Alistair's rough, callused hands made for a pleasant distraction to Caoilainn during the gathering. He headed the table and Caoilainn sat to his right, smiling, listening. The Arl and Arlessa of West Hill had joined them for dinner, cordially invited by their Majesties. Joking with his guests, Alistair held a fork in one hand, dangling it over his meal, and pointing it as he talked to accentuate his humor. His other hand rested on Caoilainn's lap; thick fingers, strong from years of sword wielding, laced along hers. His digits spread the webbing of her hand to accommodate him as his thumb made gentle circles against the back of her palm.
A comfortable vulnerability, hands that understood her past and still gave love, patient and generous rewards for her efforts at honesty. And all without shame, blatant displays of affection from the King to his Queen.
Caoilainn stood with her arms extended to both sides as the palace seamstress stretched a tape measure from her shoulder to her fingertips. She reminisced about one of her favorite features of Alistair as she stood in her private room. Nostalgia did not mend the shame she felt for the damage she caused. Despite the deepest adoration and the best intentions, Caoilainn's habitual secret keeping had broken what they had rebuilt.
"I'm just going to reach around," the seamstress mumbled, meeting her arms at Caoilainn's back and pulling the tape measure around Caoilainn's bust. The older woman took no notes, only closing her eyes each time she confirmed a number. A pin, pressed between her lips managed to stay in place even as she talked. "I'll leave this loose, of course, so I don't have to keep sewing more underclothes as you grow."
"Thank you, Elisa." Caoilainn lowered her arms as the seamstress continued measuring points at her waist and hips. She looked up and away.
"And I think I'll add lacing to the sides of your gown for the same reason." The seamstress paused, stepping back and examining Caoilainn's figure. "You can even save the dress for next time."
Next time. The words reverberated in Caoilainn's ears. It was difficult to imagine having another baby before she had her first. She refrained from arguing. No one's concern but her own, the tenuous nature of Caoilainn's relationship with Alistair delayed the potential of more children. With a faint murmur of agreement, Caoilainn picked colors and textures from the fabric swatches Elisa had pulled from a wicker basket.
Caoilainn recalled the discussion with Morrigan that had brought this meeting with the seamstress about.
"You will take no further steps in that armor." The Witch of the Wilds called from hallway outside the armory. Caoilainn was headed toward the field to train her army the morning after Alistair left.
"Excuse me?" Caoilainn guffawed, glancing to her friend with a cocked eyebrow.
"You are not to wear that armor," Morrigan reiterated, an arm crossed over her stomach, the other gesturing to Caoilainn's outfit. "Nor will you wear those tight riding pants or weighted gambesons."
"What would you have me wear, Morrigan? Mage robes?" Caoilainn took a step away. "Last time I checked you are not my mother. I need to wear protective gear while I train." She had abandoned efforts to secure her breastplate; it no longer fit. But her pauldrons and chainmail promised some level of safety.
The witch pointed her finger back into the armory. "Must I remind you that you are pregnant? I recommend you change, then announce your pregnancy to your staff."
"That would only complicate things, and it's unneeded. " Rolling her eyes, Caoilainn gave an embittered laugh. "I don't need you to take care of me."
Admitting her pregnancy to the palace seemed pre-emptive; more people would be disappointed, their excitement for naught, if she miscarried. Morrigan gave little regard to Caoilainn's reservations.
Morrigan matched Caoilainn's laugh with her own. "Yet that is exactly why I am here. Your inability to care for yourself, let alone the child growing inside of you proves my necessity. Should you wish to preserve the life of your baby, you would follow my suggestions."
Chin lifted, shoulders squared, Caoilainn held her ground. "I've stayed here instead of going to Weisshaupt, and until Teagan arrives to help, I need to keep the palace in order. My symptoms are manageable; the baby is fine."
The gentle shake of Morrigan's head paired with her subtle smirk. "You can rule from the throne, and your Lieutenant is capable of leading your army in your place." Morrigan arched her brow. "Or is unsatisfied ardor to blame for this heedless pride?"
"What is that supposed to mean?" Caoilainn's forehead furrowed as she crossed her arms.
With a condescending chuckle, Morrigan shrugged. "Perhaps if you sleep with Lieutenant Adalyn you'll have fewer qualms around your hiatus?"
Red flushed Caoilainn's cheeks as her jaw dropped. The dumbfounded Queen stared at Morrigan, speechless.
"My suggestion to inform the palace of your pregnancy is not for my own amusement, or to challenge you arbitrarily." Morrigan's tone softened. "It is for your well-being, and that of your child."
Unable to argue, Caoilainn pressed her lips together and exhaled through her nose. "Fine."
Conceding to Morrigan's suggestion, Caoilainn had announced her pregnancy the same day, explaining her authority in place of Alistair as well as the redistribution of responsibility of the royal army. She was certain the word would promptly spread outside the castle.
In a night, the entire palace turned upside down. Busy-bodied servants doted on Caoilainn, arranging fittings and new delegation of tasks to care for the pregnant Queen. The kitchen cleared out her food aversions, and stocked her preferences for meals.
With the final decisions for Caoilainn's maternity attire made, Elisa packed her items into her basket. The seamstress promised the dresses within a few weeks; loose gowns with tops that could be loosened as Caoilainn's chest and belly grew. The sample dress Elisa had brought in her basket looked heavy and burdensome to wear.
This is what you wanted. She reminded herself of her ambitions. It was surreal, joyful, to have a need for such modifications to her life. Aspects her previous fantasies of motherhood had barely considered now come to life. The transparency had benefits. Relieved she no longer had to make excuses for her overactive bladder, leaving the training field repeatedly through the morning practice. The gowns would remedy the discomfort of pressure against her midsection caused by form-fitting garb.
Yet the weight in the pit of her stomach remained. Unrelated to morning sickness, worry and sadness sank her mood. Alistair's uncertainty about his love and Caoilainn's failure as a partner ignited questions of her aptitude to mother. Empty smiles responded to the well wishes she received from palace staff.
A knock at the open door interrupted her bleak thoughts. Tall and intimidating with wide-shoulders and an armored frame, Lieutenant Adalyn bowed from the doorway. "Are we still meeting to discuss the chain of command?"
Caoilainn nodded and Adalyn stepped in the room. The seamstress curtsied to the formidable soldier and brought her unhurried gaze back to Caoilainn.
"Will you have a wet nurse?" Elisa mumbled, tucking a piece of fabric over her belongings in the basket hanging from her forearm.
"What? I hadn't..." Eyes widening, Caoilainn startled at the question. Her nervous gaze darted to Adalyn before returning to Elisa. Caoilainn lowered her voice. "No... I plan to breastfeed my baby myself." She lifted her chin as she made the earnest whisper.
"Good then." Elisa didn't seem to notice Caoilainn's embarrassment or moment of clarity as she walked toward the exit, "I'll add some slits and extra fasteners to the bust for feeding. You'll only need to open them and pull down the chemise to-"
"Thank you, Elisa," Caoilainn snapped a quick reply. "I understand the process."
The seamstress shrugged with a lazy curtsy and left the room. She shut the door behind her.
Blushing, Caoilainn plopped into the seat at her desk, shaking her head. She avoided Adalyn's eyes. "I'm sorry; I didn't realize that would take as long as it did. You shouldn't have had to hear that."
"Such are the needs of the throne." Adalyn stepped to the other side of the desk and gave another respectful bow. If she had been grinning, the Lieutenant hid it well.
Caoilainn's ever-present worry recently fixated on Alistair's well-being and her pregnancy. The sudden and drastic changes in her responsibilities made matters worse. Past tension with her Lieutenant, however short-lived, increased Caoilainn's fears around the transition. Established respect between the women had built on a mutual commitment to the army. Her pregnancy would inhibit her ability to serve, and Caoilainn doubted Adalyn's respect would sustain.
Though her stature was smaller than the Lieutenant, Caoilainn knew not to let Adalyn's size intimidate her. She waved her hand to signal permission for Adalyn to sit. "It isn't easy for me to ask for help, yet I find myself in need of it constantly."
"You owe me no explanation, your Majesty." The Lieutenant seated and crossed her feet beneath the chair. Her fingers laced in her lap.
"But I do, Adalyn." Caoilainn rested her elbows on the desk, extending her clasped hands toward the Lieutenant as she leaned forward. "I'm sure some still believe there are places within the palace where my time is better spent." She referred to Adalyn's jab at Caoilainn's initial attempts to lead the royal army. "My pregnancy does not prove that on my back is one of them."
Adalyn's eyebrows raised and she shifted in her seat. "I never meant to imply-"
"Save it." A sweet tone and smile interrupted the Lieutenant. Caoilainn leaned back in her chair. "As a queen, wife, and now mother, I'm no less suitable to lead the army. I need you to be my body and voice on the field while I am needed elsewhere. We'll meet every morning downstairs."
"Of course, Commander." Adalyn's brow wrinkled in confusion as she gave a hurried nod.
Caoilainn stood and Adalyn followed. "Can I trust you to report first to none other than me? Do not assume my inability to decide. Do not report to Lord Baldric. If I am not available, you will report to Arl Teagan or King Alistair when he returns."
Lowering her head, Adalyn stated, "Your word is law. I serve only the Fereldan throne, your Majesty."
"As do I." Caoilainn's hand pressed to her belly. She looked down. Adalyn's declaration lingered, service to the throne. Not only did Caoilainn protect the king by training his army, she fulfilled her self-imposed duty to the Theirin bloodline; lineage continued with an heir. No matter his doubt, her fealty remained. She made a circle with her flat hand, and closed her eyes. "Long live the King."
"Maker watch over him." The Lieutenant echoed a similar sentiment, and both women stood in reverent silence.
A moment passed and Caoilainn gave Lieutenant Adalyn permission to leave. Finally alone, attendants and responsibilities sorted for the day, exhaustion caught up with her. She walked to the small bed in her room to lie down. Even though she hadn't eaten in over an hour, hunger did not provoke nausea, providing clear communication from her body that she required sleep. Caoilainn listened.
9:31 Dragon
'It's not likely for Wardens to have children.' Alistair had explained the challenges for Wardens procreating, difficult for a Warden with an untainted partner, and virtually impossible for two Wardens post-Joining.
Her symptoms matched the explanation. Regular cycles of her body slowed, eventually intermittent at best, and lacking the painful aspects they once carried. Caoilainn assumed infertility, a token sacrifice in becoming a Warden. Unattached to the concept of children, the loss of herself joined the grief over her family; she barely had time to consider the consequences. Dangers of the Blight, demands for her and Alistair as the heroes of Ferelden took precedent.
Alistair's love compensated for sacrifice. His presence gave warmth, unexpected humor, and comforts from lingering emotional ache. It extended to passion, night after night learning unexplored versions of themselves. Caoilainn's experiences prior to Alistair provided little advantage when activated instincts made them equals.
"No," she whispered to herself, walking back to the camp after fleeing to the woods to vomit one evening. "This isn't possible." Sticks cracked beneath her feet on her return. Sleep deprivation inhibited her stealth.
"My love, are you feeling all right?" Alistair looked up from the campfire where he stood.
She hummed weak agreement, avoiding his eyes. "I can't sleep."
She walked next to him and he wrapped an arm around her shoulder, pulling her closer before they went to bed.
When her cycle stopped she blamed the taint, but it didn't account for her sore breasts and sporadic nausea. She hid the symptoms, unable to ask the party to pause their travels when the fate of Thedas rested in their hands. Alternating with visions of the archdemon, nightmares of her body's corruption haunted her sleep; the seedling she bore struggled to thrive within her. She didn't dare to attach to the notion of a baby.
But the month of discomfort culminated; a debilitating pain woke her from her sleep. She sat up, gasping.
Alistair turned his head on his pillow to face her without rising. He yawned. "Another bad dream?"
She clenched her teeth, squeezing her eyes shut as the peak of discomfort stabbed. "Yes, that's all. Go back to bed." She realized she was bleeding.
"On it," he mumbled. His breathing deepened right away.
Rising from the bed, Caoilainn lit a candle and cleaned the evidence of her symptoms. She gathered her clean menstrual rags from the bottom of her pack. Confused and sore, she washed at a nearby creek. When she returned, she curled up by the waning campfire and waited for her companions to wake.
Feigned illness prevented excessive questions from her counterparts when they discussed their plans for the day.
"Zevran," Alistair addressed the rogue, "take Morrigan, Shale, and Sten into the forest. We still need to find the way into the ruins. Wynne and I will stay here and take care of Caoilainn."
"Of course, my friend." Zevran nodded to Alistair. "It would be unwise for the Warden to travel if she is feeling under the weather, yes? I would gladly lead grumpiest of my comrades on a Wardenless mission."
"Why does it get a day off?" Shale spoke up from her corner of the camp. "Forests are full of those wretched flying vermin. I'd much rather stay here."
"No, Alistair," Caoilainn shook her head, looking up from the campfire, "one of us needs to be with them. Please, go for me?"
Alistair's brow furrowed, observing her for a short moment before he nodded. "You're lucky this time, Shale," he grumbled to the golem before heading to his tent to put on his armor.
"I believe this potion will help you heal." Wynne's soothing tone sounded behind Caoilainn. The mage rested a gentle hand on Caoilainn's shoulder and passed a vial with the other. Skeptical, Caoilainn glanced at Wynne, who responded with a sad smile.
Hesitant, Caoilainn wrapped her fingers around the vial and drank.
"You should get more rest, dear." Wynne offered a hand to help Caoilainn stand up.
She did as Wynne suggested, unwilling to confront the woman's presumptive certainty at the risk of confessing the cause of her symptoms. She returned to her bedroll; the cramping quickly lessened and she fell asleep. When she woke, the bleeding had stopped and the pain had vanished.
She never told anyone the truth of what happened.
Bedclothes bunched at her feet. The twisted pillow provided uneven support for her head. Caoilainn woke from a fitful sleep, alone in her private quarters. Open windows let in the dull light of a foggy dawn.
She found her daybed less lonely than the massive bed in the royal bedroom. The simplistic masculinity of the bedroom Alistair had made his own held too many reminders of him. It smelled of him; the colors represented him. Warmth and power, his dedication resonated from the from the floorboards to the furniture; even the linens carried his personality. His clothes filled the wardrobe, and other drawers held the secrets of their intimate arrangement. Rope, silk ties, scented oils, and lingerie he ordered for her from foreign lands were tucked into wooden coffers for their eyes only.
Alistair had only left a few days prior, and Caoilainn quickly discovered the room incited worry; painful doubts of his safe return. Her office did not trigger the same fears. He had designed the room for her, understanding her preferences to tailor a safe space. Even within sanctum and solitude, restless nights still found her.
She stretched out, taking a deep breath. Morning sickness did not rush her from bed, but a mild queasiness threatened to worsen if she did not eat soon. In the dim light, she acquired comfortable clothes from a chest. An unfamiliar sensation, not needing to wear armor, but she accepted the circumstances, remembering to find gratitude in this new experience.
Her footsteps echoed in the quiet hall to the stairwell. She made her way to the kitchen. Minimal activity fluttered, staff passing through the hall, voices talking in the other rooms. Peaceful repetition, everyone knew their responsibilities; the palace operated independently.
She obtained breakfast; a fresh pastry she quickly devoured to banish the taunting sickness. Preparing for her first regular meeting with Adalyn, she headed to the armory. The overcast morning muffled light shining in the windows; candles stayed lit in the halls, creating long, flickering shadows through the walkway.
A sound from outside caught her attention; she slowed her walk to look as the great door opened. Her mouth gaped as she spotted the Teyrn of Highever standing in the doorway.
"Sis!" Fergus yelled, spotting her instantly. A shit-eating grin spread across his face.
Stunned, unmoving, Caoilainn mumbled his name. Her brother took large steps in the hall to greet her, giving her frozen body an endearing hug.
"I hear I'm to be an uncle!" His hands pressed to the tops of her shoulders, and proudly beamed at her for a moment. Then he let go and the index finger of his hand lifted her chin. Pulling at her heartstrings, the affectionate act reminded Caoilainn of her father. "My little sister becoming a mother."
Incapable of offering more than a nod, she confirmed his inquiry. Fergus looked away, breathing in the smell of cooking food wafting through the hallway. "You should introduce me to the kitchen staff." He took a step toward the kitchen.
"What are you doing here?" Caoilainn blurted, grabbing his arm to stop him from walking.
"Isn't it obvious? I came here to help my little sister in her time of need. Alistair wrote to me. Now let go of my arm so I can ransack your kitchen."
Caoilainn released him; her hand pressed against her forehead and she glanced to the ceiling. "How does that man manage to infuriate me without even being here?" Returning her focus to Fergus, she added, "I don't need any more help, Fergus. Morrigan is here."
"Excuse me?" He shook his head and snorted. "Have you done this before?"
Her eyes narrowed at him. She muttered, "no."
With a sigh, he raised his hand to her shoulder. "Morrigan has had a baby. It's true, I do not have that experience. But, if you recall, I supported Oriana while she was pregnant with Oren." His nose twitched and he inhaled. "This is more a favor for Alistair."
Oriana and Oren. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to…" Words failed and Caoilainn's eyes misted as she recalled her last image of her nephew and sister-in-law. Caoilainn put her hand over Fergus'. "Thank you."
A sad smile crept across his face. "I will accept your apology and gratitude only in the form of breakfast. Have you eaten?" He craned his neck in the direction of the kitchen.
"Yes." She laughed and walked with him. "But I could eat again."
Bittersweet, the unexpected presence of family both heartened and hurt. Alistair should be here.