Judging from the amount of scrambling being done by the household staff, and by Arl Eamon's put-out expression as he greeted her in his main hall, she had interrupted in the middle of supper. It was unfortunately discourteous, but considering the amount of humiliation Anora was enduring to be there, it was a fair trade.

"Your Majesty." The arl bowed deeply before her. "Forgive the lack of a proper reception, but I was not aware you intended to call upon us personally. If you wish to speak with the Grey Wardens, I'm afraid they have not yet returned from the errand you sent them on."

"You are mistaken, Eamon," Anora replied coolly, letting a hint of a scolding tone color her voice. "I sent them upon no errand. I merely offered them information they might find helpful."

Perplexed, the arl frowned. He looked like he'd been to the Void and back, far older and more haggard since the last time she'd seen him at court. Clearly his rumored illness had taken its toll. "I see. Then, forgive me, Your Majesty, but I cannot fathom the purpose of your visit, and certainly," he glanced past her at the dozen or so guards that stood in rank and file behind her with their hands on their weapons. No doubt his own guard had already informed him that three dozen more waited outside in his courtyard, "not with so many of the royal guard in tow."

"Let me be frank, then, Eamon. I am here to take custody of the royal heir."

She wished she could let herself smile, or show the slightest hint of triumph, at his astonishment. Arl Eamon was a fine and skilled politician. She'd enjoyed jousting with him, and it wasn't every day she caught him completely flat-footed. The occasion, however, was far too solemn for any such display.

The arl collected himself quickly, clearing his throat. "Then... you admit the child's paternity, Your Majesty?"

"Do you know of any reason why I should doubt it?"

"None that I am aware of, Your Majesty. Anyone who has seen the child has remarked upon her resemblance to our late king."

Anora's mouth tightened, and she struggled against the impulse to wince. Was Eamon attempting to be cruel, gloating over her humiliation? Bad enough that she should have to concede publicly that her husband was a philanderer. Far worse, still, that she must admit another woman had fulfilled the duty Anora herself had not.

"I intend to see the babe for myself, but it never occurred to me to question my husband's word," she replied with an utter lack of reaction. "I received a duly witnessed and sealed document some months ago that had been discovered amongst my late husband's effects, acknowledging the affair with Lady Cousland and making arrangements to recognize any bastard that might be born of it. He wished the child to be raised according to her station, naturally. It was an honorable gesture and does our late king credit. I am, as always, his dutiful queen, and so I will see his wishes carried out."

"And what of the mother?" Eamon asked, folding his arms and giving her a stern, paternal look.

"What of her?"

"Forgive me, Your Majesty, but the document you claim to have makes no... provision... for her?"

Anora offered him a bland expression. "She's had the privilege of bearing the royal heir. With the child being recognized, the disgrace that would normally attach to a woman in her situation will be somewhat ameliorated. What other provision could she expect?"

Eamon's eyebrows lifted, and Anora wondered when it was that she had gotten better than the inveterate old schemer at lying through her teeth without speaking a single untruth.

"I think I would like to see this document, Your Majesty," he said sternly after a moment's consideration. "After all, you cannot expect me to hand over custody of a woman's child to you simply on your word that it was my nephew's wish. The child is my great-niece, and I have an obligation as her blood relative..."

"The document is safe in my study at the palace and there it shall remain. Your devotion to family is commendable, Eamon, but I must insist you produce the child and her nursemaid. The Grey Wardens were arrested earlier this evening, after breaking into Teyrn Howe's estate and killing him. They're currently imprisoned in Fort Drakon. Just days ago, Lady Cousland was heard to threaten the teyrn publicly. Even assuming she doesn't hang for her crime, I shall not leave my late husband's heir in the hands of a madwoman and a murderer."

"They were at Howe's estate on your information!" Eamon protested. "You cannot pretend you did not know what action Lady Cousland would take, with the information you dangled before her. This has all been set-up, clearly, and I must strenuously object to this action."

"I am not responsible for the rash and misguided actions of the Grey Wardens. As the royal heir, the child's person is property of the state; her upbringing is my purview. There will be no more debate, unless you care to bring this matter before the Landsmeet. Fetch her now, by order of your queen."

The arl looked as though he might argue, and Anora waited with her chin raised for him to do just that. The truth was, as queen-dowager, her claim to authority was merely courtesy, until the Landsmeet confirmed her as ruler in her own right. Eamon could easily refuse her on those grounds, but in so doing, he would show his own hand. It would hardly serve him to forewarn Anora that he intended to put himself forward as regent for the infant heir.

Grinding his teeth in frustration, Eamon did as she bade. Shortly, a woman appeared, carrying a swaddled bundle. Her clothing was simple and unadorned, but clean and well-kept. Her face, however, was pale and shaken. At her shoulder was an older woman with white hair, looking grim. A step behind her was an elf with fair hair and darkly tanned skin, wearing ill-fitting armor. Arl Eamon looked startled at his appearance.

"My lord, you cannot allow this!" the elderly woman protested.

"I have little choice, Enchanter Wynne," Eamon grumbled.

"Bring the child here," Anora instructed the wet-nurse imperiously, and with a curtsy, the farm-woman obeyed.

Her heart sank a little, when she peered at the babe's face, framed by tousled golden curls. Too much to hope, that Lady Cousland might have played Cailan false and attempted to pass another man's bastard off as the royal heir. Too much to hope that Cailan would have proven sterile and spared her this indignity.

This was undoubtedly her husband's child.

"What is her name?"

"Ella. I-I mean, C-Caila Eleanor, Your Majesty," the wet-nurse stammered. "For her ladyship's mother."

"No. She shall be named Celia Rowan, after my husband's mother, and my own," Anora announced. "We shall have a proper Naming for her once the Landsmeet is concluded. Eamon, have a servant bring the nursemaid's belongings to the palace."

She addressed her words to Eamon, before she turned and imperiously led her guard and the nursemaid out to the waiting carriages, but it was to the elf standing behind him that her eyes traveled in that final moment. Anora felt a chill run through her as he watched the proceedings silently, his face blank and expressionless. His armor and bearing suggested he was not a servant, but that wasn't what troubled her.

What troubled her were his eyes, for within their flat, brittle depths, was written death.


It was a galling realization, to know that a lifetime of preparation and work could be undone by a single failure.

It wasn't that the Landsmeet would necessarily discard six years of stellar management for want of an heir with the proper pedigree. True, the Theirin bloodline had symbolic value; having a Theirin on the throne was a statement of pride and defiance on the part of those who remembered all too well what it was to be under the heel of the Orlesians with a usurper upon the throne. Still, despite what her father assumed, not all the nobles were elitists like Eamon Guerrin whom, if truth be told, was more concerned with preserving his own family ties to the throne, and the power such a claim lent him, than in the symbolism of the Theirin monarchy.

No, if all things were equal, Anora had little doubt which way the Landsmeet would vote, if given the choice between the continuance of competent leadership or a regime change in the middle of a war.

That, of course, presupposed that all things were equal. Which they were not.

She had been reduced to little more than a figurehead by her own father, and that would no doubt hurt her cause by making her appear weak. This was doubly true since her father had made so many enemies during his regency, by the measures he'd had to take to bring the bannorn in line. The Landsmeet would be loathe to put their trust in a queen who had stood by and allowed her father to conduct a campaign of terror against her own people.

Even assuming she won their faith back, however, there was the issue of long-term stability. An unwed queen on the throne was an open-ended question. Would she remarry? If so, whom? Noblemen would be lining up to present themselves, or their sons, as potential candidates. But if she had failed to produce an heir for Cailan, how could they be certain she'd produce an heir with whomever she chose as prince-consort? Would there be another battle for the succession, decades hence?

Those were the advantages Eamon and the Cousland woman wielded, assuming they could convince the Landsmeet to accept a regency for an infant heir. They had opposed Loghain, while Anora had yielded her authority to him. Combined, they represented the two most powerful and well-established families in Ferelden, aside from the Theirin line. And they offered Ferelden the hope of a stable future beyond the immediate threat of the Blight.

It was a well-laid scheme, all told.

Thus it was that this pretty pink and gold girl-child was poised to be the undoing of a lifetime of Anora's labors. No matter how capable her leadership had been, no matter how competent a manager she was, no matter how adept she had become at keeping the bannorn in line, ultimately, Anora had failed in her foremost duty as queen. She had not produced an heir that would prevent a war of succession and ensure long-term stability for the realm.

That failure had, bit by bit, turned her marriage to a cold and bitter thing. Cailan had started out as a passionate husband, enamored of her since they were children. Anora had cherished him for his sweetness, his eagerness to please, and his willingness to leave the running of the country in her capable hands. He'd had the occasional dalliance, but he was typically discreet, and she found she could accept it gracefully enough.

But as the years wore on, and no heir was forthcoming, they had lost something between them. His visits to her chambers had become about duty, rather than about affection or pleasure. The more Cailan felt he had to visit her bed, the less willing he was to do so. He'd always been like that, wanting what he was told he could not have and disdaining what he was told he must do. The more reluctant he became to lie with her, the less pleasure she took in his doing so.

His dalliances had become protracted affairs, a stream of short-term mistresses. He became less discreet and that had hurt; not that he would stray, but that he would be so inconsiderate as to expose her to humiliation. Ultimately, their marriage had become little more than the political alliance their fathers had originally envisioned when betrothing them. Anora's only solace, then, had been her duty in managing the affairs of the realm, and the fact that none of Cailan's mistresses had conceived either.

Ah, but she had hoped it had been his failure, rather than her own, that prevented an heir!

One failure that hadn't even been a failure, and the work of a lifetime would be wasted. And so Anora found herself without a choice.

The wet-nurse looked pale and awed and dropped into a curtsy as a royal guard opened the door to the impromptu nursery and Anora swept in. No doubt the woman had never seen so elegant a room in her entire life, much less anticipated living in the royal palace. Still, the woman chewed her lip nervously and seemed conflicted when Anora gestured her away and approached the cradle to look down at her new ward.

"Leave us," Anora commanded, but the woman hesitated.

"Your pardon, Your Majesty, but her ladyship would take it amiss if I left the babe unsupervised."

Anora blinked slowly, as it gradually registered that this peasant woman was arguing with her.

"What 'her ladyship' prefers is none of my concern. The child is my ward, and you are now under my employ. Do as I say, or you shall be replaced."

Still the wet-nurse persisted. "Replace me if you like, Your Majesty. But her ladyship has been kind. She loves her babe madly, and I'll not allow harm to come to the child while I've breath left in my body!"

Astonished, Anora stared at the farmwife, who stood trembling and terrified, yet resolute all the same, poised to leap to the babe's defense if needed.

"What is your name, good woman?"

"Muirne Keegan, Your Majesty." She bobbed another quick curtsy.

"Well, Mistress Keegan, I commend you for your diligence to your charge, but if I were of a mind to harm the child, I would first have my guard imprison or kill you, and then have one of them dispose of the babe." Anora smiled slightly as the wet-nurse paled even further. "This child is my husband's, and I do not take her welfare lightly. She is safe with me, but if you're so concerned, you may take yourself to the other side of the room and hover there while I become better acquainted."

Bowing again, the nursemaid did as she was told, fidgeting anxiously on the far side of the nursery while Anora peered down at the sleeping babe.

"Well, Princess Celia," she sighed. "Whatever shall we do with you? I can't allow you to lie at my back like a weapon to be turned upon me, but I assure you, I'm doing you no favors raising you to your proper station. It's a hollow and lonely excuse for a childhood, being raised to rule a nation. You might very well be better off a bastard, if only your mother and Eamon had the wit to know it."

The rosy face crumpled, the small bottom lip pouting out. The babe looked charmingly anxious as she squirmed uncomfortably. Anora thought she might begin to cry, but she settled after a moment, frowning as though troubled by ill dreams.

"I cannot spare you the burden you must carry, I'm afraid. We all have our duty. Yours is to prepare yourself for the day Ferelden will look to you to lead her, and mine is to swallow my failure and mortification and attempt to find some kindness as I guide you, despite all you represent. I promise you, I shall try, though I may not always be equal to the task."

The babe frowned again and began to mewl softly, and a distinct odor wafted up from the cradle. Anora drew back as though burned.

"See to your charge, Mistress Keegan," she said, somewhat awkwardly, striding toward the door. "I shall come once a day to inspect the princess and check on her welfare. Feel free to ask the chamberlain for anything you might have need of to tend to the babe."


The morning brought troubling report from the captain of the royal guard.

"The wet-nurse we brought to the palace last night has fallen ill, Your Majesty," he announced after rising from his bow.

"Ill? Is it... the Blight sickness?"

"We cannot say, Your Majesty. The maid who brought her breakfast told the chamberlain she was feverish this morning, pale and sweating, unable to rise from her bed even to care for the babe."

"I see. We cannot take any chances. Get her away from the princess immediately. And convey my apologies and blessings to her, before you give her mercy."

With another bow, the captain left, and Anora paced her study anxiously. Within hours, she would need another wet-nurse. After what happened to Bann Grainne's unfortunate babe, she did not dare attempt to have the infant fed on cow's milk or thin gruel. But suitable women were in short supply. The privations of the Blight were taking their toll on the health of the populace, and she did not dare search among the refugees massing outside the city walls, for any of them might carry the corruption.

There was no help for it.

Opening the door to her study, she faced the guard who stood watch outside. "Send word to Fort Drakon. Have Lady Cousland released and brought to the palace at once."