2 Wintermarch 9:43
First Day festivities had subsided, but the holiday cooking still permeated the halls of the royal palace. It woke Caoilainn from her sleep, if one could call it sleep. She had tossed and turned through the night between the two mountains of pillows she wedged herself between, attempting to alleviate the growing ache on her side without sleeping on her stomach or back. She did not succeed; just before daybreak, she forfeited and went to her office. With the end of the holiday, she realized the list of work she wished to finish before her meeting with Morrigan.
She groaned and rang the bell by the door of her bedroom. Shortly after, a staff person reached her hallway, taking her order for tea and breakfast before she dragged her feet to her office further down the corridor.
Ferelden's letter to Divine Victoria awaited review. Teagan had finished it a few days prior, and it sat rolled and unread on her desk. More urgent communications demanded her attention. In the center of her workspace rested a piece of parchment, blank aside from the ornate letter 'A' she had managed to scrawl at the top of the page. Considering her lack of artistic ability, she had impressed herself with the details captured in the illuminated letter. It almost justified that it had taken her a week to draw it.
A small knock on her door distracted her. She looked up to see another servant, a young woman, carrying a tray with the items Caoilainn had requested. The serving girl curtsied and set the tray down on Caoilainn's desk with a muttered, "your majesty," before bowing again and hurrying down the hall.
In welcoming the new year, Caoilainn committed to completing the rest of the message. Her pen hovered before the first line, incapable of forming adequate words to explain to Alistair that Fiona was his mother.
Recent life-lessons in her relationship with Alistair confirmed she must come forth about information this significant. She overcame the temptation to protect him, as well as Fiona, from conflict around the revelation, knowing it was not her decision what truths Alistair could or could not handle. Furthermore, his arrival in Ansburg promised him being in one place long enough for a letter to reach him, or so she hoped. She had a responsibility to at least attempt to tell him what she found.
Yet the risk of a letter being intercepted could not be ignored, and the information in the wrong hands could dethrone Alistair and uproot their very lives. She couldn't accept such a threat and pondered a method to provide the details covertly in a way he would understand.
She sighed, placing her pen down over the blank scroll and reaching for the cup of tea from the tray. Contents still hot, steam rose from the top of the mug, tickling her nose as she brought it to her lips. With a sip of the unique tea—a new variety provided by the kitchen staff—she smiled. It was warm, flavorful, and different from the pregnancy remedy she now drank in watered-down doses, per Morrigan's direction. She recalled the ingredients of this new variety as she took another sip—rose hips, something else, and licorice root.
Licorice root. Her eyes widened. She placed the mug down and reached in a drawer for the scrap of paper Morrigan had provided early in her pregnancy. Though Caoilainn had read it dozens of times, she couldn't memorize the lengthy list of foods, drinks, and herbs she was required to avoid, protecting the viability of this life growing inside her.
"Shit." Licorice root, yet another herb she must not consume scrawled on the parchment.
With a frustrated huff, she pushed the mug away. This wasn't the first time she had ingested something from the list. The first few times it had happened, she had panicked and hurried to find Morrigan to confess her mistake. Morrigan had settled her fears, cautioned to look out for symptoms of nausea, bleeding, or cramping and to avoid the ingredient. In each case, Caoilainn and the baby had been fine. By now, she understood the process well enough to know the small amount she swallowed was unlikely to be a threat.
But it did not prevent her frustration. Caoilainn usually excelled at adhering to protocols. Memorizing rules and executing their maintenance defined her as commander. But the specific rules of pregnancy were finite and arbitrary, and worse, her mind was often too fuzzy to recall.
It didn't help she was distracted. The letters from Alistair she had received over the last week painted a picture of the unfolding events around Fiona's behavior contributing to Alistair's reticence. Caoilainn had determined Fiona's parentage in Alistair's letter from Tantervale a week ago, but she could barely keep up as his communications poured in. Every few days another letter described his sinking isolation, and the letter 'A' on her current draft only became more ornate.
"Damn it, Fiona," she muttered to herself while frowning at the scroll. The sense of urgency to convey the news of Fiona's maternity made the letter even harder to complete.
A movement in her midsection forced a pause.
"Oh." Caoilainn let out a surprised laugh and grasped her belly. A tickling jolt sparked to Caoilainn's nerves, as though the little one growing inside heard her voice. She kept her hand in place, staring down to see if the sensation would recur to confirm it was indeed the movement of the tiny life.
Another jolt made her heart flutter and her lips curve to a smile. She almost jumped from her seat; the impulse to run to Alistair and tell him about this news made excited tears well in her eyes. But the tears turned sorrowful as Alistair's absence undermined the pleasant moment.
She wanted to tell no one else but him. Though Morrigan provided support and guidance through the pregnancy, she would find none of Caoilainn's symptoms surprising or the least bit exciting. Regardless, Caoilainn's friend would find out in her next check-up later that day.
Glancing back at the table, she spotted the blank parchment and sighed with relief.
The letter could have written itself, words flowed from her pen to the page in her excitement. And fortunately, after sharing the progress of their child, Caoilainn managed to explain the coded news about Fiona. Caoilainn's eyes scanned the page, assuring respect to the contents before folding the paper and sealing the envelope. Rushed to send the letter without any delay, she almost jumped from her seat to find the messenger.
Before she could make it to the hallway, she nearly crashed into the messenger.
"Another letter from Ansburg, your majesty." The young man lowered his head, avoiding Caoilainn's eyes while handing her the envelope.
For a faint moment, a furrow twitched in Caoilainn's brow and her mouth opened. "Oh, thank you."
She looked forward to receiving letters weekly at the very least, but two on consecutive days caused concern. Her instructions to the messenger about her outgoing mail were forgotten as her attention changed. The messenger didn't linger once he passed the envelope to Caoilainn and hurried down the hallway to make the rest of his rounds.
Caoilainn stood in the doorway of her office with two letters in hand, one to Alistair and one presumably from him. She considered calling after the messenger back but decided against it. The contents of her letter may change once she read Alistair's. She snorted as a wry smile spread across her lips and returned to her desk.
25, Haring 9:42
Ansburg
C,
The mess only continues to get messier. We've been here for a night and in that time, the archer girl has managed to find a colony of ghouls residing outside the Keep, Nathaniel Howe seems to be making "diplomatic" connections with the Orlesian Warden-Constable, and Fiona has told me something I'm not sure I even believe.
Caoilainn gasped out loud, reading the last sentence over to assure her eyes had not deceived before reading the rest.
You would help me make sense of this if you were here. It's hard to think you still won't see this message for another week. I don't know what I'll do in the meantime.
How do I even put this in a letter? It's probably not wise, but I've sent unwiser things before. Alright, let me just get this over with. The aforementioned individual—you know, the one I've been so wary as of late, not that one… yes, her. Well, you won't believe this but she did not say that she was not my mother. That's cryptic enough, isn't it?
For one thing, I'm shocked, but I'm even angrier. How could someone do that to a baby? Then lie right to my face? And what's even worse, would you believe Duncan knew about it? He lied to me too. I'm starting to believe I must have "lie to me" tattooed across my forehead. Have I done something to deserve this? Is it my fate?
Anyway, I don't intend to restart our problems. That's not to say that it's any less significant. Quite the opposite. I honestly can't tell whose lie is worse at this point.
The Maker must intend for me to learn something here.
Pray I come home soon.
A
"Damn it," Caoilainn cursed aloud, and her cheeks grew hot when she realized her volume. The significant news Alistair had discovered about Fiona, whatever meaningful moment they must have shared had undermined her chance to prove her honesty to him. Aside from recognizing her wasted time and effort to write her letter and more importantly, a missed opportunity to be honest with Alistair, she was surprised at his investigative skills and Fiona's confession.
Her heart ached for him as she wrote to him again.
With a new letter drafted and delivered to the mailroom for the next messenger's rounds, brisk steps took Caoilainn to the dining hall. Lunch waited, and she was overdue to eat it, but before she could reach the base of the stairs, Teagan stopped her.
She used every effort not to roll her eyes. "It's on my desk Teagan, I promise."
The smugness in his frown made Caoilainn's skin crawl. He lifted his hands in playful defense. "Of course, your majesty. Though it might remove an undue burden from your plate to request someone else review it." He bowed his head. "If you see fit."
Undue burden? Caoilainn's brow wrinkled, and she found herself resisting the sneer pulling her upper lip closer to her nose. "I said it's on my desk, Teagan. I will read it after I meet with Morrigan."
Because Morrigan had ordered it. The first of many weekly appointments the mage required to check on the progress of Caoilainn's pregnancy. Morrigan had advised the appointments would be brief, checking of vitals, the position of the baby relative to the child's development, and a chance to address any of Caoilainn's questions or concerns. But with a growing list of neglected responsibilities weighing on her shoulders, Caoilainn found herself annoyed with the additional obligation.
"Of course, of course." Teagan took a step back. "I know you are busy, and in your current state of gestation," his eyes wandered to her belly, barely pronounced in her loose dress, "it is only reasonable for you to reserve your energy to the heir, as it were. I'm sure it is demanding."
"I'm fine." She felt her heart rate quicken as her irritation grew with Teagan's tiptoeing around the subject of her pregnancy.
It was the more recent tone she heard from her support system. Teagan, Fergus and even Morrigan urging her to relax because "creating life comes at a cost," or so Morrigan phrased it. Something about the recurring suggestions to take it easy, all of them pardoning Caoilainn's recent follies in poor time management and irresponsibility only infuriated her.
She reiterated her intention to review Teagan's letter that evening before he sent it to the Divine. "Is there anything else?" Caoilainn questioned, an impatient frown tugged at her lips.
"Of course not," Teagan replied, ushering her away from the stairs with an outstretched arm.
He walked another way while she made her way to the dining hall. Caoilainn hoped her body language had communicated her disinterest in continuing their dialogue and not that he simply had other obligations.
A mismatched collection of potion bottles and jars filled shelves lining one side of the small room; a simple bed pressed against another wall. A wedge-shaped pillow supported Caoilainn's back as she reclined, waiting for Morrigan to speak as the mage's fingers pressed into Caoilainn's belly. Without a word, Morrigan grasped Caoilainn's wrist with her index and middle finger pressed on the inside. She closed her eyes.
After a long, silent moment, Morrigan released her grasp and frowned. "What clearer words can I provide to encourage you to be gentle on your body? Must I order you on bedrest again?"
"I feel fine, Morrigan." Caoilainn lied. She had noticed brief spells of lightheadedness when she was on her feet for too long. It had only happened a handful of times, but with each recurrence, Caoilainn's denial was less effective. "I have not been to the smithy in weeks and the amount of work on my desk should tell you how much I've been prioritizing rest."
The judgmental arch of Morrigan's brow conveyed the efficacy of Caoilainn's lie. "Alistair may appreciate your obstinate tendencies, but I do not." The mage crossed her arms. "And were I to chain you to your bed, I promise you would not enjoy it."
Wishing she could hide the bright red emanating from her cheeks, Caoilainn gave a stubborn huff. "How much more can I slow down? I am still the queen and my list of tasks grows longer each day. Would you have me just sit around and eat sweets, delegating all of my duties to everyone else?"
"Yes! For what other reason are Teagan and Fergus here?" Morrigan's voice rose as she pointed to the door. "Your primary task at this time is to care for yourself and the small person growing inside of you."
Caoilainn clenched her jaw and her eyes focused on Morrigan despite the sting of pooling tears. "So you expect me to sit here and lounge about, reduced to nothing more than a vessel for my child when Alistair is directly on the other side of the Waking Sea? I should be there!"
"This is what you wanted." The reminder was curt, and Morrigan did nothing to soften the blow of her words. "Such are the circumstances of carrying a child, you no longer have the luxury of complete control, and 'tis only the beginning."
Caoilainn's lips pressed together, stubbornly choosing silence and consideration before replying. She sat up from the bed.
Morrigan added as she browsed through potion bottles, "You are not even halfway through your pregnancy, and it will only become harder and once the child is born, motherhood will make you question everything you thought you knew about yourself. A child is not your army." She glanced over her shoulder.
The puzzled twitch in Caoilainn's focus joined her frown. "What do you mean?"
"I mean that you may plan or strategize pregnancy or parenthood down to every detail, but the needs of this small person will overrule everything." Morrigan removed leaves from one of her bottles and put them in a piece of paper before binding the paper with string. She passed the paper to Caoilainn, taking Caoilainn's hands in her own. "Your child will love you far more deeply than your army ever could, and in so doing, you may find a deeper, wiser version of yourself. At least that is my experience, and it is still unfolding."
With a solemn nod, Caoilainn clarified her understanding of Morrigan's wisdom, "But only if I let go."
"Precisely." A smile pulled the edges of Morrigan's lips and she nodded. "Otherwise you will lose yourself."
Haven't I already lost myself? Whatever progress she thought she had made since returning to Denerim seemed to have slipped away in her conflict with Alistair. Her peace of mind since he left only existed by keeping herself busy—to a fault, apparently.
"But Alistair," Caoilainn whined, too stubborn to forget the source of her disquiet. "It's so hard to be still when I know he's so close. It's driving me mad—"
"Look inward, Caoilainn," Morrigan stopped her short. "'Tis more important for you to find yourself than worry about whatever Alistair is doing. Take your extra time practicing staying calm. It will be a useful tool very soon."
Caoilainn snorted, annoyed and amused with an oversimplified suggestion. "And how on earth would I do that?"
The patronizing smirk on Morrigan's face was indistinguishable. "You could sit around and eat sweets if that suits you, but I would recommend tailoring your own method."
Caoilainn could not mistake the cryptic nature of Morrigan's advice and assumed it related to childbirth. She rolled her eyes. "I've undergone the Joining and a near-death experience, Morrigan. I am confident I can manage the pain of delivering a child."
"I'm sure you can," Morrigan's hand made a casual roll, "just as many other women with less physical endurance have done before you. That does not prevent this particular brand of discomfort from being profound, and it doesn't have to be painful if you practice as I've instructed."
"Sure," a dismissive laugh came from Caoilainn, mildly annoyed with Morrigan's mystification of childbirth. "If you say so, I'll put more effort into relaxing." She emphasized select words highlight the contradiction of Morrigan's instructions.
Morrigan shrugged her shoulders and checked a few more aspects of Caoilainn's wellness. Caoilainn told her about the flutter she felt that morning and the tea she drank before they completed the appointment. Caoilainn went on her way with the new task of doing nothing while remaining calm and order to burn the leaves on a candle before bed.
"This isn't complicated," she said to herself as she reached her office upstairs, knowing exactly where to find the necessary tools to complete the task of relaxing.
The bookshelf in the room stood behind her desk, its shelves filled with texts about history—primarily in relation to wars and politics. A smaller number of books about the sciences were pushed to the far end of one shelf. She had kept the books she had studied growing up that she found relevant and discarded the rest. Caoilainn had never been one for fiction.
In a corner of the bottom shelf, Caoilainn had tucked away a handful of stories. Their plots had intrigued her when she found them during her excursions, so she had tucked them into her bag, intending to read them when she found the time. The time had never seemed to occur until now.
She picked one at random and settled onto the daybed near the window. "I've been meaning to make time to read since I returned to Denerim. What better time than now." Caoilainn spoke aloud, aware of the unmistakable air of defiance in her tone.
She stared at the text and read the first page. Surprised at how quickly the words flowed in her mind, she turned to the next page and continued. I'll be done with this in no time. Then I will get to that letter from Teagan; I won't even need to ask someone else to read it. It will just be a matter of using my time wisely.
Her thoughts went on, justifying the division of her energy with an emphasis on being still, which still carving time to manage or delegate her other tasks.
She got through four pages of the book before realizing she had scanned the words and turned the pages, but she did not recognize character names, the setting, and had no concept of the story.
Morrigan's right, Caoilainn thought, realizing relaxing would not be a simple feat.