begin to abate, and bowed her head. "I swear to you, Arl Eamon, I've made those very points to him a number of times. If you believe he's made this choice ignorant of the potential consequences, I assure you, you're wrong. If it were only sentiment, I would refuse to be party to it. But it's not. You assume I wish to be queen—and mayhap one time I did, but not anymore. If not for my obligation to provide my babe with the recognition she is due, I would happily retire from politics altogether. But Alistair has some valid arguments to make. There are advantages to his scheme. Whatever scandal might be attached to my name by Howe's slander, the Cousland lineage carries with it an undeniable ages-long legacy of solid leadership, integrity and loyalty to the realm. My father had popular support for the throne, when Cailan ascended. If we prevail, and expose Howe's claims for falsehoods, Alistair could do far worse in his choice for a bride, than the daughter of the man many thought should have been king, a man who was so loyal he refused what so many urged him to do, and instead swore his fealty to the Theirin line."

"Perhaps you're right," the arl acknowledged. "Only think how much stronger his claim would be, with another bride to whose name there is no doubt attached? If you're being as rational as you claim, surely you can see..."

"I do. And I've said as much to him. But what then, of Cailan's babe?"

To that, Eamon had no response. They both knew, even if Rìona were willing to let it happen, Alistair would not permit his brother's child to live in ignominy.

"Alistair has given his word that he will not allow his insistence upon having me as his bride prevent him from bringing Loghain down. And, if he falters in that resolve, I assure you, ser, I will not. Beyond that, we have an obligation to respect his will. And it is his will, not mine."

"I will only be able to support him in this so far, Lady Cousland," the arl said with a heavy sigh. "I must look to the good of the realm. But, I will try as best I can to see it done. I promise no more."

"Then that shall have to do, my lord arl," Rìona said. With a gesture, he excused her from his study, and with a bow, she went.