Disclaimer: I don't own Dragon Age or any of its related characters. This is just for my own enjoyment and the potential enjoyment of other fans like me, and no monetary gain was expected or received.
Rating: T
Spoilers: May contain spoilers for Origins, Awakening, and Dragon Age II as well as the novels The Stolen Throne and The Calling.
A/N: Sorry for the long silence; the holidays ALWAYS bring some sort of minor apocalypse in this household. In this instance what started out as strep throat somehow developed into blood poisoning despite the fact that I was on antibiotics already. I am now on stronger antibiotics, am sleeping almost constantly, and by the time anyone actually reads this ought to be on the mend. Despite the fact that my concentration is shot and my writing output is down from pages a day to words a day I hope I'll have at least a couple of chapters ready to go by then. I'm at a critical juncture storywise, so what a time for a slowdown!
Chapter Forty-Seven: Boar Hunt
Elilia Cousland didn't, as a general rule, look into mirrors.
There was nothing cosmetic about it, no sense of self-loathing kept her from it; she merely didn't encounter mirrors all that often on a daily basis. She didn't take a great deal of care with her appearance much of the time; her simple ponytail required no fussing, and she had applied her warpaint makeup often enough that she did not have to see her work to get it right, and proper silver-back mirrors were rare in Ferelden anyway. There were many in the palace, of course, including an entire ballroom walled in gilt-framed mirrors of gaudy Orlesian-style ostentation (and didn't Loghain hate that? You bet your ass he did) and there was a small mirror over the washbasin in her suite of rooms where she washed her face and hands, but she didn't really give her reflection much consideration. What she saw there rarely changed, and never quickly. The first faint wrinkles on her forehead, discovered a year past, had no power to upset her.
But when she happened to glance up from the bowl on the morning of the annual Boar Hunt, she realized all at once what had been coming on gradually for a couple of weeks. The dark summer tan of her face had faded out to winter paleness, a process that usually took a month at least, if it happened at all.
"My Lady, are you ready to dress?"
The voice belonged to her new handmaiden, a young elven girl named Anya. She was cute and freckle-nosed and local, and Elilia now believed she was part of a royal conspiracy.
"Anya…what is that face cream you slop on me every morning?" Elilia asked as she entered the dressing room.
"Her Majesty gave it to me to use," the girl said. "She said it would help your complexion. Seems to be working - your skin has gotten all smooth and white and so pretty."
"Dear Queen Anora…no great fan of the concept of 'leave well enough alone.'"
"Her Majesty wants you to look your very best for your wedding day, of course, my lady."
"Huh. If that's the case then why has she made it impossible for me to get out and get any proper exercise? If I propose a too-brisk walk she suddenly realizes she has business for me here in the palace."
"Well, you shall have plenty of exercise today, My Lady."
Yes, and the Queen wasn't particularly pleased about it, either. Had her father not proffered the invitation before she could forestall him, Elilia was quite certain that Anora would not have allowed her anywhere near the boar hunt. Of course, women didn't ordinarily ride to the hunt. Fox hunts, certainly, but pig-sticking was apparently the especial province of the male of the species. It wasn't tremendously surprising. Noblewomen were typically not the rough-and-ready creatures that Ferelden women of common stock were almost expected to be. Perhaps Anora thought that riding with the men would damage Elilia's precious reputation, lessen their respect for her, cheapen her as a political ally.
She allowed the unwanted servant to help her dress, and let her slather on another full pint, almost, of cool clear face cream. She slipped into her ordinary dragonbone mail - her new Archdemon mail was to be saved for purposes of impressing and intimidating the Landsmeet - and by force of habit strapped Vigilance to her back before realizing that the greatsword would only be in her way today. She swapped it out for a simple set of daggers. She would have a long spear with which to hunt pigs, but it never hurt to be prepared for anything.
She hoped she wasn't making a mistake, joining this hunt. She couldn't help thinking that this was just another excuse for noblemen to get together, get drunk, and swap tall tales of game killed and women bedded. It was hard for her to accept the comically ugly, ungainly-looking Ferelden boar as a real threat or a difficult kill. But Loghain seemed to take them seriously, unless he was just looking to spread the humiliation, and she had been at feasts where the main course was a whole roast boar large enough to make the great banquet table groan beneath its massive bulk. So perhaps there was something to this tradition after all.
The Great Boar Hunt was not the only such hunt in Ferelden, but as the only one hosted by the Crown it was the biggest. It was also the only one held so late in the year, when the spring piglets were well-grown and snow was on the ground. The plains around Mount Drakon were scoured by heavy winds that swept the snow aside, piled it at the foot of the mountain, and drove the boars out of the foothills and forests to forage a brief window of time in the open before returning to the shelter of the trees to forage for sparser rations when the snow was at last deep enough to blanket the grass completely. It would be tough hunting, for humans and horses alike, but the sturdy Ferelden cobs they'd be riding were born for the snow despite their short legs, and while they were gentle enough for beginning riders, they had more than enough spirit to ride hell-bent into battle with dangerous prey. The disadvantage? Well, anyone with legs like Elilia's was going to look at least slightly ludicrous astride one of the stout-bodied creatures.
She arrived at the stables somewhat before the appointed hour to find Loghain already there and waiting. Chatterly having taken over valet duties for him, he was able to dress with a well-practiced manservant's efficiency, but she was surprised and somewhat suspicious when she found that he wore no armor.
"I was under the impression that you considered wild boar a dangerous foe," she said, with some accusation in her tone.
"I do," he said easily, not stirring from where he leaned against a wooden support post.
"But not dangerous enough to wear armor? You might have informed me; now I'll look a complete fool."
He chuckled. "No, I shall. Everyone else will be wearing armor, I assure you. But in just two short weeks my daughter intends to stuff me into what bodes to be the heaviest, nastiest suit of armor I've ever worn. Allow me my freedom while it lasts, please."
"Are you speaking of the Archdemon plate that Master Wade fashioned for you, or our marriage?"
He grinned and momentarily adopted a heavy common accent. "Go aisy, Missus. Di'n mean'a ruffle yer feathers. I'm talking about the plate, of course." Then in an aside he added, "It's three weeks to our wedding."
She crossed her arms over her chest. "Nice to know you're looking forward to it, at least."
"Dearest, it is you who seem rather apprehensive about it, not I. Not that I can blame you any for that. I wish I could set your mind at ease somehow."
"I'll be…fine."
Other riders began to arrive, keeping to the noble tradition of being fashionably late, and Elilia was relieved to see that they were all wearing some degree of armor. The male contingent of the Landsmeet was highly over-represented. Even tough-as-nails, tradition-defying noblewomen like Bann Alfstanna were not present. Elilia found herself the recipient of quite a few sidelong looks. It was a little more embarrassing than she'd expected, but if she was keeping the bastards from talking dirty about one poor wench or another then she was grimly satisfied.
Her brother arrived. That Fergus had a propensity to join in with masculine revels was something she knew - he had never tried to hide it - but at least she was reasonably certain that he maintained a degree of respectability even when the talk ran high. Still, she was not the least bit surprised to see the abject horror on his face when he realized she was present to participate in the hunt.
"Sister, you cannot ride to the hunt. Not this hunt," he hissed when he was close enough for her to hear his harsh whisper.
"Might I ask why not?"
"It…it isn't proper."
"Fergus, when I was sixteen and came to you begging for an idea on how to curtail Arl Urien's suit when he was dogging mother and father to promise me to his son Vaughan, you didn't seem terribly concerned with 'proper' when you suggested that dockside tattoo parlor."
"This is different, Elilia. You're a woman now, you have to be more cautious of your reputation. Besides which, I never expected you would actually get a tattoo."
"That was a foolish supposition," Loghain said from where he still leaned. Elilia ignored him.
"And what risk am I putting my reputation to by going out sticking pigs? I might have thought rather less than I risked by going to a seedy tavern's back room and letting some sweaty dock worker carve swoops on my face that will still be there when and if I grow old and grey and wrinkled."
Fergus was clearly exasperated. "Elilia, the boar hunt is dangerous."
Her eyes popped, and she regarded him with wide-eyed surprise. "Dangerous. Fergus, are you honestly worried that pig-sticking might be too dangerous? It wasn't all that long ago that I faced down a bloody Archdemon and killed it with a sword not much better, in that instance, than a pig spear. I might have been better off with a pig spear, actually. But this…is too dangerous?"
Loghain strolled up to them. "Cousland, if I might be so bold as to talk strategy with you, I'd suggest a swift retreat before your forces are completely overwhelmed. You're charging deadly lines right now, Serrah."
Fergus, who was being as supportive of the upcoming marriage as he could be without actually speaking to his future brother-in-law, withdrew to see to his horse and equipment. Loghain put his hand on Elilia's armor-shrouded shoulder and squeezed.
"If I am ever quite that clueless when I speak to you, my dear," he said, "and believe me, I know I can be quite clueless indeed with words and with women, you have my express permission to lop my head off immediately."
"Thank you, I'll remember that. Tell me, did you get the impression that your daughter was not terribly pleased, either, that I'll be joining the hunt today?"
"I…believe she is attempting to keep you from strenuous activity, yes," he said.
"Why, do you think?"
He sighed. "If you think about it for a bit, perhaps it may come to you."
"I've thought about it quite a little, and all I can think is that she's trying to reshape me into something more properly soft and curvy and feminine."
"That may be part of it, I suppose."
"What else could it be?"
"Your brother needs an heir, doesn't he?"
"Yes, but…wait, are you suggesting that Anora thinks I'm too physically strained to bear a child?"
"Maker, this is not a conversation I ever wanted to have, but…well…how long has it been since you've had your courses, Elilia? They're not monthly, are they?"
This was not a conversation Elilia ever wanted to have, either, but she was forced to confess that they were not.
He shrugged in a "There, you see?" gesture. "Then, too, you're in your thirties, and you haven't had a child before. That makes it a little bit more dangerous for both you and the hypothetical child."
"Anora was my age; she didn't have any problems."
"Anora was wise enough to take all possible precautions. I'm sure you'll be fine but if it's all the same with you, I'd prefer it if you didn't take any unnecessary chances with your health. I'm less invested in the idea of another child than I am in the idea of you outliving me."
"But you think pig-sticking is less risky than childbearing?"
He snorted. "Leaping from the Cliffs of Conobar strikes me as less risky than childbearing, or dancing naked in front of a dragon's nest. Frankly I don't understand how anyone manages to survive it. And men have the audacity to call womankind the weaker sex!"
"Were you present for Anora's birth?" Elilia asked in some surprise.
"Not in the room, no - the midwife wouldn't allow it. But I could hear plenty from where I stood with my thumb up my ass. It was…a difficult birth. It never got any easier for Celia, either."
"You kept trying for more children even so?"
He shrugged helplessly. "She wanted another child. When I tried to talk her out of it, she became severely upset. It didn't matter to her how painful it was or how damaging it might be to her health. Each miscarriage cost her a little piece of her soul, I think, but she refused to believe she could never bear another child. The last pregnancy…killed her."
Elilia was surprised by the way he choked up as he spoke of it. He spoke so seldom of the late Teyrna - indeed, everyone spoke so seldom of the late Teyrna - that it was easy to forget about her. The years she knew he'd spent far from his family in Gwaren made it easy to assume that he felt little for his long-deceased spouse. Elilia wondered what that meant for her.
"Fergus has been damnably protective of late," she said, as if she had no worries whatsoever. "I wonder when he took leave of his senses."
"You're all the family he's got left, Elilia, and I daresay these past years have been lonely ones for him. Frankly, I think he would be wise to consider marrying again himself."
The head huntsman gave the order and everyone mounted up. The horses tossed their long manes with eager anticipation on the trek out of the city and down the snowy mountainside. Elilia's own mount was considerably more excited to be on the trail than she. She was beginning to wish she hadn't come along.
They met up with a band of elven servants at the base of the mountain where the snow thinned out. At first she thought that it seemed an unusually large group of servants just to man a refreshment tent, but a contingent of elves broke off from the rest and fell into step on foot alongside the horses. Loghain explained that these apprehensive-looking fellows were the "beaters," who would make a great deal of noise and pound the bushes with wooden paddles in the hopes of flushing a boar for the hunters. "Isn't that dangerous?" she asked, horrified. "Extremely," was his grim reply.
He gave her a few pointers as they rode on, about where to hold the spear and how to brace it - and now far not to lean out of the saddle when stretching for a pig. "Believe me, you don't want to be on the ground with an angry boar. Most of the time they run, but a lot of them are ornery enough to turn and fight. They're damned smart, too, and they're good at taking you by surprise - committing you to a chase and then jinking back and attacking when you think you've got it on the run."
The first pig was flushed and the chase was on. Elilia was in poor position on the far end of the line of hunters and first blood went to Bann Franderel. Worse still, the pig itself went to Arl Vaughan. Elilia was surprised to find that infuriated her, to see the prick receive even foolish honors. She vowed that the next pig would be hers. Fired by the spirit of competition, she rode her willing horse harder.
She didn't take the next pig, or the one after that - an enormous boar which, perhaps predictably, fell to Loghain after taking a chunk out of an over-eager hunter's poor horse - but she finally got her first boar, a respectably large specimen she was quite proud of. It was a long day in the brisk winter air and she found that she enjoyed it despite her fears for horses and beaters. It was quite a successful hunt, with fourteen good-sized boars taken, and no serious injuries. Even the horse wounded by Loghain's boar was expected to make a full recovery. Even so, Elilia felt no great urge to join the hunt for the remaining four days. Loghain, too, claimed himself satisfied and unwilling to ride again. Elilia was sure their absence would relieve a great deal of tension for the other hunters and Anora ought to be satisfiedthat her father had made his presence felt among the nobility.
They repaired to the palace for an enormous feast and much back-slapping. Franderel was praised for taking the day's first blood and Vaughan took a bow for first kill. Loghain's kill proved the largest taken for the day, and halfway through the feast the huntsman came in to announce that it measured a full nine feet three inches from snout to rump, and weighed in excess of twelve hundred pounds. Elilia was not surprised. That boar had done more than all the others combined to disabuse her of the notion that wild pigs were comical or harmless.
Though the day had been physically taxing Elilia found herself too keyed up for sleep. She slipped out of her room and snuck through the halls to Loghain's suite in the next wing. She was unsurprised to find him wakeful as well. He let her in, she stepped into his embrace, and they made love. When it was done, she slept.
Somewhere in the night another knock roused Loghain from sleep. He pulled on a pair of trousers and answered the door.
An elven servant bowed respectfully. "Ser, Her Majesty Queen Anora wishes to speak with you in the Throne Room immediately. It is quite urgent."
"I'm on my way," Loghain said, thoroughly wakeful on the instant. Whatever Anora wanted with him this late at night, it could not be anything good. He didn't even bother to put on shoes or a shirt.
The corridors were eerily quiet, in a way they ought never to be even so very late at night. No servants stirred, and even the one that had roused him had vanished utterly - although in all fairness, servants were masters of vanishing. Worried, he strode at top speed, just short of actually running.
The woman he found seated regally in the King's throne was not Anora, was not, in truth, a woman at all. Flemeth cocked her head slightly to one side and smiled a thin, superior smile as he entered.
"Ah, you got my message, I see."