Chapter 3: Hope and Fear

"Cailan come back," Rowan called from her seat in the palace's rose gardens. She sat beneath a parasol that shaded her fair skin from the harsh summer sunlight. She'd always been light-skinned, but in the past year she seemed paler than usual, and more tired. But Cailan, just about two years old, was a ball of sunlight and laughter, and delighted in making his parents chase him about.

Cailan turned back and stared for a moment at his mother. Even from this distance she could tell his eyes were sparkling, and his mouth curved into a smile. Then his laughter sliced through the hazy, warm summer air as he took off farther down the path that led between rose bushes.

Next to Rowan, Maric smiled. He took Rowan's hand and squeezed gently. His hands were larger than hers, and rougher; though they'd both been trained warriors, motherhood had softened Rowan. She worked to keep her hands soft for the sake of her son's delicate skin while Maric still trained with his weapons and developed new calluses over the years. "I'll get him, don't worry," he told her.

Rowan nodded gratefully and leaned back in her seat. She smiled, but her eyes were tired.

When Cailan had learned to walk a few months back, Rowan had chased him all over the castle. His delighted screams echoed through the halls, weaving with Rowan's rich laughter, which dissolved into gasps and giggles when she caught up with her child and swung him up into her arms. Their chases confused the servants, and made Maric happier than he'd ever dreamed he could be. This was what he'd fought for. This was why he'd freed Ferelden: not so he could rule, but so children could be born free to laugh and parents free to laugh with them.

Maric took a parallel path to Cailan's, hunkering low to the ground and watching his son through the gaps in the branches. The sun made his golden curls gleam. His hair was growing fast, as was the rest of him. Cailan's pace had slowed a bit, and he glanced around him. He looked back, and Maric did too. They both saw Rowan, and Cailan was pleased to still be able to see his mother, and continued on.

What Maric saw, though… he smiled at his wife, and she gave a little wave before dropping her hand back in her lap as though it were too heavy to hold up. In the shade of the parasol she seemed paler than was normal, and from this distance he could see that her dress was a little loose. Not draped on her, exactly; but there were creases where the fabric usually clung to her body, and the neckline dipped a little more than usual. Her collarbones seemed a bit more pronounced, as well.

It was troubling. But she'd stopped nursing Cailan a few months back, so perhaps the weight had come off with that. Maric didn't know these things. He considered calling on Kilda or Shiranna and asking, if only to settle his mind.

Cailan was walking again, holding his chubby arms up and slightly out, as though it gave him some balance. His eyes were down, watching the ground ahead of each step. He didn't see the hedge that formed a T-shaped junction, and especially didn't see Maric round a corner and sweep him up into the air.

Maric tossed his son into the air and caught him, and Cailan screamed in glee. He kicked out and flung his arms into the air. "Daddy more!" he said, and Maric laughed and swung him around in circles until they were both breathless. "Daddy, momma," Cailan said finally, pointing back toward Rowan, and struggling to be set down. Maric obliged and Cailan toddled back down the path to his mother.

His strides were short, so Maric was able to keep pace with him easily. Cailan stopped in front of Rowan. "Momma up?" Cailan asked, tugging on his mother's skirts. He gazed up at Rowan with adoring blue eyes. The garden breeze stirred his fine flax-colored curls and he smiled a toothy grin.

Rowan leaned down and reached out for him. When she lifted, it was an evident strain, and she fell against the chair back with Cailan in her lap. "You're getting to be too big, little man," she said, smoothing his tow curls out of his face, which was ruddy from the bright sun and his excited running.

"I'm a big boy," Cailan announced, nodding. "I runned, and Daddy got me."

"That he did," Rowan said. "You know I love you, Cailan," she said suddenly.

"I love you, Momma," Cailan replied, resting his head against her chest and his eyelids drooping. It seemed for one moment that his extensive energy reserves were finally exhausted, but he pushed off of Rowan and fell out of her lap. He laughed as he tumbled onto the grass, and ran off again.

"I'll get him," Maric offered, but Rowan's hand on his arm stopped him.

"Let him run and play," she said. "He can't get into much out here."

"He's not really too big for you, is he," Maric said after a moment of quiet between them. "I know he's growing, but it wasn't long ago that you wore armor sets heavier than him, while wielding sword and shield on horseback."

More quiet. The warm breezes blew the scent of roses past them, and the birds twittered. Maric loved Ferelden summers, but it always made him sad because it meant winter was on the way again. He knew it was just part of the inevitable cycle of the natural world. He felt it in his bones the way the land felt it; he felt tied to the land, like he was a part of it. He hoped that one day Cailan would feel the same way. He could imagine himself and Rowan, both with graying hair, tending roses while Cailan walked these gardens a grown man learning to be king.

"I've not felt well lately," Rowan said at last. "No consumption or stomach sickness. I'm just constantly tired," she said. She smiled, but it did not crinkle the corners of her eyes the way her smiles usually did. "It may just be trying to keep up with Cailan and with court. I didn't think it possible for one little boy to be so energetic," she said.

"He can't take that much out of you," Maric said. It was hard to keep the accusatory tone from his voice, and he regretted it instantly when Rowan's forced smile fell and her eyes got wide. "I'm sorry," he said quickly. "I mean that perhaps there's something more that's making you ill, because one young boy isn't enough to take down Rowan the Warrior Queen." He took her hand and squeezed it, but he did not squeeze back.

"Perhaps I'm not that woman any longer," she said softly.

Maric recalled how tired she'd been when she was first pregnant. "Do you think you might be with child again?" he asked, keeping his voice even. He didn't want to get excited; but the truth was, Loghain had mentioned it, and Rowan's brother Eamon also had hinted that, while he had an excellent heir in Cailan, noble families (and especially royal ones) also needed a spare. He couldn't forget the palpable tension in his mother's face every time they battled, or faced a march to a new camp location. He used to think his mother had kept him from battle, and kept him out of the arguments over strategies because he was nothing more than a hindrance. But now, hearing his own young son's giggles borne on the breeze, and knowing that at any moment anything could happen, filled him with fear. "We Theirins have bad luck with single-child families," he joked, when he saw the look on her face. "What is it?"

Rowan had never looked so sad or troubled in the entire time he'd known her. Even when she'd heard of her father's death she hadn't had such deep sadness in her eyes. "I've not had my courses in months, and yet I'm not pregnant," she said, finally looking away from him as if in shame. Maric reached over and gently touched her cheek, imploring her to look back at him. She did, but had to blink back tears. "I don't know what's wrong with me, Maric," she said at last. Her voice trembled.

She'd been holding back her tears for a long time. Maric didn't know how long, and as he drew her from her chair and hugged her to him, he cursed himself for not noticing. It was so easy to look at her and see Rowan the warrior, who'd helped him drive out the Orlesians; who'd forged through the Deep Roads with him; who'd stood by him when he passed judgment on his own countrymen for being Orlesian sympathizers. His rock. His queen. The mother of his son.

Her shoulders heaved beneath his fierce hug, and he was shocked at how frail she felt under his hands.

"Daddy, Momma, look!" Cailan's small voice made Maric's breath catch in his throat, and Rowan pulled away. She hastily wiped the tears from her eyes, but they were still red and puffy. "Momma, I got a flower!"

Rowan sank to her knees, looking much like a wilting flower herself, as if the act of standing, combined with the heavy crying, had drained her. "What do you have, baby?" she asked.

"Flower!" Cailan proudly held a crushed rose blossom out to his mother. The red petals were ripped in his chubby, grubby hands, and he held too tight and squashed the delicate blossoms.

A sob caught in Maric's chest and made his throat constrict. The destroyed flower was one of the saddest things he'd ever seen, but so was Cailan's innocent joy as he beamed up at his mother, presenting the gift to her. He had no inkling of the fear that hung between his parents; he had no knowledge of illness, or darkness, or death.

"Thank you, Cailan, I love it," Rowan said softly. She grabbed her son and held him close to her, her cheek pressed to his. When she let him go, she took the rose. "I'll keep it forever," she promised. A petal drifted to the ground.

Maric reached down and picked up Cailan, but he would have none of it. "Momma," he said, squirming in his father's arms. "Momma!" he wailed. And just as quickly as a summer thundershower blocked out the sun, Cailan's face reddened and he screamed, kicking and shoving and reaching for Rowan.

Rowan looked up at Cailan in Maric's arms, and at the destroyed flower in her hand. Looking down on her like this, Maric suddenly saw the frailty he'd either been too busy to see, or had willfully ignored, these months. The woman who'd once been able to vault onto horseback in full plate armor struggled to get to her feet while dressed in a mere gown. Maric reached down for her hand, and Rowan grabbed on for support; but it was evident she needed him to pull her to her feet. She swayed a little and Cailan wailed and reached for her.

"I can't," she said at last, quietly. But Cailan only screamed more loudly and nearly tumbled out of Maric's arms trying to get to his mother. "Cailan I can't hold you!" she shouted, and she was crying again, tears streaming down her face as she realized she was too weak to carry her child.

Rowan's sobs hitched in her throat and the look she gave Maric was enough to get him teary, as well. She took off, running a few paces before she stopped and collapsed on the grass. She slammed her hands against the ground and her shoulders shook.

Maric knelt beside her and set Cailan on the ground. He flung himself at Rowan and his sobs stopped as soon as he'd wrapped his arms around her the best he could. She gathered him to her bosom and rocked back and forth. Maric wrapped his arms around her shoulders and held her to him, closing his eyes and willing his strength into her.

She's always been strong for him; now he had to be strong for her.

And for Cailan.