20 Haring 9:42
Hasmal
C,
We arrived in Hasmal as planned and delivered the 'cargo' to the activists. All seemed well. The town is damaged from the breach, but it's rebuilding. We're only here for the night.
Picturing you reading this in a few days is nothing short of motivating. Did you receive my letter from Solas a few days ago? There may even be another in a day or two since our next stop is Tantervale. That is, of course, assuming you read my ramblings. You might simply throw these letters away as soon as they arrive. Not that I could blame you or that I don't deserve it with some of the things I've said.
I've had some time to pull my thoughts together since my outburst at you before the Silent Plains. My anger still comes and goes, but I find little of what is left directed toward you. The past is behind us, and I have learned from it. You must be honest with me, and if something is preventing your honesty, it is your responsibility to tell me. All I can do is trust you.
As complicated as my opinions about our conflict may be, I know that I love you. Please, understand that.
In my daydreams, you are content and tenacious as always. I'm sure you've given Teagan a run for his coin in the ruling department. The man's priorities differ from mine which differs from yours. I am interested to see what you come up with when I return.
In truth, I can only continue this mission when I imagine that you are well. If I think about you in any hardship, sick, struggling, or sad, it's nearly impossible for me to stay committed to this Maker-forsaken quest. The temptation to drop everything is too real, especially when I'm so close to Ferelden. So close to you.
I could end the letter here. But I have time to keep writing, and I must admit, my mind keeps wandering in a much different way. It would be absolutely shameful if anyone else were to read this. And I suppose I will address those consequences if need be.
The thought of you, the woman who trains harder than most men I know, with child— complete with a belly that somehow complements your strength—well, it is undeniably provocative. Knowing that I caused it? Maker's breath. Is it bad I find that I'm proud? That I find the images of you in this state so attractive? Tell me you don't mind. Well, I hope you would if you could.
And the things I would like to do to you, woman. I would explain more of the filthy fantasies I've had as of late, but I don't think words would serve justice. You'll enjoy what I have in mind when I have the chance to show you. But I'll have you know, memories of you, your skin. . . Your mouth, your voice, and your sinfully consistent and unbridled agreement, well, they keep me up at night.
Look at me. Like an adolescent boy, babbling on. Forgive me. Believe you are desired, my love. Very much.
For now, I need to take care of some personal matters, here in the privacy of my room. I wonder if you ever do the same?
A, your king
P.S. My beard is quite beardly now. You will hate it.
25 Haring 9:42
Two pages of script provided a stronger connection to Alistair than Caoilainn had experienced in months. Her eyes followed the lines, reading the update, his honesty, and confession delivered with his signature cheeky attitude. It deepened her longing for him. Desire she minimized, unsure of his commitment, abated by the time she reached the end. Her face burned with flustered embarrassment.
She looked out the doorway of her office to make sure none witnessed her intense blushing then closed her eyes. Cool air met her face and neck as she sat back, waiving the paper against her upper half. Ashamed of her excitement over Alistair's choice of words, the evidence of his maturity aroused her as much as the suggestive comments.
"Bad news, your majesty?" Teagan's voice rang from the doorway. Caoilainn's eyes shot open, and she sat up, folding the letter.
Stumbling over words, she felt the burning in her cheeks intensify. "Yes, uh…" With a forced swallow, she nodded. "The trip is taking longer than anticipated. They are on their way to Ansburg."
"Your last update said as much." His eyes narrowed on her, darting to the letter. "Or perhaps it's good news?" His wink was so quick, she almost missed it.
With another swallow, this time holding back nausea sparked by Teagan's flirting, she replied. "May I help you with something?"
His grin widened. "I was going to offer to escort you to our dinner meeting, your majesty. Fergus will meet us in the dining hall."
It would be uncouth to arrive at a meeting too stirred to think straight, unable to discuss the status of the Inquisition with Teagan and Fergus over dinner. She didn't wish to prompt any questions from the men. But the letter she held burned in her hand, coaxing her blushing and agitation, urging her to read it again.
"I would appreciate that." She said, maintaining eye contact with Teagan, resisting the compulsion to look at the parchment as she placed it in a drawer in her desk. "I will return to my office after the meeting."
And return this cheeky letter. The effort to refrain from smiling hurt Caoilainn's cheeks. Damn you, Alistair.
"Her Majesty has graciously joined us," Teagan announced as they entered the dining hall. Banners covered the stone walls, tributes to Ferelden and the Theirin household. Lit candles filled the lengthy table, their light magnified by sconces. Prestige retained even in an informal dinner, the table was dressed and places set for three.
Teagan extended his hand to a seat at the head of the table.
"Sis," Fergus greeted, rising. The gentle dragging sound of his chair against the stone floor reverberated through the room. He maneuvered to the seat adjacent to his and pulled it out for her before she could reach it.
Endeared and slightly annoyed, Caoilainn gave him a polite smile and took her seat. Fergus pushed it in. "You didn't have to do that," she said.
"I know." He grinned, putting a hand on her shoulder before moving to his seat. "And I appreciate that you let someone help."
"I'm learning." She stuck her tongue out at him through a mock frown.
"Alright children," Teagan interrupted, playfully admonishing their immaturity as he sat across from Fergus. "We have business to attend to this evening. I have news about the Inquisition's developments, and how they may influence Ferelden."
Kitchen staff delivered their plates a moment later and Caoilainn's mouth watered. The distinct grumbling in her stomach did not arise from the subtle shifts of the little one, but the sudden realization that she hadn't eaten in hours.
She glanced to Teagan as she filled her fork. "I'm listening. What are they up to now?"
Both men knew of the bad terms the Inquisitor dismissed the Ferelden Wardens after the battle of Orlais, but neither knew of the mutual animosity between Caoilainn and the Inquisitor. She was grateful Alistair had withheld such details from his advisory meetings.
"They are making heroes of themselves. Communities throughout Orlais and even the Free Marches are receiving aid from the organization." Teagan patted a docket on the table. "It seems they've strengthened their allegiance with Orlais and have upheld many strongholds within the country."
Fergus rolled his hand, preparing to speak up. He swallowed his food and followed it with a gulp of beer, speaking on his exhale. "With one of their own, no less. Practically Nevarran royalty now holding the Sunburst Throne smack dab in the center of Orlais? That smells quite strongly of foul play if you ask me."
"I believe the term you're looking for is nepotism." Caoilainn shook her head, glancing from Fergus to Teagan. "How can anyone suggest the Inquisition doesn't have almost all Chantry abiding countries under their thumb?"
"It gets worse." Teagan raised his eyebrows, glancing at his papers. "The Inquisition has significantly reduced their forces in Ferelden. They have almost completely withdrawn from Redcliffe."
Caoilainn scoffed, exasperated and wide-eyed. "So they are doling out aid to Orlais and the Marches, and they've nearly abandoned all of Ferelden?"
"It would seem that is accurate." Teagan nodded, pressing his lips together in a tight frown.
"Unbelievable." Rolling her eyes, Caoilainn shook her head. Appetite lost, she set down her silverware, and leaned back in her chair, bringing her attention to this new predicament. "We need to take action."
"Not too hasty, sis." Fergus lifted his hands, ushering her rashness to stop. "Remember they are still the heroes in everyone else's eyes. Be careful not to rush into anything irreversible."
The absurdity of the situation was almost amusing, and Caoilainn laughed, sharp and bitter. "How long do I wait, Fergus? Do I sit idly by until Orlais decides to invade Ferelden with the support of the Chantry, backed by the Inquisition?"
"They've given no evidence to indicate that is their plan." His voice remained low, patient with her outrage. "I would suggest you wait until your anger has subsided, so your next step isn't reactionary. It would be good to avoid stress, mind you." Fergus raised a brow and glanced to her midsection.
She sneered at him, disapproving of the subtle condescension and took a breath in preparation of her retort.
But Teagan spoke before she could reply, gesturing a hand to Fergus and mirroring the other man's sentiments. "I agree we cannot be too hasty." He signaled his hand to Caoilainn this time. "And we can't wait too long either. Orlais gains stronger footing with the Inquisition and reversely the longer we delay. With the support from the Marches and Nevarra, they literally have us cornered."
As much as the circumstances infuriated her, Caoilainn could not submit to them. Teagan's point provided the last straw and demanded she take action. In respect to Fergus's suggestion, unwilling to be reactionary, she took a deep breath and scooted her chair closer to the table. Caoilainn picked up her cutlery to resume her meal.
"If we must play by their rules, we will do so." She frowned; her finger extended along the top edge of her knife, cutting meat as she made the announcement. "Teagan, I want a poignant letter drafted to Divine Victoria herself, a call to action to address the apparent inequity and malfeasance from the eyes of Ferelden. How she responds will show us the depth of the Chantry's current impropriety."
The weight of Fergus's eyes bored into Caoilainn, but he hummed an apprehensive agreement. He added no other reply.
"A sound plan, your majesty. It may be a slower process than a direct confrontation, but it will keep yourself and King Alistair free from accusations of aggression. I will begin the letter after dinner." He nodded, patting his mouth with a napkin before reaching for his cup. "To Ferelden."
The tinkling of their glasses joined the echoed pledges to their country. The three sipped before returning to other topics over dinner.
Their meeting adjourned, and Caoilainn headed to her room, not without snagging Alistair's most recent letter from her office on the lower floor. Walking lightly, she climbed the stairs to the royal wing and opted for the first room in the hall.
Silence resonated as she opened the door to the bedroom she shared with Alistair. Bed made, unoccupied since Alistair left nearly two months ago, the loneliness startled her. She paused, taking in the room she avoided so often, multiple times a day, to the point that she had almost forgotten it existed. But the folded papers in her hand summoned her, hurrying her to sit down and read.
She crawled onto the bed, ignoring the stinging nostalgia in the details of the room that reminded her of Alistair, the roses carved into the wood and the dark red drapes, and instead focused on the connection to him right at her fingertips as she unfolded the letter.
Reading it again, she heard his voice clearer than the first time. With a chance to prepare for the words that awaited, she found herself annoyed. In the course of all his letters, he had waffled between disdain and resentment, and now he realized sexual desire — incredible timing, Alistair. She snorted to herself, reading his fondness with apprehensive gratitude.
But when she imagined him speaking her stomach fluttered. The thought of him with a full reddish beard, contributing a sense of sagacity and softened her annoyance. The quality of his timber in her mind changed as he shifted from sentiment to sarcasm; and when he flirted, praising her features with his lowered tone, gooseflesh rose on her arms and tingled the back of her neck.
'…Sinfully consistent and unbridled agreement.' She shivered and read again, letting his voice echo through her imagination.
"Yes, my King," Caoilainn muttered to herself, smiling with only the slightest irritation.
She pressed the letter to her chest, feeling the love and longing in his words vibrating through the parchment and onto her skin. Her body responded. Cheeks flushed, warmth emanated from her belly to her core. For the first time since Alistair's departure, she found herself aroused. Nerves alight with sensitivity, even her clothes against her skin coaxed her.
Morrigan had informed her of this possibility. A return of her sexual appetite, comparable to her years as a Warden. Caoilainn had assumed the absence of this symptom permanent, related to one of many unique conditions of her pregnancy. Having spent the first three months weak, nauseous, and exhausted made the mere idea of arousal absurd. But the current responses of her body could not be denied. Morrigan, in so many words, had encouraged her to release any shame and partake in self-pleasure.
Caoilainn stretched out on Alistair's bed. The black silk bedclothes Alistair had selected proved a welcome guilty pleasure as she reclined onto a large pile of pillows at the headboard. With a sigh, she reached below her gown, allowing the skirt to open, and reveal her heat to the coolness of the room.
The roundness of her belly proved only a minor deterrent. She closed her eyes; her hand met swollen labia, wetness, and heat and she nearly jolted upright at the sensitivity. As if the pregnancy heightened her senses, she took her time with an act she seldom engaged before now. But the motions came naturally, inviting comfort in recognition of herself as the source and recipient of this selfish satisfaction.
Her fingers spread the slickness, and she made a meager moan, twitching at the contact. Her eyes rolled up, opening as she regained control, noticing the contrast of the pale skin of her thighs on the ultra-black fabric. She shifted, needing another effort toward comfort, and pulled off her overdress. Throwing it on the floor, she reclined in only a thin shift.
And her hand returned, slow at first, reuniting with the sensitive region of herself she had nearly neglected. And it rejoiced, intensely and quick controlled spasms of her middle finger against the bundle coaxed her hips to rise, her body to writhe. She turned her head toward her pillows, letting them absorb her muffled moans. Slowed and sped paces alternated, she postponed her release. Alistair had taunted powerful orgasms from her with similar methods, and it always proved worthwhile.
So Caoilainn teased herself. Playing with her threshold, and curious when she would find a point of no return. She giggled, amused at the simplicity of this game and just as she did, she came undone.
"Maker." She gasped, back arching, abdominal muscles tightening, as pleasure washed over. More intense than any other climax she experienced, it swept vibrations from her head to her toes. And she prolonged it, continuing the light contact on the locus of arousal until the sensation ebbed. She regained her breath, and soon fell asleep.
"You're glowing, your majesty." Adalyn bowed her head, stepping into Caoilainn's office on the upper floor the next morning. "All is well with their majesties' heir, I assume?"
The faintest blush came to Caoilainn's cheeks, and she blinked, swallowing a smile fueled by her secret about the night before. She nodded. "All is quite well, thank you for asking." She poured them both cups of tea. "What news do you bring about our army?"
Adalyn reported, an update about the new training exercises Caoilainn had implemented through her second in command. Weaknesses of the royal army resided within their unity, failure to cooperate, and each soldier too interested in their glory in practice, gaining approval from Adalyn or whoever directed that day. Strengthening their connection and commitment became Caoilainn's priority, giving Adalyn direction for group exercises.
"There is still some resistance, but they are improving," Adalyn summarized the soldiers' progress and finished out the meeting. As Adalyn left, the messenger entered. Only one item arrived, a letter from Tantervale.
Caoilainn shut the door and sat at her desk to read.
21 Haring 9:42
Tantervale
C,
You will not believe, Fiona was a Warden. She is that Fiona—as in, the same Fiona that you read about in the vault. She lied to us all. She lied to me. And for what purpose? She said it is a life she does not wish to relive, but I know she's hiding something. I'm furious.
What's worse, I have no reason to be this angry. Fiona owed me nothing. Yes, she attempted to befriend me for whatever reason, and like an idiot, I trusted her integrity. Yes, it would be helpful for her to have offered this information to us earlier since we are on a quest for the Wardens. But none of that justifies this reaction from me. Why should I be so concerned? Why spend my attention on something trivial in the end?
I'm sorry to burden you with this information. I want to speak with you about it when I return. Why were Fiona's records held in Denerim instead of Weisshaupt? Do you know? Not that I care. I shouldn't care. I'm going to stop caring.
Anyway, I pray you are well. I realize my last letter might have been unfitting—unless you liked it. In which case, good, because it's all true.
—Love, A
"So she is that Fiona," Caoilainn mumbled to no one, speaking aloud in the privacy of her office. Her heart sank on Alistair's behalf, feeling his poignant disappointment through his words.
Seeing through Alistair's deflection, she suspected he would fixate on Fiona's deceit until more information came to light, or he would leave. The assumption only inspired more questions about Alistair's next steps and Fiona's honesty, none with viable answers from Caoilainn's current position.
Without other obligations for the day, she donned her hood and ventured out of the palace. Dusty and damp, the Grey Warden vault within the Market District did not see many visitors. It looked the same as the last time she visited when she had returned to the city over six months prior. Walls lined with crates, the boxes held keepsakes, gifts from ambassadors to the Wardens and files about certain Wardens.
The crate where she had found the information about Fiona, filled with other unresolved cases of Wardens remained easy to reach, where she left it, near the surface of all the other items within the vault.
She opened it again, unsure what she was looking for or what she would find. Torn pages, paper so old the ink bled as after sitting in the damp storeroom, made much of the files illegible. From what Caoilainn could read, she found documents about Feredan Wardens marked as disappearing or discharged under inexplicable circumstances. Their records were deemed necessary to store in Denerim.
At some point, she found the page she had read before of the only cured Warden. Fiona— reported as cured of the Calling after a mission in the Deep Roads—had undergone the Joining multiple times to no avail, until she elected to go to the Chantry at her own accord, instead of staying with the Wardens. Missions to the Deep Roads were not unusual for any Grey Warden, and Caoilainn had not bothered to look further at her initial read.
But now, the report's suspicious absence of substance compelled her to keep searching, the details of the events leading to Fiona's cure left from the account. Caoilainn sighed and sat the paper down to peruse the rest of the docket. Other Wardens received reports, an Avvar, a Dwarf, Utha, humans from Orlais were all listed as deceased, none cured.
The next Warden she found was Duncan.
Duncan. Caoilainn gasped when she read the name and her chest tightened. A newly conscripted Warden, one of the two who did not perish on this quest, recorded as cooperative in the debriefing of mission and sent to Fereldan base.
Why would you keep this from us, Duncan?
Heartache stemmed from weighed on her, but she did not stop reading. The next docket explained the mission itself. King Maric joined the Wardens into the Deep Roads where they came across the Architect. Only Maric, Duncan, and Fiona survived. The latter being both cured and pregnant upon return. The form failed to state the paternity of the child, or outcome for the baby.
Fiona was pregnant 32 years ago.
Frozen, Caoilainn stared at the paper. The reason for Fiona's secrecy glared at her, though the words blurred together. The files are here because Fiona is Alistair's mother.
Only Caoilainn's need for breath stirred her from the trance. She closed the crate, keeping the papers in hand as she returned, hooded and discreet, to the seclusion of her office.