24, Firstfall 9:42
C,
This is torture. Literal, Maker ordained torture. It must be penance for sneaking meals from Redcliffe, because this is unbelievable. Have I ever told you I hate Nathaniel Howe? The more I see his smug face the more I want to punch it.
I should have never come. They could have figured this out without me. It's selfish, but I'm jealous you got to stay. Funny, really. I was jealous of you staying with the Order too. I didn't want to lead our group around Ferelden, let alone a whole country. But now I'm here with the Wardens and you're in the palace.
Interestingly enough, when you left, I discovered I was better at leading the kingdom than either of us thought possible. Crazy, isn't it?
Do you really think I didn't consider being with others while you were gone? I did. So many times the opportunity presented itself. But I couldn't bring myself to do that. I wanted to prove you wrong, to show that I was enough.
I'm sorry, I'm rambling. You'd have liked Cumberland. We should come back some time when you have healed. I wish I was there with you.
We're leaving Nevarra City tomorrow. I'll write again once we get to Tevinter.
-A
Morning routines occurred as usual, and in the last week, Caoilainn found more energy. Motivated to wake before dawn, unburdened by grogginess, she cared for herself, taking her time to brush her hair, dress, and journal. Even her morning sickness had lessened in severity, sometimes subsiding at mild nausea without the need for tonics.
At mealtime, her preferences for food had become more selective and focused on a constant craving for salt. The kitchen staff obliged her requests, adjusting to her needs. Each day followed suit, broken apart my small lulls in activity where her mind wandered to Alistair where fears loomed at the end of each thought. She hadn't received another letter from him in a week.
Sometimes reluctantly, she sought conversations with her visitors and staff to avoid thinking about Alistair. But most times, responsibilities kept the others in the palace busy until dinner and Caoilainn often found herself with nothing to do besides reflect on Alistair or her work from earlier that day. In an effort to busy her mind, she had found a new responsibility and application of her energy. She changed her clothes and headed to the smithy.
A Week Prior
As usual, Caoilainn's meetings finished for the day. She ate a quick lunch and returned to her office. With no other work to occupy her time, she read the few letters she had received that morning over again, Alistair's for the fifth time. The words glared at her, his hurt and pain and anger loud, abrasive, robbing her of an ability to respond. She could not scold Nathaniel or console Alistair from Denerim. Instead, she threw the letter back on her desk and sat back in her chair.
She sighed, frustrated, helpless. Morrigan's blunt advice for Caoilainn to care for herself and release expectation of Alistair though helpful, failed to give hope. Caoilainn sighed, and in a moment of silence, she remembered a conversation that morning with Adalyn about the Royal Army's equipment. Grateful for the distraction Caoilainn left her office to visit the
Within the confines of the palace, constructed with stone in an outer hallway, Caoilainn reached the blacksmith. She had visited since returning to the palace, each time entranced by the blue and orange flames blazing inside the forge, and high heat billowing from the workspace. Same as the last time, tables covered in partially made weapons and armor stretched around the oven. Clanking echoed as the blacksmith pounded a metal hammer against an iron rod on an anvil, still glowing hot and orange.
She watched, fascinated with the persistent hammering. The iron's orange hue deepened to red and the blacksmith moved the rod back to the forge and pumped air into the furnace to liven the fire.
Stepping closer, Caoilainn spoke over the hissing sound of the bellow inflating and deflating. "Lora, do you have a moment? I need to talk to you about refitting the army with new equipment."
The blacksmith looked over her shoulder in annoyance, but when she spotted Caoilainn the woman's brows furrowed. "Yer majesty," she released the bellow and moved the iron to a corner of the forge away from the flames. The woman turned around, curvy, dressed in a heavy apron with long sleeve undershirt. She removed her gloves, tucked them into a pocket, and bowed her head. "Forgive me. Didn't realize it was you."
With a polite smile, Caoilainn shook her head. "There's no need. Is this for my army?"
The blacksmith tucked a strand of hair that had escaped from her braid behind her ear and nodded. "It is. I know they're... waiting. I'd have more of it finished but my... striker's in South Reach with his family. I'm working on my own." As Lora hurried to explain, she reached to the table beside her to move around the armor pieces.
Pauses in Lora's speech suggested purposeful restraint from cursing. Caoilainn lifted her hand for Lora to stop. "I hear you. What do you need to do your work?"
Lora failed to stifle a bitter laugh; she held out her palms. "Can you give me another pair of hands?"
Bunching her lips, Caoilainn glanced over the tables. Armor pieces waited for someone to decorate them with Fereldan heraldry, followed by the final step of connecting them with chainmail, leather, and fabric.
Caoilainn's eyes returned to Lora. Braided brown hair filled with streaks of grey reached down her back, and deeply set wrinkles surrounded her eyes and mouth. Each time Caoilainn met the woman since becoming the army's commander, she found a tired but determined blacksmith hard at work.
"I'll help." Caoilainn's eyes met Lora's gaze. "I have time each day when my meetings are over. I'd like to contribute."
Eyebrows creasing, frown deepening, Lora sighed. "Yer Majesty, I can't ask that of you."
"You didn't ask. I offered. I'm sure you know I'm pregnant but I believe I can still be of use." Caoilainn crossed her arms over her chest.
"It innit that at all." Shaking her head, Lora put a hand on her hip. Her other hand came to her forehead. "I've had four children since I started smithing and haven't missed more'n a month of work the whole time. That's 20 years now." Lora looked at Caoilainn sheepishly from under her hand. "Forgive me, Queen Caoilainn, but… apprentices are work."
Startled by this information, Caoilainn couldn't help but laugh. "I'm a quick learner, and I have plenty of experience with weapons and armor."
"I s'pose it's true." Lora gave a pensive look into the forge's fire, and then returned her gaze to Caoilainn. "Right then. Can you help me now with these pauldrons? We'll start easy today before we get you in a right apron tomorrow."
Nodding, Caoilainn walked through the workplace to a table and pulled up a stool. She spent the afternoon hammering rivets to connect the layers of armor.
Each day since then, Caoilainn returned to the smithy to help Lora. Interested in testing her ability and expanding her experience in this line of work, Caoilainn slowly picked up new tasks as Lora taught her, hammering swords while the blacksmith heated other projects. Caoilainn took on whatever she was within her scope of ability, serving as Lora's direct assistant.
When left to work on her own, Lora insisted Caoilainn improve hammering before she advanced to other chores. The work bored her and demanded her body in different ways than combat. It required focus but precision came easier more quickly than she anticipated. As she recognized the use of muscles similar to wielding blades, it came easier.
A week into her apprenticeship, Lora taught the basic steps of gilding, allowing Caoilainn to embellish gold mabari into the armor, the sigil for the army's kingdom, and their king. The work called for Caoilainn's utmost attention to details as she applied stencils. A mask covered her face as she worked, not breathing in the fumes of the gold mixture, and leaving burning off the excess for Lora when she returned.
Lit lanterns provided plenty of light as the sunlight faded. Though Lora had left for the night, Caoilainn continued the work, wanting to finish spreading the gold amalgam over a breastplate. Quiet and contemplative, she noticed the curious features of the creature's lolling tongue and tiny claws.
It was bittersweet. The mabari reminded Caoilainn of her fealty, her service, and even in their distance, her poor standing with the King. She set down the breastplate and sighed to herself, putting her hand on her belly. Returning questions of Alistair's safety surfaced. She sighed as the fear Nathaniel only adding salt to the wounds in her and Alistair's relationship multiplied her worry. The sting of tears made her blink.
Recent emotions oscillated quicker than Caoilainn could comprehend. Anger spiked from mild annoyance and vanished to loneliness. When she thought of Alistair, guilt and shame joined genuine longing jumbled with love and desire. She missed him, even in his resentment.
The onset of tears indicated the need for her to stop working. Caoilainn packed her things and organized the smithy according to Lora's preferences, leaving behind the smith's apron and gloves she had worn that day. Finally, she washed up and headed into the palace.
She noticed her stomach growling the moment she walked inside, smelling the scents of dinner permeating from the kitchens. Glancing down at her attire, Caoilainn considered changing. Dinner in the palace obligated an assumed formality, even without visiting leaders or anyone to impress. But hunger gnawed at her belly and impatience won. She shrugged and walked to the dining hall to find her brother seated across from her usual chair at the dining table, waiting.
"Her Majesty has arrived…" Fergus' jovial tone matched his smile. The lines around his light brown eyes had deepened over the years, and gray hairs peppered throughout his beard and hair. "... and in smith's clothes no less." He wrinkled his nose.
A thick, long-sleeved dress covered her body, sweat-soaked and blackened from her time near the forge, surrounded by smoke. The fabric protected her from the fire and heated metals but failed as appropriate dinner attire.
"I didn't have a chance to change and I was hungry." The defiant edge in Caoilainn's voice grew louder as she spoke. She walked to her chair without sitting. "I am more than capable of eating alone if it bothers you so much."
Fergus laughed and gestured his hand toward her seat. "Please, there's no need. Sit." His speech paused, waiting for Caoilainn to take her seat. "Morrigan is checking on the midwife, and Teagan is gallivanting somewhere in the city. I thought we could use dinner as an opportunity to talk."
With an eye roll, she pulled her chair out and sat down. "I'm listening." She took her napkin from the table, and gave it an excessive shake before placing it on her lap.
"We've both been so busy since I arrived. I'm failing my commitment as your supportive big brother." Fergus' meal already sat at the table, and he cut a piece of meat with his silverware. His index finger made a posh point along the blunt edge of the knife, the result of years of etiquette training.
A moment later, a servant placed Caoilainn's meal down; she smiled and nodded thanks to the young man.
"I can only handle so much support, Fergus." She snorted and made an irritated laugh and picked up her cutlery. "The fact that you're here is plenty."
"Apparently not, Caoilainn." He pointed his fork at her and raised it up and down. "Helping the blacksmith? Morrigan made you stop fighting so you found the next most dangerous thing?"
"Oh, come on," she placed her fork down on her plate. "You're kidding me. It's nothing and Lora is making sure to only assign what I can handle."
Though Caoilainn loathed the notion of a traditional hobby like knitting or embroidery, the safety of her child remained her priority. She communicated this to Lora repeatedly and the other woman respected Caoilainn's concerns. Understanding the experience, Lora helped Caoilainn modify the work and maintain safety.
"I have no doubt, my dearest sister. But it's possible she has a different measure of what's best for the Queen to take on while she's with child. Wouldn't you say?" His concerned eyes looked across the table; he placed his knife and fork down. "You know it's your tendency to take on too much."
Rolling her eyes, Caoilainn shook her head. "Is that somehow worse than you not taking on enough?"
His forehead wrinkled. "What do you mean by that?"
After Oriana and Oren's death, Fergus performed the minimum in his new responsibilities as Teyrn. Based on her infrequent visits to see him over the years, Caoilainn gathered that he distracted himself with hunting parties and occasional balls at Castle Cousland. He had entertained no new potential wives, but she suspected he knew at least a few of his female guests intimately.
"I mean I value your support and well-intended advice, I swear it." She folded her hands over her belly in a protective nature and looked down before meeting his eyes. "But you have little room to give me advice on how to move on."
Startled, the muscles on Fergus' face went slack until he blinked. "That really doesn't compare, Caoilainn, and you know that."
"It doesn't?" Caoilainn gave an exaggerated shrug to her shoulders. "No, the Wardens were not born of me but for the love of Andraste, I raised them to the army they are now. It was hard for me to leave when I returned to the palace the first time and even harder to abandon them now."
The harsh loss of her army and the end of her friendship with Nathaniel Howe had created complicated emotions. Mourning and anger with Alistair, and in the distance from her decision to leave them, she found herself at ease. That part of her life had ended when she died. Discovering herself with Alistair's child answered her questions about her life without the Order, including Nathaniel.
A long moment passed and Fergus sat in silence. Caoilainn watched, waiting to hear him reply. He picked his fork back up. "We should eat our dinner before it gets cold."
"Ferg," she reached across the table with her hand palm up, open, "it's not the same. I know it. I'm not trying to say it is."
"I know." The dazed look in his eye faded as he gave a faint smile, took her hand and squeezed. "I'm here to support you, remember?"
She ignored his deflection and squeezed back, seeking his gaze with empathetic eyes. His amber eyes belied the pain he tried to hide.
His nose twitched and he sniffed, letting go of her hand. "I shouldn't have left."
Caoilainn knew what he meant, referencing when Rendon Howe's treachery set Castle Cousland into chaos. Vivid memories of Oren and Oriana laying dead, and the unprotected position in which she left her parents still played in her mind. She did not wish those memories upon anyone.
"It wouldn't have changed anything." Her soothing tone gave a bittersweet reply. "Howe had too many men. They'd have killed you too."
"I'd gladly have given my life even trying to protect them."
I know. Caoilainn recalled that day on the battlefield in the Arbor Wilds where she gave her life for Alistair. Desperate for redemption, to prove her loyalty to him, she risked everything. Her decision was inconsiderate, impulsive, and prideful. To imagine a similar needless end for her brother, his body lying with her sister-in-law and nephew, made Caoilainn's heart ache.
"True as that may be," she paused as her eyes watered, "enough Couslands died that day. Listen to me Fergus. We can honor them all, and you can still start a new life. They know you'll never forget them."
His face contorted, frown pulling downward, forehead wrinkling, and brows knitted. Tears welled in Fergus' eyes and he covered them with the edge of his hand. The only sound he made came from a few long breaths through his nose, but Caoilainn did not interrupt. After a moment, he rubbed his eyes with his fingers, sighed, and looked at her.
A weak grin tugged his lips. "I hope you're happy." The edges of the smile made his watery eyes wrinkle. "Can we eat now?"
Caoilainn nodded, dabbing away her own tears with her napkin before she resumed her meal. "For the Couslands." She lifted her glass and clanked it with Fergus's. Over dinner, they formed plans to memorialize their fallen family when Caoilainn could travel to Castle Cousland with the baby.