Four Months Later
Solana accepted the missive from her seneschal, Rogan. She thanked him and returned to her desk. She eased herself down into the worn leather chair and stared at the writing on the front.
His penmanship had improved somewhat. The seal was a heavy blob of red wax that she hesitated to break. She had no clue what it would contain, but it worried her nonetheless.
"I'm heading to bed, Mum. See you in the morning." Wynne stood in her doorway, her white kitten in hand, a slender wraith in the nimbus of light cast by firelight and candlelight.
"Sleep well." Solana smiled at her daughter.
"You too." Wynne nuzzled the kitten, who batted at her nose with a fuzzy paw.
When left alone, Solana picked up the envelope again, studying the spiky script inscribing her name on the heavy paper. She stared across the room at the flames guttering low in the hearth.
Finally, by the light of the low candle beside her, she broke the seal and read the words from the only man she had ever loved.
And her face turned pale.
"Mum? What's wrong?" Wynne sat upon the boulder beside her mother. They looked out upon the countryside to the north. To the distant walls of the city. To their back was the dark woods of Amaranthine.
Solana rested her outstretched arm upon her bent knee, leaning back upon the other hand. She looked askance at her beautiful daughter.
"I have been summoned to the capital."
"To Denerim? Why?"
Solana hesitated.
"Mother?"
"The King wishes to speak to me."
"To you?" Wynne frowned. "He has never shown interest before."
"I don't know." Solana shook her head. "I need you to stay here."
Wynne stilled. "I can't come? Why not?"
"Denerim is not somewhere I want you to go just yet. Maybe when you are older."
"I'm fifteen, Mother. Don't you think that is old enough?" Wynne's voice was a little edged with steel now. Solana sighed at the thought of the fight that was to come.
"Denerim pays no mind to your age, Wynne, nor will the people in it."
"It is hardly my fault I have gone nowhere further afield than Amaranthine City." Wynne scowled.
"Are you unhappy?" Solana asked softly.
Wynne opened her mouth to reply in the affirmative. Solana could see the light of it in her eyes, before the basic honesty of her nature took over. "No. This is my home. I do love it. But I want to see something of the world too."
"There will be time enough for that, my darling." Solana reached out and touched Wynne's head. "I promise. This will be a journey of several days and I will remain no longer than the time it takes to speak to the King, then I will return. Perhaps next year we will journey north, see something of Ferelden."
Wynne considered the reply and then nodded. "Alright."
"There is much to be done here. You are in charge while I'm gone."
Wynne's lips twitched. "I think Rogan might have something to say about that."
Solana smiled. "He always has plenty to say about everything."
"So…two weeks then?" Wynne asked, a little mournfully. "You haven't been gone that long before."
"I have, darling girl, but you were too young to remember."
Wynne disconsolately leaned her chin on her hand. "Fine."
Solana waved at Wynne from her carriage window, watching her daughter blowing kisses, surrounded by hounds. She would be back soon. She leaned back on the seat. Soon.
Denerim was, at the heart of it, still the same. Warfare and civil strife had changed little of the basic architecture of the buildings or the hearts of the people. She stared out of the window at their faces, watching for anyone that was familiar and couldn't decide whether she wished she could see someone, or would prefer not to.
"Straight to the inn, please," she said to the driver.
She wanted to bathe and change before heading to the Castle.
She stared at the outfit she had chosen to meet Alistair. A simple dress. Forest green. She looked good in green. She groaned and rubbed her brow. Why the hell should it matter what she looked good in?
She was still fit, though there were a few wrinkles around the eyes now. Her hair had always been silver, so … that wouldn't be such a surprise. She wondered what he looked like now. Fifteen years would inevitably bring change. She pulled the dress over her head, and smoothed the fabric into place. She fastened a wide leather belt around her hips and tugged on her comfortable old boots. The skirts would hide them. She wanted something that was familiar.
She took a last glance in the mirror before leaving. Good enough. It wasn't like he hadn't seen her looking a lot worse anyway. Months of camping did that to a person.
Wynne slid off the back of her horse and stared around her. Denerim was huge. She always felt like Amaranthine was big. But that was just a little town compared to this place. And on the horizon she could see the castle. Stay away from there. Check.
The people ignored her. Brushing past like she was nobody. To be honest, she probably was a nobody. Griff, the hound she had brought with her, huddled close to her legs, whining a little in fear at the sheer amount of people.
A commotion up ahead caught her attention, and curiosity got the better of her. She strolled up, hanging onto the reins of her mount and made her way through the gathering crowd.
The kid was probably thirteen. He had a light blonde fuzz on his chin, and the light of cruel amusement in his eyes. He wore richly embroidered robes and had an impressive sword girt to his hip. He stood over an old man, fists bunched on his hips. There was a mocking lilt to his voice as he spoke.
"Come on. Pick it up. I won't stop you."
The old man's shaking hand reached out for the small pouch in the dust at his feet. Quick as a snake, the lad rapped his knuckles with a stick. The lad laughed.
Wynne saw red.
The crowd had gathered, but no one was laughing. No one was stopping the brat either. She dropped the reins and shoved through the crowd to the protests of many. She stood on the edge of the clearing. As the lad reached out with his stick again, Wynne nocked an arrow and fired at the dirt between the lad and the old man. The old man cried out and scurried back, the lad shrieked his fear.
Wynne strode forward, picked up the pouch and tossed it toward the old man. She yanked her arrow out of the ground and shoved it back into her quiver.
"You should all be ashamed," she snapped at the wide eyed crowd, barely hearing the murmurings. "And you, you pathetic little weasel." She strode toward the lad who stumbled back a few steps, his hand going to his sword and moving to pull it out. She yanked the dagger her mother had given her from its sheath. "I wouldn't, you little coward."
"A-a-arrest her!" the lad squeaked, his voice breaking in his fear.
Wynne frowned. "What?" She whirled around and came face to face with two heavily armoured knights, swords drawn.
"Drop the dagger," one of them snarled.
Wynne complied. The dagger rang as it struck a stone. One of the knights took her bow and arrows, then bent to pick up the dagger, while the other knight bound her arms.
"You shouldn't have interfered, girl." The lad had gained some bravery now.
Wynne stared down her nose at him. "I would do it again, you ridiculous little twerp."
"You are going to wish you hadn't!" His voice rose sharply.
She could have sworn she heard one of the knight's sigh.
"Let's go." One of the knight's rumbled. "Come with us, Your Highness. Your father will wish to hear about what happened."
Oh hell. Wynne swallowed. Your Highness.