Duty's Choice: The Bastards of Ferelden – Chapter 37
Special Delivery
Cailin scrambled up and over the rocks, following the sounds of his mother's pain. Part of him wanted to run away, but that part was weak, and weak was bad. He would be there for her and for his new brother.
He thought he saw movement in the darkness under the tree. "Mother?" he called softly.
"Cailin?" Her voice was strained and breathy. He found under the big tree, between a rock and a root. She seemed to be wet and was sweating. Her eyes, always big and luminous, grew wider at the sight of him. "Pup, what are you doing here?"
"Helping. Petra's coming. So's Zevran and uncle and Rainer maybe."
"And me."
Cailin swung to find the new voice as Elinora pushed herself up to see.
Ashling stared at Cailin, golden eyes evaluating him. "You are not her son."
Cailin didn't say anything, but stepped closer to Elinora and picked up her dagger. The Rose's Thorn was almost a sword to the boy. He placed himself between the woman he called mother and this girl he didn't know, but didn't like.
Ashling raised her hands. "I'm not going to hurt her, cousin. I just want the baby. I have plans for my brother."
"Oh?" a warm, male voice emerged from the darkness. "And what would those be?" Alistair stepped up to his daughter, sword and shield out, and Templar powers humming.
"Father," she said, turning to him. Brown eyes met golden.
Elinora cried out with another contraction. "Alistair!"
He forgot that he had asked a question, forgot about the little girl, forgot that there was anything else is the world besides Elinora. He ran to her, dropping sword and shield to fall to her side, squeezing next to the root. Alistair cupped her face in gauntleted hands. "I'm sorry, I never should have…" He stopped trying to explain and kissed her.
The contraction was forgotten at the touch of his lips. It faded away into a warmth and security that she hadn't felt in months. The kiss's temporary distraction broke with a sharp jolt of pain, the final reminder of the contraction. Elinora pulled away with a small cry and rested her head on Alistair's shoulder.
He pulled off his gauntlets and stroked her hair. "Tell me what to do, darling. You were always so good at that."
She grasped his hand, her fingers threading through his. "Just hold me, talk to me."
Alistair had a fine collection of Denerim gossip, bits and pieces told between kisses big and small. He saved the juiciest part for last. "I probably shouldn't tell you this now, but I've had the Grand Cleric arrested. Ferelden is going to control her own Chantry from now on."
"What?" was swallowed by the next contraction. She howled a string of incomprehensible questions between pants.
Once it was over, Alistair kissed her forehead and wiggled his fingers, aching from the Elinora's painful grip. "When we get home, we're going to get our little family together and get married, and no one can say a damn thing about it."
Cailin smiled at that, though neither Elinora nor Alistair noticed. He had not taken his eyes off the girl in front of him. Neither of them had moved, though Ashling had watched Alistair and Elinora carefully.
Ashling noticed Cailin's smile and added a soft one of her own, just for the boy. "Come with us, cousin. You, me and our little brother. We will be a family and no one could take us away from each other, ever."
"You're just a little girl," Cailin growled.
Ashling's eyes flared, a sunburst in the night. "I am not a little girl!" She took a step forward.
Cailin darted the dagger out in a quick, deft thrust, scoring a scratch on the girl's upper arm. Her sleeve slit open and stained red.
Ashling's hand flew to the wound as she staggered back in shock. "That… hurt…" She stared at her hand, now coated in blood. "How could… how dare you!" Her eyes flared again as she lunged for Cailin.
Zevran watched. He watched as Morrigan confronted the First Warden and left him paralyzed, and watched as the glyph wore off. Rainer's broad shoulders sagged without the immobilization of the spell, and he set himself on a rock with his face in his hands.
The Crow stepped out of hiding and approached Rainer smoothly. "Tell me why I should not kill you."
Rainer's hands fell away from his face with a sigh. "I can't." He gave Zevran a doleful look. "Just end it, just like you did with Quennel. I deserve it as much as he did."
Zevran leaned against a tree and causally crossed his arms, studying the once proud warrior. "Perhaps, but you are a better man than he could ever aspire to be. He was never sorry for his transgressions."
The First Warden studied the ground. "I only wanted to protect her, to love her even."
"And yet…"
Rainer sighed. "And yet. I've lost." His eyes closed in resignation.
"And you will not trouble her again?" Zevran asked carefully.
Rainer huffed a bitter laugh. "No. I am not worthy."
His answer was met with silence. When he looked back up, Zevran was gone.
Cailin was ready for a fight, but Ashling collapsed before her feet left the ground.
"That is enough from you, young lady." Morrigan, one hand glowing, slowly approached the royal family.
Her heart sank as Alistair lifted his sword and Elinora pinned her with a look usually reserved for Darkspawn. She deserved the enmity of those she once call companions, even friends. "I am sorry," she said for the second time that night.
"Sorry doesn't even begin to cover it," Alistair growled, moving away from Elinora to allow himself more mobility. Elinora whimpered a bit, which he heard all the way to his soul.
"Alistair," Morrigan began, keeping her voice smooth and even, "go back to her. Hold and comfort her. Welcome your son into the world together. I just want to take our daughter."
Alistair's posture relaxed a little, though Cailin's did not. The king considered, his grip shifting on his father's sword.
"Alistair!" Elinora cried out as a new contraction squeezed her.
He sheathed his sword. "Take the girl and go." He looked away, eyes hooded. "I don't want to see either of you again."
Morrigan gathered the sleeping Ashling up and held her like any mother would her child. She turned and headed back down the hill.
Alistair rested a hand on Cailin's shoulder as he watched the witch and his daughter vanish into the night. "Good work, son. Keep on look out." He returned to his love's side, encouraging her to heap abuse on him through the pain.
Zevran turned up eventually, though neither Alistair or Elinora noticed. He and Cailin continued to stand watch, silent, eyes and ears searching the darkness. They saw little, but Elinora's cries went from little whimpers to full blown howls. Alistair's soft voice was ever there, comforting and distracting, but the atmosphere on the hilltop was tense. So much so, Zevran nearly shot the first Warden he saw.
"Whoa, hey," said the young man; Orlesian accent, leather armor, a scout, "Petra's coming. She knew right where you'd be."
Zevran held him at sword point until the mage appeared. Petra was quite annoyed, but couldn't blame him. She had a dozen Wardens with her, all bearing something, water, canvas, blankets, medical supplies. Zevran took her to Elinora immediately.
Petra shooed Alistair away from Elinora's side as the mage knelt and looked both of them over. "Get that armor off and then you can help. Last thing she needs is to bang her head against cold metal."
Between his own haste and many helpers, Alistair had never been out of armor so fast in his life.
Hands glowing and breathing steady, Petra examined Elinora. "When did the contractions begin?"
"Sunset," Elinora gasped.
The corners of Petra's mouth turned down. She rose and looked at the milling Wardens. This situation was in desperate need of controlling. "Alright you lot, we can't move her, so this is happening here. I need some of you to find the shortest and easiest route to the main road, and some of you to go back to camp and get the cart to that point and wait. Once the baby comes we'll get her out on the stretcher and back to Highever. I need water now and more heating. Bring two of those clean blankets to me. Build the fire over there." She pointed to an open space close, but not too close, to the tree and Elinora. The Wardens blinked at Petra. "Now!"
The men divided themselves into scouting parties as Petra took the blankets from a Warden mage. "Evard, make sure my orders are followed, I have a mother to tend to."
She returned to her charge's side as Alistair waited for his orders, which Petra had for him. "Your majesty, you are going get behind her and be her support. She should sit up, leaning against your chest and between your legs. I'm afraid you're probably going to come out of this with bruises."
Alistair took the clean tunic Evard handed him and followed Petra's instructions. She handed him a wet cloth and a water skin with orders to use both as needed. Elinora drank furiously and he wiped the sweat from her brow. "Just like the when we met," he whispered.
Elinora lolled her head against his solid. The smell of Alistair was heavenly. "Let's hope with the same results."
He nuzzled her ear. "Better." His lips brushed the tattoo on the back of her neck. "Still can't believe you talked me into that. Never been in that much pain on purpose in my life."
"If you want pain…" Elinora slammed her hands onto his thighs as another contraction hit her. Alistair would defiantly have bruises. And maybe scars if she kept digging in her nails like that.
Petra and Evard managed to get clean blankets under Elinora and mage lights glowed from crystals set on the rock and root. Petra cleaned her up and made her and Alistair as comfortable as she could with blankets and tent canvas, but didn't say much in the process.
Hours passed in a blur of contractions. Alistair babbled with gossip and news. Elinora could hear men come and go, giving Petra reports. Eventually, she and Alistair both fell into something like sleep, though she awakened every few minutes with another wave of pain.
And then it changed. "Petra…" Her thought was broken by another contraction and an overwhelming urge to push.
Petra knelt directly in front of her, her expression very serious. "Alright, Elinora, now for the hard part. Follow your instincts and listen to me. Push when you want to push, deep breaths in between."
Elinora pushed, pain shooting through her body as she tried to bring her child into the world. Her heart pounded fit to break through her chest. She had no idea how long it went on, push after push. A thousand Darkspawn were easier than this, a million, the Archdemon itself.
She would have given up, but Alistair's strong arms banded around her, between breasts and belly, soft words keeping her anchored, encouraging her every moment. Elinora tried to focus past the pain, focus on the fight, on Alistair's voice.
But the pain.
"With the next contraction, push with everything you've got!"
The fighting.
"You can do it, my love."
That push was one too many.
"No!"
It all stopped.
Elinora felt a glow and a pull. She opened her eyes to find herself on their Fade island. She didn't hurt anymore; she didn't feel heavy or clumsy, just the opposite. Soft warmth flowed through her. Above her was a brightness she couldn't stand, but felt drawn to.
"Oh no you don't, young lady."
Wynne's voice, but Elinora couldn't find her in all that brightness. Not that she had long to search. A driving force slammed into her chest, throwing both her and her assailant over the edge of the island. She wailed to who ever would pull her away from paradise, from rest.
And found Duncan.
"You're not done, and neither am I," he said stoically as they fell forever. He tucked her form close to his, like a father comforting his child.
And then the world was agony.
Reality slammed back into her, and with that momentum she pushed, her roar echoing through the forest.
She heard the cry of a baby, and then everything went muzzy.
Alistair was hauled away from Elinora's limp form and replaced by Evard. Petra was saying things like "heart stopped" and "bleeding" and other things that couldn't penetrate Alistair's brain. Petra shoved something wrapped in cloth into his hands as the mages cast glyphs and glows. He looked down to find his son in his arms.
The baby, still bloody from his entrance into the world, wiggled a bit and mewled. He seemed content, despite the chaos going on around him. Slowly, so slowly, his brand new eyes opened.
Duncan's eyes.
"Hello, Duncen." Alistair felt the smile creep onto his lips.
"She's breathing!" Evard had a hand on Elinora's chest and her head tipped back.
Petra nodded to him. "I've got the bleeding under control. How's her heart? Pulse?"
The healer's hands moved. "Weak, but steady. I'll be damned, I think she's going to live."
Alistair nearly dropped Duncen. The events of the last few moments had finally sunk in. "She… no…" Duncen wailed. Daddy had held him just a bit too tight, and he was expressing his displeasure. Alistair panicked. "Petra… I don't know… what?"
Petra stood, exhausted and covered in the viscera of life, and drew her last reserve of patience. "Your majesty, Elinora is fine, or will be with rest and healing. Your son is fine. Unhealthy babies don't cry like that. I need you to let us work."
"But…"
"Just let us work."
Alistair stood back, watching as they tended to Elinora. He rocked and murmured to Duncen. The baby calmed, newly fascinated by the rising sun. At some point, dawn had broken. "See that, Duncen," Alistair whispered to his son, "That's Ferelden. You're a prince of her, and a Grey Warden, or so they tell me. But don't let all that tie you down."
He looked down at a tug on his sleeve. Cailin stood there, a wet cloth in his hand. Alistair knelt. "Cailin, this is your brother, Duncen. Alright, cousin, technically. But…"
"He's my brother," the boy stated plainly. He took the cloth and gently wiped away the blood and mess still on Duncen.
Alistair kissed his nephew's forehead, and greeted the new day with a massive smile of pride.
A/N – Not quite done yet… in fact, not remotely done yet.