The Keening Blade
Chapter 33: Babies and Brides
Maude breezed into Denerim just as Loghain had decided to kill Alistair and damn the consequences. Had it not been for the mitigating presence of Teagan Guerrin, it would already have been a famous historical event.
It was not that Alistair grieved him by being unlike Maric. The awful truth was that Alistair was exactly like Maric at his most annoying. He was lazy, flippant, excessively talkative, and passive-aggressive. He was as easily distracted as a child. He would refuse to make a necessary decision, insisting on deferring it to an adviser, and then bitterly criticize the adviser afterward. After three weeks, Loghain simply could not understand how Maude—not the most patient woman in the world herself—had not gutted him and left him to rot in the Wilds.
Chantry Boy had some saving virtues, of course. He was unquestionably faithful to Anora, and extremely attentive. He bore with the Queen's unreasonableness and mood swings sometimes to Loghain's admiration.
"Is it impossible for him to be serious?" Loghain asked Maude, as she brushed her hair before bed.
"Loghain!" she laughed at him. "You ask me as if I were his mother, and must know. I'm only his stepmother-in-law. Alistair is a mess from his upbringing. You know that. He's never going to get over it completely, any more than anyone else does. Yes, it's terribly annoying when he second-guesses you after forcing you to make a decision that he won't. You have to accept—as I do—that he's always going to be like that. He might have forgiven me, but I haven't forgiven him. He was perfectly awful to me when I didn't kill you. It's something I'll always have in the back of my mind. He's King, and he's imperfect, and that's that. He has, however, successfully fathered the impending heir. Hail, Alistair. And he's done a bit of work, hasn't he?"
"A bit," Loghain growled, grudging Chantry Boy even that.
"Anyway," she got up and rummaged through a chest. "Look at what I got for a naming-day gift for our new princess. Dworkin made it for me."
Loghain backed away slightly. "Is it explosive?"
"Of course not! Look! The baby's going to love it!"
Loghain peered at the creepily loveable little object.
"Is that a golem?"
"A golem doll. It's not a real golem. No living thing was doused with molten lyrium in the making of it. It's a mechanism and the outside is ivory and leather, so the baby can chew on it all she likes. Alistair told me he had a golem doll when he was little. It should stir fond memories. And we're also giving her a very expensive gold locket with portraits of the King and Queen inside. Telamon painted them for me."
"He's hardly seen them."
"Doesn't matter. Two pretty golden-haired people. Close enough for a child. It's a very nice locket."
She was well, she assured him: wonderfully well. Her pregnancy was not troubling her at all. She would steal Anders for a moment, and make it official. Bubbling up from her was the news of the Wardens.
Morrigan had not come to court. She was settling in to her domain at Soldier's Peak, and did not seem inclined to pander to the King and Queen.
"Morrigan doesn't like Alistair, and she's annoyed at him for stealing Anders. It's just as well. The Mages' Tower is looking very well. So is the rest of the Peak, for that matter."
Keenan, Telamon, and Sigrun had remained at the peak, tool. Valentine had traveled with Maude, and they had had a merry time of it, from her account.
"I've got an absolute killer of a gown for the godmotherly naming thing, and another for the ritual sacrifice of Teagan. How is he holding up, by the way?"
"Putting the best possible face on it. Not a word of complaint. He's a brave man."
"That's very well-bred of him," Maude approved. "I suspect Cousin Leonas is looking forward to the day Habren leaves his household. What do you want to bet he gets married?"
"I'm not taking any bets from you."
"You are my clever husband!"
Loghain's granddaughter was born on the twenty-fifth day of Justinian.
The day was quite nice, actually, for those who were able to get outside and enjoy it. That was not case with anyone of any importance whatever in the city of Denerim. Nearly all of them were gathered at the Palace, where it was seasonably hot and stuffy. Important men talked business in low and measured tones, sweating in brocade doublets. Important women fluttered through the Palace, whispering and occasionally squealing.
The most important women in all Ferelden were crammed into the Queen's bedchamber, where she was entertaining them all by giving birth to the heir. Anora was bringing back an ancient custom, though the custom was not limited to Ferelden. No, it was a human, Thedosian custom to leave no doubt in anyone's mind that the Queen had indeed borne a child.
It was not the most dignified of exhibitions. Anora wore a chemise of the finest linen and over it a loose robe of blue velvet, trimmed in gold embroidery. The robe was sleeveless and did not fasten in front. The fine chemise was pulled up to her hips to facilitate the Healer's duties. Anders had advised her that a birthing stool would work best in these circumstances, but Anora had dismissed the idea as undignified.
The greatest ladies, namely the Teyrna of Highever, The Regent of Gwaren, the Arlessas of Amaranthine, West Hill, and Redcliffe (to list them according to Precedence), and the Grand Cleric of Ferelden were permitted to sit in chairs while fanning themselves, dressed very grandly. Ladies of less exalted status, such as Lady Werberga of South Reach and Lady Dilys of West Hill were permitted stools. The score of ruling female banns or the lady wives of banns chosen as witnesses had to stand. The room reeked of blood and vetiver, of sweat and jasmine, of pain and Andraste's Grace. Many more had wished to witness the birth, and there had a been a lottery to obtain the privilege of standing hour after weary hour, as the Queen muffled her groans, too proud to readily show pain.
Of the ladies of the first and second rank, only Arlessa Angharad and Arlessa Isolde had actually borne children, and they could present themselves as experts in the matter. Both ladies were once again expecting, and disagreed with one another's opinions on childbearing with bitter civility. Those ladies who had never undergone labor were not particularly enjoying either the spectacle or the whispered discussion.
Loghain had not often endured being practically the only man in the room with a mob of over-stimulated females. It was...unnerving. Anders and Alistair were the others, and Anora had relegated Chantry Boy to the left side of her bed and Loghain himself to the right to keep them from killing each other. Anders, in elegant robes, was making the most of his public appearance as the Queen's Healer. The Grand Cleric was visibly unhappy, and had remarked on the impropriety of a man doing the honors, but Loghain was not putting up with Chantry nonsense today. The Queen of Ferelden would receive the best possible care, and the Grand Cleric could lump it.
"He's handsome, isn't he?" remarked Arlessa Angharad loudly.
"Oh, yes," Maude, Regent of Gwaren agreed. "All of them."
This caused the Arlessa of West Hill to burst into a smothered giggle. "I mean Warden Anders, the Queen's Healer. He's quite handsome. If all mages looked like him, people would like them better."
Arlessa Isolde stiffened, and Loghain kept his face a blank. The blush on Arlessa Angharad's face indicated that she had only now remembered that the former heir to the Arling of Redcliffe was an apprentice in the Circle of Magi. Sensibly, she forbore to make an apology, which would only point up Arlessa Isolde's loss, and make her feel worse.
Arlessa Delilah said, "Warden Anders is a very brave man, and did a great deal to defend Vigil's Keep when the darkspawn attacked. It was a fortunate day that he came to Amaranthine. He is a very polite man, too, with gentle manners. I am very glad the Queen has someone so kind and competent to attend her."
"Ha!" Arlessa Angharad interrupted her, "the Healer told her to push! Things are happening!"
The crowd pressed closer as the Queen's pains grew more intense and more frequent. There were sage nods, encouraging words, and some significant glances exchanged. Had more people looked away from the Queen and the fluids emerging from her body, they might have noted that Arlessa Delilah was looking rather sick.
Loghain, glancing up from Anora's struggles, could see Delilah's white face in the crowd, and also saw that Cauthrien had laid her hand on the Arlessa's arm, whispering something inaudible. Delilah looked markedly better thereafter, and had the sense to look away from the worst of it.
More fluids squirted, his child's pride was broken at last, and the last quarter of an hour became rather noisy indeed.
Loghain was only surprised that Anora did not direct some of her pain and anger at her husband. Ever the politician, she said nothing about her suffering in words. It would have been all over Denerim by nightfall had she blamed the King, or swore that she would never go through childbirth again.
Maude pushed a maid aside and wiped the sweat from the Queen's brow herself, using her pretty embroidered handkerchief. Loghain held his daughter's left hand, while Alistair clutched anxiously at her right. They would both bear the red crescent moons of Anora's nails for days after.
A last command, a last pained and frightened shriek, and rising shrill noises, like a flock of starlings, from the assembled ladies. Summoned by the cries, a small bloody object spilled from the Queen's exposed privates.
"It's a girl," Anders murmured swiftly to the exhausted Queen, "and she's perfect, and perfectly fine." He set about clearing the tiny airway, and the crowded room was enchanted at the thin wail that arose. Then Anders' hands glowed blue with healing magic, and he laid them on the Queen. An murmur of admiration and wonder filled the room as the Queen took a deep breath of relief and restored strength. Loghain stole a glance at the Grand Cleric, whose face expressed neither wonder nor admiration. Other than the most devout, however, the spectators found it all very entertaining.
So...Maude's guess about the baby's gender had been proved right, though Loghain wondered if she had cozened or bullied Anders into giving her that piece of information. At any rate, his young wife looked very pleased.
Everyone there assembled were Fereldans, and thus no one was particularly concerned or disappointed that they had a princess rather than a prince. The Teyrna of Highever and the Regent of Gwaren were tasked with wiping the tiny body with warm water and oil, and wrapping it in soft, embroidered linen. Loghain knew that Cauthrien had swaddled a half-dozen newborn brothers and sisters, though in far coarser cloth. She set about swaddling the royal princess with matter-of-fact efficiency, while Maude, who had tended her little nephew in babyhood, cooed at her goddaughter, beaming.
Arlessa Angharad raised her voice to instruct the Healer, "Don't forget to look for every last bit of afterbirth. The Queen should burn it along with a lock of her hair after moonrise tonight as an offering to Our Lady!"
Maude shot Loghain a quick grin. He knew she rather liked the new Arlessa of West Hill, and no less for her calling out instructions for an ancient, pre-Andrastean rite in honor of the Lady of the Skies. The Grand Cleric kept her countenance, just as if Andraste were the Lady to whom the ritual was originally devoted.
Anders finished his work, and soon the Queen's maids closed in to quickly restore her to some semblance of decency, unrumpling her chemise, smoothing her robe, and pulling up the silk coverlet.
Loghain glared at his son-in-law, who was mooning over Anora, instead of doing his duty. It was all very well that he was playing the good husband, but he must not forget to acknowledge the child. Maude made a face at Chantry Boy, and he remembered, gingerly accepting his tiny daughter into his arms.
Maude gestured commandingly to the maidservants at the door. "We'd better let the rest of them in."
The big door was duly opened to the lords of Ferelden: the Teyrn of Highever, The Lord Chancellor the Arl of Redliffe, the Arls of West Hill and South Reach, and the other banns and lords who had been chosen by lot. Most found their ladies in a riot of colored velvet and gossip. Loghain glimpsed Bann Nathaniel, somber in dark blue, as he took his place by his sister. Alistair cleared his throat, and the talk subsided.
"Behold, People of Ferelden, my daughter, lawfully born of my Queen…" He paused, goggling at the baby. Maude waggled her brows at him, and he declared, "I, your King, present to you Her Royal Highness, Princess Rhoswyn of Ferelden!"
There were loud cheers, and a sudden, exciting shoving, as everyone tried to get a peek at the new princess. Alistair laid the baby in Anora's arms, and bent to kiss her gently.
With some glares and some stern, repressive orders, the guests assembled passed by in turn, peering at the tiny pink face, most of them muttering kind words. Loghain leaned over, anxious to see his granddaughter for himself. Maude smirked at him mischievously, and whispered in his ear, "Fear not: her little ears are round as round can be."
Well, that was something. He would not be easy until he had held the child in his arms himself, but what he saw was endearing enough: a silvery cap of fuzzy hair on the tiny head, miniscule pink hands with the proper number of fingers, no birthmarks or defects that he could make out. A curious pang reminded him that it had been a very long time since he had held an infant, and smelled that curious baby-sweetness nestled against his shoulder. He could not experience it again too soon.
Within a few minutes, the prospective wetnurse—a respectable, recently widowed commoner— was admitted to the room, and despite her nervousness, was seated at the foot of the Queen's bed. In short order her plain gown was loosened, her breasts bared—to some murmurs of admiration from the noblemen present—and to everyone's relief, the baby latched on and was consuming her first meal.
Arlessa Angharad whispered her disapproval. "The Queen should feed the child herself, even if only for a few days. I've always nursed my own children, and I'm going to nurse this one, too—" she pointed to her swollen belly—"Arlessa or not."
Loghain overheard, and grimaced. Anders had spoken earnestly to Anora about this, but she had refused, saying that she needed to recover and get back to work as soon as possible. Even her Healer's opinion that she would actually recover faster if she nursed the child had not moved her.
Arlessa Isolde frostily replied, "The Queen has better things to do. The nurse chosen is a respectable widow, and it is an act of charity on the Queen's part to give her employment to feed her children."
"Well, I think it's sad that the poor woman has to pay a nursemaid for her own little one. I heard all about it. The children are living with the grandparents now, and she'll be living in the Palace. It's a hard way to receive charity, in my opinion. Women should nurse their own," she insisted. "Who knows what they'll pick up from a nursemaid?"
Isolde looked about to answer back sharply that her own child had taken no harm from a nursemaid. Her face suddenly crumpled, and Loghain looked away, pitying her in spite of his own dislike. No doubt the wretched women was now wondering if the hired nursemaid had been the one who had poisoned poor Connor with magic! It was ridiculous, of course, since it was now widely known that her family had magic in their blood that manifested every other generation or so.
Lady Werberga was chattering about how disappointed dear Habren was not to be admitted to the birthing room.
"Of course, a young maiden—a bride—it wasn't to be thought of! I'm surprised to see Arlessa Delilah here, but of course, there was no one else from Amaranthine...such a pity, but quite improper all the same..."
Bann Loren was here, but not his young wife. The Bann was complaining bitterly about the slight, to anyone who could be distracted long enough to hear him. Maude smirked. Loghain wondered how fair the lottery had been.
"It's like the old story of the Sleeping Princess," Maude whispered to him. "We have as many people as possible here, but someone is bound to be left out and swear revenge. Anyway, they're all coming to the naming at the Cathedral tomorrow."
Not soon enough, the considerate members of the nobility made their bows and farewells, and the rest of the riff-raff was booted out shortly thereafter. The splendid cradle was ready for its little inhabitant, but Loghain could not bear to leave before he had had one good cuddle, however brief. Alistair glared at him in baffled dismay as the infant was put in her grandfather's lap, and Loghain at last had a chance to make the acquaintance of his little princess.
So. Rhoswyn. A pretty name, if not his own choice. Moira would have been better—reminding the people of her great-grandmother, the intrepid Rebel Queen. Well, this little girl was not his child, and there would be plenty of things he would probably disapprove of in this child's upbringing, so it was no use make trouble from the start. After all, this was the child he had longed for: the child he and Maric had planned. He thought briefly of his old friend, and wondered if the dead knew anything of the living. Maric would be pleased with this little sprout of his ancient line. Would there be anything of Maric in her? Anything he could recognize?
Her little nub of a nose did not look very elven to Loghain: nor did it, thank the Maker, resemble his own rather prominent feature. The big eyes opened, unfocused and blinking. They were a dark blue that might portend any color that eyes could be. They were not excessively large, nor did they have the curious shine of elven eyes. This was, even after the most exacting scrutiny, a human baby. Loghain gave a deep sigh of relief that the child would not suffer for the indiscretions of her elders, and smiled as the tiny hand clutched at one of his fingers. He slipped his hands under her and held her close for a pleasurable time, before the nursemaid started fidgeting, suspecting him of being the sort of incompetent man who was capable of dropping an infant.
Maude wanted her next. "I do love being a doting grandmother," she enthused, peering into the tiny face as if to divine the child's future. Apparently that was indeed partly her purpose, for she said, "Her eyes will be blue. Not dark as sapphires, but a pretty soft blue like blue topazes. Very nice. You're going to be a very pretty person, Rhoswyn Theirin." She held her up and walked to the window. "It's a such a big world out there. Tomorrow we'll start showing it to you."
Maude and the baby were certainly the focus of all eyes the next day: Maude in her spectacular gown of radiant cerulean blue, and Rhoswyn in her delicately embroidered dress of frothy white linen. Everything went very well. Maude held up the little princess, first before the flame of Andraste, and then before the surging mob in the Cathedral, and called out her name three times before them all. Crowned with her delicate tiara, wearing nearly all the jewelry she owned, she made the most of the moment, and the baby seemed content enough in her arms.
People were always eager to see portents and omens, so it was just as well that the baby did not scream when the Grand Cleric blessed her, or howl when held before the fire, or wail when acclaimed as Princess of Ferelden. She was a very nice baby, indeed. Loghain thought her remarkably pretty and engaging. In the cathedral, he prayed for her earnestly, which was something he did not often do.
—He prayed that Rhoswyn would inherit Anora's full set of wits.
—He prayed that Rhoswyn would not inherit her paternal grandmother's magic or elven looks.
—He prayed that the best of Maric would live on in Rhoswyn, and that the people would love her and follow her loyally.
—He prayed that Rhoswyn would know a peaceful and prosperous Ferelden, and never suffer invasion by dragons, darkspawn, or Orlesians.
—He prayed that Rhoswyn would give Alistair even more trouble than Anora had given her own father. It seemed only fair.
The King and Queen sat on thrones on either side of the chancel. Anora had insisted on attending, and had been carefully helped into the Cathedral and into her seat. Anders, in his nobleman's disguise, was in discreet attendance. Loghain hoped he would not be forced to cast spells obvious enough to further annoy the Chantry. He understood that the Grand Cleric hated the prospect of mage performing a public, benevolent service to the Crown. It made mages look…good: something that the Chantry disliked. Seeing the Queen so well and safely brought through labor by a magical healer made all the ladies of Ferelden want such a healer too. And if the ladies did, so would every other Ferelden woman.
At least on this day, everyone loved their new Princess. Indeed, everyone loved their King and Queen, and hardly begrudged them Denerim.
"After all," one bann whispered to his wife. "They may likely have more children. It might be just like in the Steel Age, when the king's younger daughter married a Kendall, and was given Denerim as her dowry."
There was that, certainly; though Anora, despite Anders' best efforts, still looked exhausted and not at all eager to undergo again the trials of the past nine months anytime soon.
"Maude Cousland looks lovely, doesn't she?" whispered another young noblewoman. "Practically glowing…"
Her neighbor whispered back, "She is! You don't think…?"
Some other people started talking, and Loghain lost the thread of that conversation. It hardly mattered, as long as it did not travel to Anora's ears.
And he need not have worried. Between the birth of the new princess and the wedding of Habren Bryland and Teagan Guerrin, everyone was thoroughly distracted.
The effort expended to be present at Rhoswyn's naming and dedication at the Chantry had rather put Anora back. No one reasonably expected her to be present at the Bryland-Guerrin wedding, and since she had no real desire to go, she rested in bed, with her maid in attendance and Anders on call. She was annoyed that Anders forbade her to work on her correspondence.
"Your Majesty," he said firmly, "If you're not well enough to sit through a wedding, you should not be working. You can do some light reading...in bed. Have one of your maids play some soft music for you. Take a lot of naps and I'll be in with your potions. The more rest you get now, the sooner you're be yourself."
Alistair was thoroughly coached as to what Anora felt she needed to know about the wedding. Then, too, she thought Maude would probably tell her everything important. The King would be sitting in his official place throughout the ceremony, and as the Arl of Redcliffe was standing with his brother, the King would not even have his Chancellor to sit with him.
"You'll be in lonely grandeur," Maude sympathized, as they met in the vaulted entry to take the carriages to the wedding. "It really won't take that long. The Grand Cleric's wedding sermons tend to be brief."
"I'd rather stay with Anora and the baby," he sulked, "but I want to support Teagan, too."
"We all want to support Teagan," Maude assured him. "Anora and the baby will be fine. You don't have to stay long at the feast, either. Just make sure you talk to everybody."
"Right, right, right...Anora told me who have I to pay attention to. She gave me some notes." He pointed up the velvet sleeve of his doublet. "I'll study them in the carriage."
"Not too much," Maude advised. "You have to smile and wave at the people, too."
He groaned in horror, and Loghain, overhearing, growled in irritation.
With Anora's situation, and Chantry Boy needing so much help, he and Maude had barely been able to squeeze the time for a meeting with the southern banns. It had involved opening up his old, rarely used townhouse, since such a meeting could hardly be held appropriately at the Wardens' Compound. With enough coin, it was possible to get the public rooms in order and feed the vassals. Maude needed time to become acquainted with the men and women who had been sworn to him and would be hers in turn. It had gone rather well. Maude was on her best and most charming behavior. Some of the nobles he trusted would accompany her on her journey south. The Brecilian Passage was always rife with banditry, and there would be safety in numbers. Stronar and Geraint would stand by her, certainly.
They voiced a certain discontent that he could not come himself. No one would come out and complain of the King and Queen, but Loghain gathered that there was a feeling that there was some sort of conspiracy involved. Not knowing Maude as well as Loghain, the general opinion was that the Crown was throwing Loghain's young wife to the wolves, expecting her to make a hash of Gwaren and thus weaken Loghain's standing.
Naturally, he was not going to admit that he knew that there was a conspiracy involved, much less tell them what it was and that it was already well on the way to being foiled. Instead, he discussed the importance of his work with the Wardens and the need to strengthen Ferelden by fortifying their great northern castle.
Gwaren had, curiously, been less affected by the darkspawn that most of Ferelden. The creatures, for whatever reason, simply had not penetrated much beyond the edge of the Brecilian Forest. There had been political trouble, of course, and food shortages. The elves had rioted and there had been some bloodshed. He knew only so much from Allonby's letters. Maude would have quite a bit to do. Unlike the men who did not truly know her, Loghain felt confident that she could handle whatever the people of Gwaren threw at her, and more.
Lady Habren looked as pretty as fine clothes, jewels, and satisfied pride could make her. She paraded down the center aisle of the Cathedral, her pearl-white silk catching the light, preening a little as she passed Maude and Cauthrien.
"She has a new tiara," Loghain pointed out to Maude, with dry humor. "Perhaps you should not have taken the last one. It seems only to have encouraged her."
"How nice of you to call it a tiara." Maude studied the coronet with indignation. "She's practically wearing a gold mine on her head." It was as close to the limits of an offense against majesty as it was possible to be without provoking the wearer's arrest. Not quite a crown, but very, very close. "A bann's wife has absolutely no right to wear such an object. It would in bad taste on an arlessa. One's crown can be prettier than a queen's, but not as big. Habren couldn't possibly grasp that distinction, of course."
Teagan was handsomely dressed himself, but the strain was telling on him: a few lines here and there, proclaiming him close to the wrong side of forty. Loghain thought if the man had any sense at all, his bride's little piece of extravagance should have the jewels pried out and be melted down to useful ingots. And locked away.
Probably not legal, of course. A woman's jewels were her own: especially the jewels she brought with her to her marriage. Her dowry was another matter, and had been paid out to Teagan and Eamon this morning. Loghain had not been present, but some noblemen he knew had been: impartial judges to witness that the pact had been accomplished and the bargain made.
"Teagan's not a weakling, and he's not her besotted father," Maude speculated. "I think Habren will find life with her new husband very, very different. Not unpleasant, mind you, because Teagan is a very decent man, but he will set limits."
The wedding feast at Bryland House was loud and long. There was even enough to eat, and much of it was quite good. After less than an hour, the bride grew tired and fretful, complaining that the tiara was giving her a headache. Teagan leaned in to talk quietly to her. The tiara was removed carefully, though Habren scolded her maid for spoiling her hair, and placed in the chest displaying the bride's gorgeous trousseau.
"I don't blame you!" Alistair remarked cheerfully. "I hate wearing a crown myself. Yours is nearly as big as the queen's, after all."
Alistair's innocent quip ignited smothered panic among the more rational members of the bridal party. Eamon's face had been mottled purple since he had first laid eyes on the grandiose object, but now it paled alarmingly. Isolde's eyes shot the bride angry, sullen darts of dislike and resentment. Teagan smiled tightly, and gave Alistair a resigned shrug.
Maude caught Loghain's eye in a moment of shared amusement, and she smiled blandly. Alistair could not have rebuked Habren's vanity more thoroughly than if he had done it on purpose. Now Bryland was sweating at the propect of having offended royalty. And he should, actually. Anora would not be pleased by the lady's insolence. People were certain to read all sorts of political messages into Habren's assumption of a crown, and those assumptions were not likely to help the Bryland family—or the Guerrins, truth to tell. It was not such a bad party, after all.
There was dancing of course, and some fairly expensive entertainment: minstrels and clowns and acrobats—even a juggler. Loghain narrowed his eyes at them all. A pack of foreigners, and probably some bards in disguise among them. They were mad if they thought he could be taken in by their tricks. Maude, of course, was entranced by such nonsense, especially by the juggler. The man and his pretty elven assistant kept five balls in the air at once, like a fountain. They threw clubs and burning wands at each other without harm. Then the juggler walked along a tightrope while juggling knives.
"Look at that!" Maude said, nudging Loghain. "I want to do that!"
"Not with knives, I hope."
"Why not? Come on! I need to find a private room..."
The poor gleeman was no sooner done with his entertainment, and picking up the thrown coins, than the servants Maude sent after him were hauling him before her, while the little elf trailed behind, very frightened.
"You may go," Maude said grandly, dismissing the servants. "And shut the door behind you." She beamed at the juggler, who trembled. Evidently his experience had told him that whatever made nobles very, very happy was not a good thing for him.
"Your Grace?" he faltered, bowing low. The little elf bowed even lower.
Maude declared, "I want to learn to juggle with my own hands. It looks like so much fun! Can you teach me?"
The juggler glanced at Loghain, looking for signs that this was a horrible joke. Loghain stared back, bored. The juggler flinched.
"Learn to...juggle?" The elf nudged him, her thin face encouraging. The man took a deep breath and said, "Assuredly, only I can teach Your Grace my Ancient and Estimable Art. All other jugglers are quacks and bumblers: I have exposed them repeatedly."
Loghain rolled his eyes. Maude, on the other hand, was delighted.
"Good. You shall teach me. How long will it take?"
"Not very long. Possibly only four years. True Art cannot be hurried."
"I only have four days. You will come for an hour in the morning and the afternoon, and I will be a juggler at the end of it. I shall pay you three sovereigns an hour..."
The elf threw herself on her knees in gratitude. The juggler joined her a heartbeat later.
"Yes," Maude decided. Come tomorrow in the mid-morning. Is there anything I need?"
"Your Grace will need juggling balls..."
"Let me see!" Maude handled the little ivory balls with interest. "No problem. I'll use yours tomorrow, but I can find something similar very quickly. A sovereign for your time, tonight..."
"Maude," Loghain interposed. "A handful of silver would be easier for them to spend."
"Very true."
In the end she gave them all the silver she had on her, and then made puppy-dog eyes at Loghain until he gave them all of his. They went away quite happily, not having to deal with the difficulty that trying to change a piece of gold in a cheap Denerim tavern late at night would have caused them.
"Well!" she said afterwards. "So far this evening has been quite the success. I need to dance with Teagan now and plague Habren and Isolde. It won't take long."
Plaguing those women apparently took no time at all, since Maude's very existence seemed an affront to them. Maude stepped back into the Great Hall and turned on the charm like a dwarven engineer pulling the lever of a war machine. In a dizzying instant, people had turned their way.
It was Alistair, rather than Teagan, who first asked her to dance, but Maude seemed happy enough simply to be dancing. Loghain, leaving her to it, found another cup of wine and a clique of cronies from the south, and devoted himself to politics.
"Your lady wife is much in favor here at Court," remarked Bann Geraint. "Everyone at the Queen's birthing could see how much Her Majesty relies on her."
"The Couslands..." elderly Bann Morwenna ventured, "have certainly done well for themselves. Highever, and now Gwaren. The Teyrn's wife is expecting an heir, it seems. For a family that once seemed extinct, they are remarkably...robust."
"A temporary setback," muttered Bann Stronar. "The Couslands have a talent for survival. Any history book will show as much. Your lady looked very lovely yesterday as she stood godmother to our new Princess."
"The Couslands," Loghain pointed out, "are the King's nearest kin, aside from his bastard half-sister."
There were murmurs of assent and more talk in general about the south. The crops had not done too badly, especially in the easternmost parts of the teyrnir, furthest from the Blight. The demand for lumber was great. Oddly, the fishing fleet had had had a superb year, and was making up quite a bit of the difference in the food supplies.
A few of the nobles went off to dance, and Bann Stronar quietly approached Loghain.
"Seriously, Warden-Commander," the man said. "What are the Couslands up to?"
Maude was finishing her dance with Teagan, her leaf green skirts swirling like summer leaves in a warm wind. Teagan bowed to her gallantly, and laughed at something she said. Habren's face curdled at the sight. Maude would be pleased. Fergus was coming over to Maude now, and they were soon in deep conversation. Cauthrien was talking to Delilah Howe.
Loghain shrugged. "The Couslands? Moving on with their lives. Rebuilding, like so many. I don't see that anyone can accuse Fergus Cousland of undue ambition, when he married a landless knight. Maude was not given the Regency of Gwaren because she is a Cousland, but because she saved Ferelden from the Blight."
"That's very true, but—"
"I'd be more concerned with the Guerrins," Loghain grunted, with a nod at Arl Eamon, the patriarch of the family, who was watching the dancing very complacently. "He pushed hard for Teagan to be regent, and only failed because Teagan refused it. Then we suddenly have a very advantageous and remunerative alliance arranged with the Bryland girl. On top of that, it looks like Eamon is trying for a new heir of his own, and could be planning to cut Teagan out of Redcliffe altogether. Bryland's boys are very young. If something were to happen to him, it's likely that Habren would be the heir, and thus Teagan would be Arl of South Reach, while his brother rules in Redcliffe and is Chancellor of the realm. That's what I think they're aiming for."
"If that happened," Stronar allowed, "the Guerrins would be a power indeed." He lowered his voice even further. "Though my wife wonders if Arlessa Isolde is up to producing the heir that Arl Eamon desires." He glanced up, looking surprised. "That's...interesting..."
Loghain looked. Nathaniel Howe was leading Maude to the line of dancers. Interesting indeed. Perhaps Nathaniel's conviction that Maude was insane had inspired him to dance with her out of what? Pity? Or maybe he was dancing with her simply because she was beautiful, and the best dancer in the room.
Maude was in high spirits all the way home. "Did you see the look on Cousin Leonas' face when Alistair made that quip about the size of Habren's 'crown?' That was beautiful! Teagan told me they were going to Rainesfere for the rest of the month. Maybe while they're gone that inappropriate headgear of hers might simply disappear."
"Maude..."
"Disappear into thin air," Maude continued dreamily. "...and no one will ever know what became of it. Anyway, it's not like she could wear it ever again. I'll bet those weren't real diamonds anyway. I'll bet they were rock crystals. I really want to know." She smiled happily. "The crown will not even be missed until long after I've left for Gwaren."
"About that..."
He had told Darrow and Kain that they were going with her. They were good soldiers and did not even exhibit disappointment when Loghain gave them their orders. She would have more guards, borrowed from Maric's Shield on the basis of Alistair's signature, obtained when Chantry Boy was simply not paying attention one day as they did paperwork together. Loghain had even briefly mentioned what the order was, so Alistair would not even be angry. Anora would certainly not like it, had she known, but the likelihood of that was not at all great. The King and Queen had made clear that they did not want Loghain going—presumably to avoid him building up a power base there—but they had not explicitly forbidden anyone else. He did not feel he could order any more Wardens with her, but Darrow and Kain were Wardens not because they gave two coppers for the order, but because they wished to serve Loghain. And serve him they would.
He would leave for Soldier's Peak a few days after Maude departed for Gwaren. She was not planning on staying there long, but it would be their first separation since that fateful Landsmeet had thrown them together. It would certainly be a...duller...world without her.
The juggler, still dressed in his ridiculous clown garb, duly made his appearance with his little assistant, and Maude locked herself in to absorb her new hobby.
"Personally," Loghain told her later, "I think you'd do better to work on your shield skills. With the kind of armor you wear now, you should forget the offhand dagger. Keep a knife in your boot...or six or seven if you like, but you should be moving to sword and shield."
"All right, I'll try it," Maude agreed. "As soon as I'm back at Soldier's Peak we can spar, and I can see how it works for me. I know the basics of course, but I started out much more lightly armed. Maybe it's time. It would be nice to have my own shield: one with a big, beautiful griffon all over it."
By the second day she was obsessively practicing her juggling, now with her own set of balls: dark purple, with a curious gleam.
"This is a Three Ball Cascade," she told him. "Look! I can do it already! I'm a real juggler!"
"Maude," Loghain said heavily. "Tell me you did not use the remains of the Archdemon for your juggling balls."
"They were just scraps!" Maude defended herself hotly, eyes fixed on the pattern before her. "Wade couldn't think of anything to do with them anyway!"
"No," Loghain declared after the pleasurable interlude to their continuing debate, making it clear this was not negotiable, even for Maude. "You are taking the Tent of the Purple Dragon." I'll stay at Vigil's Keep and then at the North Road Inn. I can stay at the Hillman Tavern in Knotwood. You're the one going through the Brecilian Passage, and Maker knows there's nothing there."
Maude laid her hand on his in the dark, edging a little closer. "Well, you know more about Gwaren than I, certainly. It's the one place I never got to in all my travels around Ferelden."
He rubbed his thumb against her palm. "They're an independent lot. They don't like a lot of interference, especially from Denerim. They hate foreigners."
Maujde laughed softly. "No surprise there. They were the last Ferelden fiefdom to be occupied, and the first liberated. You know, I've never heard Anora talk about Gwaren at all."
Loghain frowned up at the darkness. "I don't think she liked it much. She never made any connection with the place—not even as a child. I suppose I should have seen she had companions of the proper status and her own age, but I was not thinking along those lines back then. She followed her mother like a shadow. The town of Gwaren is fairly small, remember: there were children there, but mostly very common commoners: children of charcoal burners and the like. They ran in packs, and Anora found no place for herself among them. Children can be cruel little beasts."
"Yes' she said slowly. "I do remember that you told me that the banns and freeholders tend to live in the country, and their families come rarely to town. So Anora had no friends there?"
"I suppose not," he admitted reluctantly. "She read all the time, and practiced archery and swordsmanship. After her mother died, I couldn't leave her there, so I took her back with me to Denerim. She and Cailan were friends, though: partners in crime. They once fought off tan invasion of ogres in the Palace cellars—or at least that's the story they told about the broken bottles."
Maude curled up closer, her breath warm on his shoulder. "I'm awfully glad she got into mischief at least once! Between that and Alistair telling me about rolling in mud in the stables, there's hope for Rhoswyn…"
They made their farewells repeatedly and urgently over the next few days, often twice in the same night. Maude was still in boundingly good health, though Loghain worried that her pregnancy would catch up with her on the long road to Gwaren. There would be a great deal of camping—hence her need for the luxurious tent. After South Reach, she would leave the Imperial Highway, and have to make do with the much more primitive Southron Road and the the Passage proper.
That was a two day journey in itself; and the place was always infested with bandits. The Dalish, too, traveled through there and could be a hazard for travelers. Presumably, since they had made an alliance with Maude, they would not trouble her. He hoped.
He visualized the map. Laden with baggage and escorting a number of women and children, the trip would be slow. Bann Morwenna's manor. Bann Runcorn's manor. Castle Bryland, Bann Carrick's keep, three nights camping. Bann Stronar's keep. Whitewood Manor—one of the teyrnir's desmesnes. Bann Geraint's manor. Gwaren. It grieved him that he would not be with Maude to show her the places he liked best. Perhaps another year, after the child was born and their hold on the teyrnir was secure...
Maude said sleepily, "Maybe I'll come back by ship. That would be faster, and I might as well, since I'm to put together those shipments of lumber. I love messing about in boats…"
"Boats are dangerous," he objected.
"Well…so am I…"
"And don't juggle in front of the banns. They won't understand."
"Loghain!"" she laughed at him, and sat up in bed, leaning over him, her dark eyes reflecting the firelight. "You'll see. I'll be so good, I couldn't be gooder. They're going to love me in Gwaren."
Loghain thought they probably would. Curiously, that idea made him faintly uneasy.
He realized, the morning he saw her off, what had troubled him. Maude greeted her escort clad in her silverite-flourished Archdemon armor: she was imposing, beautiful, fearsome. She carried herself…not exactly like a queen, perhaps…
No, that was it. She was acting as she had among those lunatic worshipers. Like she had when she was the risen Andraste. Maudraste. Whatever. As if she was their leader by the mandate of Heaven. And Maker help them, the lot of them were falling in with her puppet-show: willing participants in her epic saga. It was a way of attracting adherents, certainly, though he was not sure anyone other than a ruling monarch had any business playing such a part. No one should underestimate Maude. He had made that mistake himself…
Vividly, he remembered that meeting at Eamon's before the fateful Landsmeet, when he had dismissed her as a pretty lightweight, a mere pawn of the Arl of Redcliffe. Only later, much later…too late, in fact… had he realized that she was the real danger, the greatest danger, and she had been the greatest danger all along…
She leaned out of the saddle to kiss him sweetly, and he let her, caring nothing for the curiosity of her escort.
"I'm going to miss you, Loghain," she murmured. "I'm going to miss you heaps and heaps. Are you going to miss me?"
"Probably," he grunted. Words squeezed out against his will from some place deep in his chest. He muttered, "I love you."
Her face lit up. "I know. Me too," she said, and kissed him again.
She gave him a wink, flicked her reins, and was on her way south.
Thanks to my reviewers: BlueRiverSaint, Guile, Judy, KCousland, Phygmalion, Josie Lange, Dante Alighieri1308, Jyggilag, Shakespira, CajinAsian, Enaid Aderyn, JackOfBladesX, cloud1004, Kira Kyuu, MsBarrows, riverdaleswhiteflash, Shikyo-sama, Sasra1281, Zute, mutive, mille libri, Jenna53, Anime-StarWars-fan-zach, Tyanilth, Lehni, and Persephone Chiara.
Public as Rhoswyn's birth was, it was not as public as that of the Holy Roman Emperor Frederick II, whose mother Constance gave birth to him in the town square of Jesi, near Ancona, Italy, in order to forestall speculation about his parentage (she was forty at the time).