A/N: This one shot takes place between chapters 64 and the epilogue of "War of the Laurels." This is in the latter half of the year, so the events of Awakening have already happened.
Morning has Broken
By Spectre4hire
Anora Cousland was the first to rise in the morning.
She carefully stirred from under the blankets, not wanting to wake her husband. That particular fear proved unnecessary since he was snoring soundly beside her. She turned her attention to the windows which had been opened with their curtains pulled back. A simple request that she made before she rose. Though my guards and advisers wouldn't call it such.
The skies outside the Royal Palace remained a dark grey, the last winking lights of stars fading one by one. Anora saw the orange dim of sunlight beginning to peek over the horizon. It was a beautiful sight and one she never grew tired of. The fresh air that flowed into their chambers like a sweet song only improved her mood.
Her slippers were placed perfectly at the side of her bed so when she slipped out of her sheets, her toes easily found and then slid into the warm, soft deerskin slippers. Anora padded over to the tall windows, relishing the rush of the morning breeze that enveloped her as gently as a lover's embrace. She stood there for a long moment, wishing to bask in it all. Even at this hour, she saw shadows below her, moving through not just the grounds of the Royal Palace, but of Denerim itself.
The rebuilding of the capital was an on-going development. The final battle of the Blight had only been months ago, but she thought it was a testament to her people's strength at how quickly they had begun the progress of rebuilding their homes and shops. Anora allowed herself one more lazy heartbeat to savor the freshness of this new day before she pulled the curtains closed since Edmund didn't share her affinity for early morning sunlight.
She found her robe waiting for her. It provided her modesty and comfort, its fur trimmed helped to stave away the morning chills. She cast one final look back at her husband before she opened the door. Her eyes even lingered on her empty spot of the bed. Only Edmund could tempt me for a lie in, Anora reflected with warm affection before she slipped out of their chambers and closed the door gently behind her.
Anora had settled for a light spread of food, a simple assortment of some fresh bread and jam. It had been her usual choice, but now as she saw the dwindling crumbs, she still found herself oddly hungry.
"Shall I have more sent up, Your Majesty?" The servant had already appeared to collect her dishes.
"Yes, please," Anora was surprised by her own answer.
"Very good, Your Majesty," the servant dipped her head before retreating out of the royal study.
The loud knock on her door stopped herself from dwelling on her unexpected appetite. "Come in," she beckoned the expected guest.
Seneschal Luwin bowed when the door opened before stepping inside. He took several more steps before giving her another respectful head dip before he came to his usual position at the front of her desk. "Good morning, your Majesty."
"Good morning," she returned the greeting with the same warm cheer of her adviser. "I suppose on a beautiful morning such as today, all is well in Thedas?"
Luwin offered her a wry grin before shrugging his shoulders. "Unexpectedly not, Your Majesty." the piles of parchment in his hand proving his point. "A Letter from our ambassador in Kirkwall," he pulled out the piece of parchment and placed it on her desk.
No Fereldan envoy had written to her as much as their ambassador to Kirkwall, Lord Welsby. His reports were filled with the city's growing distaste of the Fereldan refugees who crossed the Waking Sea to save themselves from darkspawn. They left their homes and lives behind them, she thought sadly of her people, only to be looked down on as something these Marchers scraped off their boots.
"Would you live in a place called Darktown, Luwin?" Her heart ached at reading the reports of her people living in such squalor. With the darkspawn threats finally behind them, she hoped they'd be able to resolve this in order to help their people.
"If I had to, Your Majesty."
"Yes, of course," She sighed, knowing her crown could sometimes prove to be a blindfold. Anora picked up her quill and wrote down a few sentences, trying to gather her thoughts, but she underlined the question she had written on the top of the vellum before sliding it over to her adviser: How do we bring our people home?
He didn't answer her. He knew her well enough to know she didn't want guesses, but solutions. He nodded his head as he folded it before slipping it in his pocket.
"What else do we have?"
"Your Majesty?" It wasn't the voice of her seneschal, but her servant. She had returned with a second helping. The plate was full and not just with bread and jams, but other fruits and cheeses that had been artfully arranged. She bowed her head before carefully placing the plate onto the desk avoiding the vellum that was stacked in piles and spread across the surface. It was a difficult challenge, but the servant found room for it.
"Thank you," Anora found herself delighted at the selections in front of her.
"There is a matter I wish to discuss with you."
Anora had just bit into a delicious pastry; the crust was hot and sweet. She waved for him to continue.
"It is something I think needs to be discussed before your husband joins us."
That got her to look up. She put the half-eaten pastry down. "What do you mean?" She picked up a napkin to dab at her mouth. There's no ruling that's not made without his input or hers. She may have meetings while he slept, but he'd be informed by them just as she was when he took meetings in the late hours of the night. So, this made for an odd request, a foolish one, she corrected, but Anora knew the Seneschal was not a foolish man.
"It concerns the Chantry," He said politely, "Your husband's pursuits will bring us nothing but trouble."
"My husband is not a dog whose leash I tug to get him to heel." Her voice was sharp enough to make him shift uncomfortably. "He is your king."
"I understand," The Seneschal didn't wilt, but kept his head bowed. "The Chantry is upset with the king's accusations."
The heat of her ire began to cool, no longer a fiery whip, it had been brought to a simmer. "They are welcome to refute them in court," she said coldly, but they both knew they wouldn't.
It had not been long after the Battle of Denerim that her husband began making inquiries into Denerim's Chantry, but before he could proceed further with his suspects, they fled in the night like thieves. They took passage out of the capital and made for the safety of Orlais. They had accepted bribes and spread lies to try to prop up Howe's illegal control of the city. The gold had come from the burning ruins of the Cousland's castle. The treason had come from their very lips, spreading like poison through the city to denounce the innocent and support the guilty.
"We demand accountability," She supported her husband in this endeavor. She had been sickened to hear of the Chantry's corruption. The acceptance of gold that had been stolen, which they knew and still gladly took. It made her stomach turn to think of such dishonesty and depravity being done at the insistence of those who pledged their hearts and souls to the Maker and His Bride, Andraste. It was a mark against them and should've made the Chantry cast them out, but instead they drew them closer, protecting them.
What else are you hiding? Anora knew the Chantry was not infallible, but her faith was still shaken by these events.
"The Chantry will never release them, Your Majesty," Seneschal Luwin said, "I've perused through the names on the list, Your Majesty," There was an undercurrent of unease in his tone, "Some of these sisters and brothers in the Chantry come from powerful families in Antiva and Orlais."
"I thought they shed those loyalties when they submitted themselves," Anora shot back tartly, it was in seeing the Seneschal flinch did she realize how unfairly she was directing her annoyance. "Rise, Luwin," she told him, awash with shame, "Forgive me," she apologized, her anger was at her enemies, but it was her loyal adviser bearing the brunt of it.
Luwin did, raising his head. "I understand your anger, Your Majesty, but caution is warranted."
She was relieved to see that he hadn't taken her caustic tone personally. Anora moved her fingers to grab what remained of her pastry. It crumbled into her mouth when she bit into it, flaky and sugary. Her appetite momentarily appeased.
"The Empress and the Court will watch this closely," he was saying while she helped herself to some wine. "A belligerent Fereldan crown that condemns the Chantry will be seen as an opportunity not an insult."
She knew that Orlais watched them closely. And now with Ferelden recovering from a Blight and what the Grey Wardens called a Thaw Hunt which had carved a path of devastation and death across the Amaranthine Arling, she understood her seneschal's call for caution. Wisdom over vengeance.
She was using her quill and fork almost equally while she took her breakfast.
It was the quill she was holding now. She was making marks into one of the missives her husband had left for her from the night before. This particular one was about Edmund's planned incursion of Brandel's Reach and Alamar. It would be a bold undertaking, but she had come around to her husband's thinking and she had found no faults in the plans he had laid out. She scribbled a few thoughts in the margins before putting it in the pile of those she had already finished.
The quill was then put down and she picked up the fork and knife. The smell of bacon and sausage and eggs beckoned her, and she took to their calling gladly, tucking into the food. The bacon was crunchy and loud, but she was alone in the room. As she chewed, she thought over some of the other missives she had already read. One had been particularly brief in which he suggested they consider renaming the Drakon River the Theirin River to honor the Fereldan kings who had ruled this country throughout the Ages.
She finished that piece of bacon in two noisy bites, before helping herself to a second one.
Another had been about the charters for the two new towns they were creating, one in southern Ferelden, but not too near the ruins of Lothering. The second one would be built on the northern shores of Lake Calenhad. It was a joint undertaking with Orzammar who was providing plenty of coin and supplies to have it built. It would then be filled with surface dwarves and displaced Fereldans. It was showing plenty of promise with its ideal location to help encourage trade which would hopefully enrich these new peoples and land.
On that missive she had noticed the stained cup ring left behind on the vellum. She suspected Edmund hosted Orzammar's envoys over a barrel or two of ale and that their meeting went late into the night.
As if summoned by her idle thoughts, her husband and Fereldan's king announced his presence with a yawn. "Morning."
Anora was already smiling before her eyes found him, standing in the doorway. His brown hair was disheveled as he moved inside the room, rubbing his eyes while stifling another yawn. "You won't risk war with Orzammar if you decline drinking with their envoys."
He chuckled, but then groaned. He kissed her cheek before taking the seat beside her. "It was a matter of Ferelden pride, my dear," he eyed the breakfast with growing interest.
It nestled in her chest like a flame, this contentment, a warmth that washed over her. They were settling into this new life of theirs and these feelings never dulled in the months following their wedding, and she did not think it naive to think it wouldn't diminish in the months after this morning and even years afterwards. These were seeds planted: happiness, gratitude, among others and she believed they would bloom for a long time.
She patted his hand. "As you say."
"Besides, I got them to lower their demands," He grinned, eyes sparkled with mirth. His gaze then lowered from her face down to her plate.
She suddenly felt sheepish. Her appetite had betrayed her since they usually shared their breakfast together, but this morning she had been too hungry to wait.
He didn't comment on it, instead he piled his plate with sausages, eggs, breads, and jams. His night of drinking hadn't diminished his own appetite.
They settled into a smooth flow of conversation, her discussing her earlier morning meetings and notes, him discussing his previous evening's. It was the usual discourse of Bannorn grumbling, Orlesian plotting, Blight recovery, and a few more of their ambitious undertakings including his visit to Brandel's Reach and her plans for Denerim's University.
"I hope to have the foundation stone laid sometime in the next fortnight," She finished, "Perhaps during the next Court session?"
He chewed his sausage thoughtfully, but he didn't speak until he swallowed. "I think it would be good for the nobility to see it."
She smiled, having felt similarly. Anora cherished these discussions and couldn't deny the rush she'd feel at them. She looked down at the last piece of egg on her plate. She picked at it with her fork before eating it. She chewed slowly, suddenly the texture and taste of the egg made her want to gag. "Pardon?" She asked, finding it difficult to push the word out through the eggy residue that lingered in her mouth.
"I was saying that I think you should be proud of your work for this university."
She took a shaky sip of tea, trying to wash the bad taste out. Her stomach rumbled in protest. Anora touched her napkin to her mouth, discreetly spitting out the food. "Thank you," She appreciated his kind words, but she did not feel right to be the sole focus of them. "There are many who are working hard on this including you, husband." He had not just been an audience to her ideas, but an adviser, who had helped in improving and crafting new ones. His travels throughout Thedas brought him to many countries and their universities including Orlais and Tevinter. She recognized the value his experiences had brought her plans and openly welcomed them.
He inclined his head to her, taking a long sip of his Applewoods cider.
She took another gulp of her tea to give her strength, hoping her stomach had settled. It hadn't, she rose out of her chair, too late, she feared, feeling the hot bile rushing up the back of her throat, but she reached the pot just in time to purge her stomach.
"Anora?" His footsteps followed his alarmed voice.
She felt his hand on her back just as the second wave of nausea clutched at her. I ate too much! Cursing her mistake while she emptied her stomach, the burning taste of bile filled her mouth, and she felt its viscous drops on her lips, before some dribbled down her chin. Anora couldn't hear her husband's voice over her retching. She felt his deft fingers skimming her scalp, carefully keeping the strands of her hair out of her face.
Anora moaned, hearing other voices and footsteps entering their private dining chambers. They can't see me like this. She wanted to turn to banish them with an order, but it wasn't words that came out, but what was left in her stomach. Her vision blurred at the corner of her eyes. The sick twist of nausea wrung her insides. Drained, she nearly sagged against the pot, shuddering, but Edmund's arms wouldn't let her slide. In one smooth motion, she felt her legs leave the floor, and she was floating. It took her weary mind, a long second to realize, she wasn't floating, but being carried. Edmund had scooped her up in his arms as if she weighed nothing and was carrying her away. She mumbled something, but she didn't know what it was, she said. Anora pressed her head against him and let the sweet feel of sleep wash over her.
She groaned. The noise slowly pulled the curtains of sleep back. The darkness receded, and splotches of light and color began filling her view. She felt the soft sheets of their bed against her skin, she stirred under them.
"Easy," Her husband's voice was coming from her side.
Blearily, she turned in that direction. Her hand slipping out from the sheets and padding atop the blanket for a heartbeat before she felt his fingers find hers. His gentle grip was enough to soothe the bubbling of her stomach, worry or nausea she could not tell. The rest of the room came into sharp focus for her. "Water?" Her throat felt parched, the bitter, burning taste of bile still lingered in her mouth and the back of her throat.
"Carefully," he warned her, handing her a glass.
She listened, taking a few small sips, the cool touch of a water drop dribbled down her chin. She let out a content sigh as the water banished the bile away.
"How are you feeling?"
"Better," she handed him back the glass.
He put the glass down at her end table. "Good." His hand returned to hers. "You had us worried."
Anora felt the warmth in her cheeks. Her unusual hunger had made a fool of her. "I don't know what came over me," she confessed, praying not many saw her in such a state. The mere thought made her squirm with embarrassment.
"The healer has just arrived and is waiting to look over you," He said, "That isn't a request." He added when he sensed she was going to object. "It could be poison."
"Poison?" She wanted to dismiss the worry but knew she wouldn't win an argument when he was in this mood. "Very well," She knew he'd not let the matter rest until it was carefully investigated.
He smiled. "Thank you," he kissed her brow. "I can't lose you." He murmured against her.
"Well?"
Anora did not intend to sound curt, but her patience was wearing thin. She had better use of her time than waiting and doing nothing. There was simply too much to do. It further annoyed her that she wasn't even allowed to read over her notes or to write out new missives. She was under strict instructions of rest and only rest. It was absurd, and the sooner she could break free of these restrictions, the better.
The target of her impatience was a young mage named Petra, who didn't crumple to Anora's tone. The healer had been out of the castle when Anora's sickness had come over her and had busied herself with casting a few spells and asking quite a lot of questions to discover what it was. She ignored Anora's question and impatience. "When was the last time you bled, your Majesty?"
"Pardon?" Anora wouldn't let the unexpected question disorient her; she was about to answer last week but stopped herself when she realized that couldn't be right. Her mind went over the dates and realized it was far longer.
The young mage smiled, as if expecting Anora's silence. "Congratulations, Your Majesty," she dipped her head, "You are with child."
"Child?" The word came out as soft as a prayer.
"Yes."
With a single word everything changed for Anora Cousland, and she couldn't have been happier.
"Well?" Edmund asked, as soon as he crossed the threshold into their chambers. "Am I flogging the cook or preparing to invade Orlais?" he asked half seriously.
"It wasn't treachery or negligence," She assured him, "I'm with child." Anora relished the look on his face slowly change as her words sunk in: Surprise, realization, and then joy. It was the joy that made his eyes shine, warm and bright.
He was then at her side, holding her in a tender embrace that was just perfect. She felt him kiss her hair. Her responding smile went unseen, but she knew it was the brightest smile she ever wore.
A/N: A/N: Forgive me for using the same old and tired pregnancy cliches and tropes. This was also a rather predicable outcome given the timeline of where this story fits. Regardless, I hope you liked it.
Thanks for reading,
-Spectre4hire