The fire swelled, flames engorging each time Caoilainn leaned her weight into the handle to compress the bellow. Heat emanated, warming her face and body, even through the thick apron. When she let the handle rise, she pulled a rag from a pocket in her dress. Lifting it to her face she patted her forehead, wiping away the few droplets of sweat that formed. As she did, her eyes caught someone walking past the blacksmith's station, leaving from the palace.
The messenger. The satchel on the young man's shoulder gave it away. She didn't recognize him, but the rotation in messengers made memorizing faces impossible. Caoilainn pulled off her apron, mumbling to Lora of her departure. The blacksmith rolled her eyes; she had already offered Caoilainn to leave an hour earlier when she finished her previous task.
Caoilainn hurried inside the palace. Pacing herself, determined not to push her body further, nor desiring to show poor palace etiquette, she walked quickly until she reached her office. A pile of letters rested on her desk and she sighed with relief. Her heart rate slowed, and she relaxed into her chair, picking up the mail to locate the letter she expected. One by one, she tossed papers and parcels onto the desk. A letter the from one of many banns, a letter from the Inquisitor, and a gift from Starkhaven, none interested her. The letter she wanted was missing.
Her heart sank. She had received nothing from Alistair in over a week. His last letter from Nevarra City had been hurtful. Bitter words reminded Caoilainn of his resentment, and the superiority he boasted for not committing the same crimes to their marriage. His pain had seeped through the parchment leaving Caoilainn with only haunting visions of Alistair's potential for vengeful and self-destructive behavior.
With a soft thud, she sank back in the chair. Helpless irritation made her eyes water. A rush of emotion, something she had grown accustomed to since becoming pregnant overtook her. She pressed her fingers over her closed eyes and whimpered. Deep breaths rattled on the exhale, quiet, quivering cries of grief. Then she took a deliberate breath to collect herself, staying the urge to collapse into sobbing, temporarily soothing the lonely hole in her chest.
Caoilainn rubbed her belly. Beneath her clothes, stretching skin accommodated the small bump still forming. It made her eyes water with a different brand of tears. With a sigh her muscles eased, and she smiled, a private expression intended for only herself. An unadulterated love had grown for the seedling within her. It astonished Caoilainn, and she was keenly aware of her limited scope of this unique and profound love's potential, even at this early stage of the child's life.
Efforts to prevent her hopes from lifting too high had long since proven feeble. She was less than a week from the date Morrigan gave her, the date Morrigan stated her risks of miscarriage would lessen. Time inched by, seconds dragging as she prayed to the Maker that she'd reach the mark without falter. And simultaneously, she awed at the reality she carried Alistair's child for so long already.
She nodded to herself. Chin up, tits out. Waiting in her office for a letter that would not arrive provided no results in her productivity, and without any other menial tasks as queen or chores for the blacksmith to complete that day, Caoilainn improvised. She rose from her seat, grabbed her cloak, and took determined steps to the grand hall to seek Morrigan's company.
The Witch of the Wilds had insisted on a room on the outskirts of the palace, near the palace healers, when she announced she would stay with Caoilainn while the rest traveled.
"'Tis only essential I have access to herbs if I am to be your aid." It was the extent of Morrigan's explanation.
Caoilainn recalled her last words to Alistair. "Take as long as you need." The memory made her eyes roll. He had already been gone for more than two weeks, and as more time passed between his letters, she realized her error. The lie masked as codependent encouragement stemmed from her fears of losing him permanently. In truth, she needed him back.
Shaking her head to clear the thought, she walked toward the conservatory. Shorter days of winter meant the sun had already fallen and the outer corridors of the palace lacked the lighting of the grand hall. She slowed her steps as her eyes adjusted to the darkness. The quiet carried the distant sound of voices and compelled her footsteps
Meager light darkened to pitch, and she trusted her hand to find the handle of the door. Muscle memory located the handle, just like the others throughout the palace. Hoping for more light beyond the threshold than in the shadowy hall, she pushed open the door and inhaled.
A jungle spread in front of her, greens of varying shades accented with other colors; rows of elfroot and embrium filled the center, spreading out and stacked with a wider variety of herbs she didn't recognize. Strategic lighting emanated from low burning lanterns, placed in safe spaces away from the plant life. Street lights and buildings of the palace district reflected through the glass, issuing a glow within the conservatory.
After enough tales from Morrigan of evening visits to the greenhouse, harvesting herbs without interruption from the palace herbalist, she expected to find her friend in the long shadows of foliage. But the conservatory was silent, only echoing the sounds from the nearby district. Caoilainn squinted her eyes, searching in vain for signs of her friend.
A young voice from behind startled her. "Are queens allowed to visit the conservatory at night?"
Catching her breath, she smiled and turned around, knowing the speaker before she saw his face. "Kieran." She confirmed with a pleasant nod. "Queens can be wherever they want within the palace any time of the day. Are boys supposed to be away from their mothers this late at night?"
Kieran looked down, his hands crossed over his chest and he frowned. It reminded her of Alistair. "Mother told me to find you."
He had grown since Skyhold. Nearing his adolescence, he was taller, but his messy hair and dirty knees suggested he still played in the dirt when no one was looking. She recognized his dislike of the insinuation of his youth; Caoilainn had not enjoyed it either when she was his age.
"Does that mean Morrigan is nearby?" Caoilainn looked beyond Kieran to the entryway.
The young man nodded, pointing to the back of the greenhouse. "Mother said she has important matters to attend and that I shall escort you to her."
Kieran extended his hand for Caoilainn to take. She stared at it, remembering all the times she took Oren's hand when he wanted to show her something. Keiran was only a few years older than when Oren passed.
Remembering her nephew's boundless energy and games provoked tears when she thought about him too much. It worsened when she remembered that much of his childhood, Caoilainn had been annoyed with his constant desire to play interrupting her personal plans as a teenager of training at Castle Cousland. Recent conversations with Fergus gave both of them chances to reveal their pain. Yet Fergus missing the critical piece of his life, unable to heal from the gaping wound, contributed more to her guilt.
With an inhale, she forced a smile for Kieran and took his hand, almost as big as hers now that he had grown. Kieran's hand squeezed, and he tugged for her to follow further into the greenhouse. She did, taking careful steps so as not to hit anything in the dim lighting.
"You're sad without the funny king here." Kieran chirped over his shoulder as he pulled Caoilainn along. "He makes you laugh."
Grateful for the dark, Caoilainn pressed her lips together. She had not anticipated the poignant observation from the young man. They had only spent short periods of time in the same company at the dinner table since he arrived. The comment stung. "Do you like Denerim, Kieran? Have you found enough fun things to do?" Caoilainn inquired, touching the leaf of a nearby plant as they passed.
He glanced over his shoulder. "I like it better here than Skyhold." His head turned forward again, and he continued. "There are more places to play and people to play with and Mother says we don't need to run anymore."
"Run?" Caoilainn questioned his choice of words, creasing her brow and tightening her grip on his hand. They stopped walking near a table covered in smeared dirt, marked with hand prints. Empty pots had been stacked in a corner separate from herbs piled in sections.
"Thank you, little man." Morrigan's voice replied before Kieran answered. "I will talk to the queen now."
The young man's hand released Caoilainn's and flexed. He made a loud huff. "I'm too tall to be called little, Mother."
Morrigan's eyes widened, as if surprised. "You may play elsewhere in the conservatory or return to the room and prepare for bed. 'Tis your choice."
Kieran rolled his eyes and held his stance, and Morrigan mirrored with her hands on her hips. After a moment, the boy backed down and stomped off in the direction they came.
Morrigan sighed and gestured toward Kieran walking away. "Behold what you may look forward to."
"I remember that age." Smirking, Caoilainn walked closer to Morrigan, speaking low so as not to be overheard. "I argued with my parents for the sheer principle of arguing when I wasn't ogling at castle guardsmen."
"Add that he eats his body weight in food every day and you have my Kieran. I've caught him slack-jawed and eying anything around the palace with curves, and even some of your men." Morrigan waved her hand in a flourish.
"Once again, he takes after his father," Caoilainn chuckled.
Morrigan's lips pulled to a modest frown at the subject. She looked away before returning her gaze to Caoilainn. "He's asked about his father. One of many reasons he's angry with me lately, now that he's changed."
Changed? Morrigan's choice of words alluded Caoilainn, but she gave an understanding nod. Caoilainn took in a slow breath. After a moment, she replied, "What have you told him?"
"My story is the same. Merely that his father was a good man, and that he must not worry about such things. His birth was a miracle granted to me, and therefore my responsibility alone." Morrigan's arms crossed as she spoke, as if defending her declaration from any potential argument.
There was none. Caoilainn leaned her hip against the nearby table, unconcerned with any dirt that might rub onto her dress. That's not fair to Kieran. He is too much like his father. She reflected on the unfortunate circumstances of the Blight that placed all of them in this bind now. Though uncomfortable, convincing Alistair to sleep with Morrigan had not been as guilt ridden as she expected. If Kieran had not been conceived either Caoilainn or Alistair would be dead, and the consequences of her selfish desire to keep them both alive now faced her.
Morrigan sighed and lifted her hands away from her chest. "Were I him, my answer would only raise more questions."
"I'm sure it has." Not intending the matter-of-fact tone did not prevent it from seeping through her words. Morrigan's brow furrowed in offense, but she remained quiet. Caoilainn softened her voice, her face wrinkling in apology. "Maybe he should know more."
It hurt to say the words aloud. Admitting Kieran's parentage required her to acknowledge her pregnancy with Alistair's second child. The bitter truth made Kieran a rightful heir, even if born a bastard. But lingering effects of Alistair's abandonment still plagued him, and she did not wish that upon Kieran.
"You're kidding." A laugh escaped the witch and she inhaled to guffaw again, but when her eyes met Caoilainn's straight face, her face fell. "'Twould be amusing if you realized the absurdity of your statement. Would you like me to tell Kieran everything? Shall I move to Denerim to play house with yourself and the King? You are preposterous."
Caoilainn's voice rose. "Listen to yourself! My desire for you to stay in Denerim is as great as yours. Your belief I would be so careless is what is absurd." She pressed her hand on her chest. "It is not for me to say what Kieran is told. That is a decision for his parents." With an inhale and a gulp, she said, "Both of them."
Morrigan stared back wide eyed for a moment before she wrinkled her forehead and shook her head. "Who is this woman masquerading as Caoilainn?" The suspicious squint in her eyes lacked humor. "The queen I know would never gamble her status or prestige in favor of her husband's sentimental nature. 'Tis powerful, the influence of pregnancy."
"Shut up, Morrigan." Blushing, Caoilainn rolled her eyes but she did not deny Morrigan's conclusion. Thus far, pregnancy had made Caoilainn decidedly more sensitive. She often found herself daydreaming heartwarming fantasies of Alistair's return, and other times teary with little to no provocation. Even more often, waves of unrelenting irritability made every noise and sensation infuriate her.
Caoilainn swallowed her frustration. "I don't wish to advertise these details to the public." She chose to change the subject, "How has Kieran changed?"
"Come on." The witch laughed again, but her eyes darted away. She was hiding something. "Must I explain to you the tempestuous details of a moody boy's transition into adolescence?"
"You can lie to me or keep it a secret. It is not my business." With a small shake of her head, Caoilainn lifted her chin. They both knew Morrigan avoided the question.
It took restraint to let go of the subject. The conflict between Morrigan and her son seemed to be about more than just his father, but Caoilainn did not push further.
Morrigan sighed. "He's lost his sight and it frustrates him."
"His sight?" The furrow in Caoilainn's brow feigned confusion, but she suspected she knew what Morrigan meant.
Glancing past Caoilainn, Morrigan scanned the darker corners of the greenhouse for signs of Kieran. "'Tis not something I desire to explain further. It is an adjustment for us both."
'We don't need to run anymore.' Kieran's words before played again in Caoilainn's ears. Certain it was connected to whatever adjustments Morrigan spoke, but unable to determine how, Caoilainn only gave a respectful nod to her friend.
"Morrigan?" Caoilainn put a hand on her belly. An inkling thought resurfaced, one that often crept into the back of her mind when she allowed it. Her chest tightened. "Will my child be… normal, even though I carried the darkspawn taint for so long?"
Chuckling, Morrigan turned toward the table to gather a section of herbs. "If you mean to ask if your child will be some darkspawn hybrid, then no. Your cure from the taint has not made you a broodmother." She laughed to herself again as she placed the herbs in a satchel and swung it over her shoulder. "No traces of the taint remained after the ritual, and whatever damage the sickness caused has repaired enough for you to conceive. You've carried the pregnancy this long and it suggests you and your child are well. Breathe, Caoilainn."
Caoilainn released her breath. Morrigan's assurances were imperfect, failing to offer guaranteed health of her child, but the woman's confidence assuaged Caoilainn's anxiety in the moment. Her cheeks blushed again but she smiled, attempting a stifled laugh along with Morrigan's joviality. "Thank you."
After Morrigan collected a few more piles of herbs, they made their way to the palace hall. At some point Kieran joined them, following and asking mother questions about their destination as they walked. Caoilainn observed Morrigan's tactful and impressive division of her attention between both of her conversations.
Despite the tension of her conversation with Morrigan, Caoilainn found her mood lighter. Gratitude filled her for Morrigan's divulgence of her own frustrations, a rare occurrence Caoilainn knew to respect.
She chuckled, climbing the palace steps to the higher floor. Caoilainn's fears about the taint influencing her pregnancy sounded comical in Morrigan's reply. The quiet conversation, hidden away in the corner of the conservatory had given respite from the loneliness that had prevailed since Alistair left, even among so much company with her temporary visitors.
But her giggle was cut short. A sharp cramp shot through her lower abdomen. She froze. Startled and afraid, Caoilainn leaned against the stone wall of the stairwell. The pain was no more severe than those during her cycle, but it exceeded the mild soreness she had experienced thus far in her pregnancy. She yelped, and one hand instinctively clutched her belly. Something is wrong. Please, no. Eyes watering, heart pounding, she supported herself with the wall until she reached the washroom. The pain ebbed by the time she entered the doorway.
The distinct sensation of moisture between her legs spiked her fear. She leaned against the wash bin counter, her head dizzy. Dreading what she would find and desperate for an answer, she hiked her skirt and tugged her underclothes down around her knees. Her breath caught in her throat and her face was hot. She saw large spots of dark red blood.
"Morrigan!" She yelled toward the hallway, desperate and ignoring that Morrigan wouldn't hear her. She tried again. "Morrigan, help me!" Pulling her underclothes back up, the blood minimal and not delaying her from seeking help, she hurried to find her friend.
Step after step, she rushed down the stairwell. Deep breaths failed to calm her nerves, but she kept measuring the inhales and exhales, recalling all the things she'd heard Morrigan tell her about a healthy pregnancy. None of Morrigan's stories included the amount of blood she saw.
"Morrigan!" Rounding a corner, Caoilainn neared the hallway of Morrigan's room. "I need you!"
"What is it now?" Morrigan huffed, pulling closed a robe over her nightclothes as she walked into the hallway. "Can it wait until morning."
"No, Morrigan. I found blood, more than usual." The words poured out of Caoilainn's mouth, frantic and worried she whimpered. "I can't lose this baby. I don't know if I could live with myself."
"Breathe, Caoilainn." The neutral expression on Morrigan's face showed on signs of panic. Slow steps took her closer to Caoilainn, and Morrigan extended her hand to gently touch Caoilainn's small belly. "Just take a moment and breathe."
Caoilainn obeyed, her breath hitching on the inhale as she fought back more tears. Morrigan's hand moved to different locations on Caoilainn's midsection, studying, measuring what grew inside. Caoilainn couldn't tell if she used magic.
The resonating soreness from her cramping reminded Caoilainn of the genuine panic she experienced upstairs, but it seemed the bleeding had stopped. She was cold.
Writer's note: Hey everyone... whoever is still reading. I am SO sorry for these chapters taking so long lately. I really appreciate your readership and your patience. I am taking some time to really get reacquainted with my fic family tomorrow. I *think* I have my life back on track to manage my fanfic writing time. Thank you! Comments are so much appreciated!