Chapter 52: Special Guests And Rebel Queens

Bemused, Flora and Alistair both followed Finian the short distance down the passageway to the Cousland quarters. Retainers clad in the family livery hastened to open the doors; heads inclined in polite acknowledgement of king and future queen.

With a triumphant flourish, Finian led the way inside the quarters once used extensively by Bryce Cousland. The hearth had been piled high with the same perfumed cedar wood as the Royal bedchamber, but these flames illuminated stark differences in décor. The laurel of Highever was painted painstakingly on the plastered walls; fabric accents of navy and olive permeated throughout. A framed family tree, carefully inked on parchment, hung above the hearth itself.

Fergus was sitting at the table, a polite and slightly bemused expression writ across his auburn-bearded face. Opposite him was a rotund, middle-aged man with florid and weather-beaten features. He was wearing a rather odd combination of clothing: a grubby linen shirt, a striped mustard and tan tunic, and a bright orange fishing hat. The entire ensemble was much patched and clearly well-travelled in.

Alistair thought at first that it might be some familiar face from Herring, but this theory was quickly dashed when his lover appeared equally clueless as to the man's identity.

On seeing them, the man rose awkwardly to his feet; not used to being in such esteemed company.

"Floss," announced Finian from behind her shoulder, pride suffusing the words as they emerged. "I'm very pleased to introduce Wulfric Letholdus, formerly of Honnleath, currently of Dragon's Peak."

Alistair blinked - the name meant nothing to him. At his side Flora's jaw dropped, her eyes widening in disbelief. Finian had spent a half-candle deciphering this name with her at South Reach, his finger patiently tracing out the letters scored into the book's leather binding.

"You wrote Exotic Fish of Thedas," she breathed, awestruck.

"Aye, milady."

"My favourite book in the world. You fished up all those amazing fish."

The man nodded, eyeing her warily.

"Aye, that I did, ma'am. Every one, by my own net and pole."

"Oh," she continued, utterly enraptured. "That's amazing. I'm so jealous."

Wulfric let out a little grunt, shifting in his seat and shooting a surreptitious glance at the Cousland heraldry painted on the walls.

"How did you manage to catch the Rivaini Night Eel?" Flora whispered, with eyes like saucers. "It only comes out of the nest twice a year, according to your own entry."

"All a matter of usin' a big-enough hook," replied the fisherman, with the dourness typical of his profession. "And waitin' for a sou'westerly current."

Fascinated, Flora drifted forwards as though in a waking dream; taking a seat at the table and staring at the man as though he were the Blessed Andraste Herself returned to the mortal world.

"But what kind of bait did you use?"

Within moments, fisherman and future queen were immersed deep in a conversation that seemed utterly nonsensical to the others present in the chamber. Alistair had no idea what his best friend was babbling excitedly about – it was an incomprehensible tangle of fishing linguistics, interspersed with peculiar breed names he just about recognised from reading through Exotic Fish with her. Still, he was delighted to see his lover looking so animated, simultaneously grateful to Finian for organising such a deeply meaningful gift.

Fergus apparently had similar thoughts, the teyrn draping an arm about his younger brother's shoulders as he came to stand alongside them.

"How in Andraste's flaming smalls did you manage to track him down, Finn?"

Finian grinned, at once both proud and smug.

"He was a bugger to find," the new arl of Amaranthine admitted, cheerfully. "Had to use all my Orlesian contacts. I owe quite a few people favours now. But, it's worth it. Look at her sweet face!"

Flora was leaning forwards, utterly enthralled, her chin resting in her hands and her pale eyes bright with fascination.

For the next two hours, fisherman and daughter of Herring were consumed by frenzied conversation. Unable to contribute, king and Cousland brothers ended up playing several quiet rounds of Wicked Grace in the corner of the chamber; Finian winning three times and the others a round apiece.

Finally, Wulfric Letholdus ended up rather awkwardly presenting Flora with a sheaf of parchment bound together with twine; coughing and raising his eyes to the ceiling. She used her finger to trace the words etched into the leather, reading them painstakingly out loud.

"'Even… More… Ex- Exotic Fish of Thedas.' Oh! Oooooh!"

"It's the sequel," muttered Wulfric, with the awkward demeanour of a man who spent more time alone in the wilds with a fishing rod than he did in the company of others. "Only a first draft, mind."

Flora clutched the book to her chest; so overwhelmed that she felt a choked sob surging up from her belly. Not bothering to restrain herself – after all, she was not in public – she let the tears of gratitude roll freely down her cheeks.

Wulfric, even less used to dealing with tears than he was women in general, shot a frantic glance towards the others. Alistair, whose head had shot around at the first sniffle, immediately rose to his feet; the cards falling from his lap to the flagstones.

"Three Serpents and a Rose," observed Finian quietly, smug in the knowledge that he would have won this round too.

Alistair came to stand behind Flora's chair, one hand settling gently on top of her head. Flora wiped roughly at her eyes, clutching the book to her chest as though it were a precious baby.

"I owe youmore than I can say," she whispered tremulously, forcing some evenness into her reply. "Exotic Fish of Thedas gave me so much happiness during the Blight. I can't thank you enough."

"Well, we all owe you our lives," muttered Wulfric, the words accompanied by a little grunt. "Dragon-slayer."

Once Wulfric had taken his leave, Finian shot a self-satisfied grin across the room towards his little sister, who was still sitting – slightly dazed - at the table.

"Told you my gift was worth waiting for, Flossie," he declared, with equal parts smugness and pride.

Flora placed the Exotic Fish sequel atop the gleaming beech surface; propelling herself and her belly upright with a spread palm. Crossing the room in a handful of strides, she embraced her brother with a ferocity that knocked the air from his lungs. Finian laughed as he held her against him, hand patting her shoulder blades through the lambs' wool tunic.

"I take it you liked your present then, sweet pea?"

"I loved it!"

"Does it make up for me chasing you around Redcliffe Castle with some Templars when we first met?"

"Yes!"

A short while later - much to Alistair and Flora's dismay - they were forced to part. Old Fereldan tradition dictated that the bride be kept in a separate room from her future husband on the night preceding the wedding. Eamon had sent Leliana as enforcer; knowing that both Alistair and Flora would do as the sweetly smiling, steely-eyed bard requested.

With Flora's nightgown over her arm, the lay sister manifested in the corridor outside the Cousland quarters, intercepting both former Wardens as they left. Alistair's face had been almost comical in its disappointment as he learnt that he was to be separated from his best friend until midday the next day – indeed, the next time he would set eyes on her would be in the Grand Chantry itself.

Flora, equally glum at the prospect of their parting, reached out her arms towards him; Mairyn's Star glintingin the torchlight.

"I'll have the horses ready at eleven bells tomorrow morning," Fergus murmured to Leliana, as the lay sister gave a small nod of confirmation. "The streets will be cordoned off to carts and wagons, and guards will line the route, but I suspect it'll still take longer than normal to reach the Square."

"In Orlais, it's fashionable for a bride to be late to her own wedding," Leliana replied, with a little snort reminiscent of Val Royeaux. "Oh, for the love of Andraste, you two are being parted for a single night, not a year! Florence, do try and leave Alistair some face left, won't you?"

A flushed Flora detached herself with extreme reluctance. Alistair appeared half tempted to take his mistress by the hand and lead her back into their own bedchamber, though he was rapidly dissuaded by a deadly glare from Leliana.

"I'll see you tomorrow, baby," the king called after Flora as she was steered down the corridor by the determined bard. "I'll be the one standing at the front of the Chantry in a gold hat."

Leliana, with the acumen of one who knew the layout of the palace intimately, led the way from the Royal quarters and into the eastern wing of the castle. They traversed branching corridors and passageways that Flora had not even seen before, passing over balconies overlooking mouldering hallways and barely-used reception chambers. Flora was so fascinated by this venture into the decaying depths of the palace that she abandoned her sulk at being parted from Alistair. The bard seemed to be leading her into a far older section of the castle – one in dire need of repairs. The stone walls were crumbling, the flagstones cracked and the tapestries on the wall visibly threadbare. Even the candelabras were cloaked in cobwebs, remnants of candles frozen in waxy drips. The corridor was lit sporadically, one torch lit for every three iron brackets.

"I've never been here before," Flora breathed, almost colliding with Leliana as the bard halted outside a wooden door inscribed with a wolf's snarling maw. "It smells like Herring."

"Damp and mouldering? I agree," murmured Leliana, giving the door an experimental nudge.

In contrast to the dilapidated surroundings, the door swung open easily; as though its hinges had been freshly oiled. Indeed, the small bedchamber that lay within appeared to have been recently renovated – a fresh coat of plaster had been applied to the walls, clean furs spread over the bed and sweet-smelling rushes strewn across the flagstones. A fire had been set in the hearth, crackling contentedly away behind the iron grate.

The neat little bedchamber was in such disparity to the mildewed corridor that Flora stared at it, and then twisted her head to peer up and down the dilapidated passageway.

"In, in," chided Leliana, ushering Flora inside and promptly closing the door. "You're going to let all the heat out."

Flora wandered across the room, her attention caught by the faded tapestry on the wall. It depicted several playful Mabari at play; one gnawing at a bone, the other chasing its tail, and the third barking up at its master. It was faded and frayed, clearly a great number of decades old.

"Whose room was this?" she breathed, touching a finger to the moth-eaten fabric and sneezing at the dust that rose in its wake.

"This was the childhood room of Moira Theirin," Leliana replied softly, heading to the window and pushing back the shutters. A sloping tiled roof ran alongside the wall; running a length of several metres before ending in a sharp drop to the courtyard below. Just beneath the window was a low balcony, barely large enough for two people to stand abreast.

"Moira Theirin?" Flora repeated, trying to recall Alistair's ancestry.

"The Rebel Queen of Ferelden, Florence. Do you remember nothing of my history lessons? Although," Leliana relented, seeing Flora yawn. "She wasn't yet the Rebel Queen when she lived here. She was a little girl, whose father was desperately clinging to his throne. The Orlesians had already captured the south-west- "

"Boo! Hiss!"

"Indeed, ma petite. The Orlesians had taken Redcliffe, and were rapidly encroaching on the Bannorn. King Brandel could not rally the Fereldan people, and so eventually he lost Denerim too. It was his daughter who united the people behind her and took up the rebel cause; in defiance of what seemed an insurmountable force."

Flora blinked, dropping an absentminded hand to her stomach as she felt the baby give an irritable kick.

"I have a feeling I'm staying in this room tonight for a reason," she said carefully at last, and Leliana gave a small, patient nod of confirmation.

"Oui, ma crevette. It sends out a message to Ferelden, much like the entirety of tomorrow. You understand, yes?"

Flora nodded; she did understand.

All of Thedas' leaders will be at the coronation tomorrow; either in person or in proxy. They're not just there as guests, they're there to assess Ferelden's post-Blight strength.

Alistair and I, we both have to appear strong. Like leaders that can rally a nation behind us.

Leliana smiled, drawing the shutters closed and turning back into the room.

"Anyway! As isolated as this chamber may seem, I assure you that there are servants and stewards lingering nearby if you have any requests. However, I must suggest an early night - it's going to be a very exhausting day tomorrow."

Leliana's 'suggestions' were actually none-too-subtly disguised instructions. Minutes later, Flora was sitting on the bed in her nightgown, eyes watering as the bard wielded a merciless hairbrush.

"The dressmaker will arrive at eight bells tomorrow. We'll need to be up at dawn to wash and dry this great unruly mass of hair," Leliana murmured, finally satisfied that she had worked out all the tangles. "It'll take three hours to get you ready- "

"Three hours?!" bleated Flora, who customarily took three minutes to get ready. "Hours?"

"Ssh! Oui. We'll depart at eleven bells. Does that suit you?"

Flora let out a little grunt of assent, winding several thick ropes of hair into a plump braid over her shoulder.

"Eleven hours," she repeated, fastening the end of the woven hair with a leather tie and lying back against the furs. "Alright."

Leliana leaned across to blow out the candle, settling back into the mass of overstuffed cushions. For several moments, both redheads were silent, thinking on the events of the next day. An owl called from somewhere beyond the closed shutters, the cry echoed by its mate moments later. The bard's sharp ears detected the sound of guardsmen's boots against the flagstones; a pair of soldiers stationing themselves at either side of the door. Clearly, Alistair was willing to take no chances with his mistress' safety on this final night they were to spend apart.

Flora felt the baby shift inside her belly and placed a warning hand over the fleshy curve, inwardly instructing the little creature not to get too acrobatic just as she was settling down.

Go back to sleep, Flora thought to herself, sternly. We both have a long day tomorrow.

"Bonne nuit, ma crevette." Leliana's voice drifted from the shadows; the outline of her face just visible against the cushions.

"Night, Leliana," Flora replied, reaching out to pat the bard gently on her freshly moisturised cheek. "Don't let the weever fish bite."

Flora awoke several hours later to the sound of a faint tapping. Confused – and also a little terrified that it might be the headless ghost of the Rebel Queen come back to revisit her old bedroom - Flora opened an eye and squinted through the gloom.

The hearth burned low in the grate, casting a muted ochre glow across the small bedchamber. Leliana was sound asleep beside her, a pink silk Orlesian mask covering the upper half of her face. The chamber itself seemed deserted, and then the faint tapping came again and Flora jumped a little amidst the blankets.

A moment later, she realised that the sound was coming through the closed shutters; faint and insistent.

"Flo!"

Flora put down her impromptu weapon - Even More Exotic Fish Of Thedas - and pushed back the furs, swinging herself and her belly out of bed. Creeping barefoot across the flagstones, she reached up to unfasten the shutters, pulling them inwards to reveal a triumphant Alistair perched on the balcony below. He was still fully dressed and grinning triumphantly; untidy hair silvered by an indulgent, low-hanging moon.

"Finally!"


OOC Author Note: Haha it was funny to write Flo proper fangirling over the author of Exotic Fish of Thedas, lol. Poor old Alistair, doomed to read about fish with his wife for all eternity!

I'm just making up Fereldan traditions left right and centre here – like the future queen spending the night in the childhood bedchamber of the Rebel Queen. But it seems like it makes sense to me, lol, so hopefully no one will be too offended at my headcanon.

Replying to reviews in the reviews, thank you!