20 Haring 9:42
Days seemed brighter. Sunshine melted snow and the clear sky sustained.
In the four days since she received a letter from Alistair, her mood had been lifted. His words were kind, updating her from Val Dorma before they finally reached Weisshaupt. Though the message was brief, Alistair seemed hopeful. Caoilainn trusted it meant he was that much closer to home.
In line with her optimism, the symptoms of pregnancy did not weigh on her as they had for the first three months. Inspired and free from her bedrest, Caoilainn found the incentive to make a change. She walked.
Rejoicing in the freedom from her bedroom, with new access and appreciation for the details of the palace, she realized it created a haven within the dirty portside city of Denerim she had previously taken for granted. In particular, roses grew in the courtyard garden, tended and copious even through winter. It gave her more gratitude toward the staff and their efforts to maintain the grounds. She gave some credit to Alistair's sentimental nature. Roses. The fragrance of the flowers sparked her own nostalgia each time she visited the area.
Accommodating the changes in her body, paced and compassionate movements around the palace halls occupied much of her day. Even her meetings were held on foot, attendees forced to keep up. She fought back the desire to succumb to exhaustion and kept moving, disproving the doubts of her comrades. Morrigan approved of Caoilainn's activity and gave suggestions for limiting time and protecting her body. With Morrigan's endorsement, Caoilann denounced any other's resistance.
But she soon became bored with wondering the same halls, and lonely despite overly-attentive servants. On the fifth day, the confines of the palace, its garden, and outer wings did not suffice. In need of a new adventure, she left the grounds, and the Denerim market welcomed her.
Rebuilt since she traveled during the Blight, but still complete with the same stench and filth. Wattle and daub buildings lined the street, matching the previous versions of the same structures, their thatched roofs in a constant state of repair. Unchanged since her first visit to Denerim as a child, pushy peddlers harassed citizens who bartered to save every possible bit, while children played in the streets and stray mabari wandered back alleyways. Despite the small pack of guards following her a few steps behind, Caoilainn didn't venture beyond the square.
She observed as the lively market milled, paying no mind at first to the presence of the queen. She decided not to wear her crown and did not cover her head, grateful that the simple dress she wore did not draw attention. As she made her way among the patrons, she noted areas in the city still healing from the wreckage of the conflicts that fell upon Ferelden, places in need of investment, financial assistance, or labor.
As her steps took her further into the activity of the market, she heard the people's whispers.
"Queen Caoilainn." Voices murmured, and a buffer of space grew around her and the rest of the people. "What is she doing here?"
None directed their questions to her, but she discerned enough to comprehend the citizens' apprehension. This is not unexpected. She reminded herself of the tendency for people to talk. Since the earliest days in her mother's salons, she heard the chatter of people unwilling to voice their concerns to the source. Though it bothered her then, she never questioned it, and instead, accepted it as human nature.
Just as she had done with the Wardens and again with Alistair's army, she recognized the need to establish connections. Eying the stand of a general goods vendor, she nodded her head to the clerk. The merchant nodded back.
"G'day, yer majesty." The woman did not show enthusiasm but did not abandon propriety.
"Good morning." Caoilainn made a weak smile and glanced at the supplies while making a feeble attempt at polite conversation. "How are you today?"
When Caoilainn looked back to the vendor, she caught the skeptical wrinkle of the woman's brow before it disappeared. "All's well here, yer majesty. Jus' another day as the rest. Maker's blessing to the king and queen's firstborn." She lowered her eyes to the modest bump of Caoilainn's belly.
Tempted to bite her thumb, Caoilainn refrained. She sensed the merchant's cynicism. Caoilainn's reputation as the Hero of Ferelden nor as the Queen did not redeem her absence most of the last decade and it did not build their trust. Now she had to earn it.
"Thank you and thank the Maker." Caoilainn smiled, putting a hand over the curve. "I'm pleased to share news King Alistair should return soon."
"Maker bless him too then. Roads are dangerous, and he's a good king. Rather not lose this one." The woman's voice softened, and her shoulders eased.
"Nor would I." Caoilainn felt her heart fill with pride for Alistair. He had gained the favor of his people, but a sting of jealousy shadowed the moment. She met the vendor's eyes and widened her stance, choosing professional vulnerability. "In my return to the palace, I wish to serve my part and hear the needs of Ferelden's people. What is your name?"
"It's Brynna," she replied, a thoughtful smirk pulling at the corner of her lip. Brynna lowered her voice. "B'tween us, yer majesty, you've not been here as much as the king. Some might take a little to warm up to ya."
Caoilainn's smile faded, and she felt her heart sinking.
Brynna continued, "But I trust King Alistair's judgment, so I've gotta trust you too."
You might have more faith in Alistair's judgment of me than he does. Caoilainn kept the thought to herself and returned a polite nod. "I'm honored, Brynna and I appreciate your advice. I will certainly keep it in mind. Can I help you with anything?"
Brynna pulled a daisy from a bouquet of wildflowers on her counter and gave a small bow of acknowledgment as she handed it to Caoilainn. "See ya around Queen Caoilainn. You should check with some of the other merchants. They could use yer help more than me."
Caoilainn walked beyond Brynna's stand and spoke with other merchants, aware of their trepidation with her. But she made conversation, received congratulations on her pregnancy, and committed to returning more often. Some accepted her help, requesting small favors to find items for family members or ingredients for their shops. The tasks made her nostalgic for her days before she took the throne, and though she was unable to provide much of the aid herself, she vowed to get the people what they needed. They were receptive, and she considered the trip productive as she returned to the palace, grateful for well-insulated boots.
Content, uplifted, she walked to her office, daydreaming about her plans for lunch. With each step, her hunger grew, and echoing the craving, the seedling in her belly fluttered. Caoilainn suspected she sensed the barely detectable shift due to former enhanced senses.
"Yes, Pup," she murmured. "I'm hungry too. We'll eat soon."
But when she arrived, the immediate rush of hunger disappeared. Another letter waited on her desk. Settling into her seat, she hurried to open it.
8 Haring 9:42
Val Dorma
Surprise! It's me again. I imagine your smile as I write this. I hope receiving another letter so soon brings you joy.
Unfortunately, it's not to report better news. We're on our way to the Free Marches now, so at least my letters should come more quickly. Though I'm heading your direction, I still don't know when I'll be home.
I'll keep the details to a minimum for the sake of privacy, but it seems things are worse than we had anticipated, and the source of the Bond is not sealed within Weisshaupt. What we found instead was, well, disturbing, and I find myself grateful to be free from the Wardens for many reasons. You would think this wouldn't be a shocking revelation, but I hadn't anticipated how deep the roots of secrecy are engrained.
Yet, I still feel a sense of commitment to them. Even though Nathaniel Howe leads the Ferelden chapter, although the secrets of the Wardens ran deeper than I fathomed, I must help. For both of us.
I wish I were home for so many reasons. I didn't think it was possible for me to dislike someone greater than Nathaniel Howe, but Maker. Garrett Hawke is… there's no word for it really. Since our brief meeting in Kirkwall, apparently, his reputation has gone to his head. He's intolerable. I'll be shocked if he makes it much longer without someone losing their temper on him.
Relax. It won't be me. I'm determined to return home quickly and with no unnecessary wounds.
Thinking of you all the time.
- A
Caoilainn frowned, scanning through the contents of the letter again. The message had been sent a week and a half ago, and only four days after the last letter she received. He had long since visited Weisshaupt and continued toward the Marches before she read the letter from Vyrantium.
Lacking the depth of Alistair's emotional struggles like his initial letters, the last two explained more of their mission. She realized her concerns with Alistair had dominated her fears for the Wardens, and this new information filled her with anxiety.
She knew about the Wardens' secrecy, but only as much as the First Warden permitted her inclusion. The Order's bureaucracy caused debate among the leaders. Changes to protocol and policy rarely occurred, and only with rigorous assessment. Most importantly, any changes to decrees upholding the Grey Wardens' division from the rest of society, no matter the nation, took utmost priority. Caoilainn wondered if she succeeded as Warden Commander because of her own inclination to secrets or if the Order only worsened her habit. Or both.
The baby moved again, pulling her mind from her anxious thoughts to the present. She stared at the initialed signature on the table.
"You might not recall him," Caoilainn spoke to her belly, both hands on either side, caressing the roundness. "I doubt you were big enough to hear him before he left. But you'll really like your father, Pup. I am sure of it."
She used the arm of the chair to help her rise. "Now we will find something to eat and hope whatever disturbing things your father found in Weisshaupt don't follow him to the Free Marches."