CHAPTER TEN
A Trip
Rosamund was surprised to find her brother leaning beside a post haplessly checking under his nails. "Awake and before noon the day after a ball?" she gasped at the sight, "What have you done with the real Cailan?"
"Ha ha," he rolled his head around and stared right at her. Despite seeming to be awake and not bleary eyed she did notice he was still in the same fancier outfit from the night before. Why was it boys never got trounced for taking the supposed walk of shame? Probably because for her brother it was more a leisurely stroll, a strut even.
"I take it you received the summons as well," Cailan fell into step beside Rosamund. He tended to go his own way in many matters but when it came to official problems, he always defaulted to giving her the lead. No doubt in the off chance shit was about to splatter off the midden, that way she'd be the one caught in the middle shielding him.
Pursing her lips, Rosie swiped back her shorter hair. It was wonderful to get that dreaded false braid off her head, the damn thing weighed a ton. Her true hair only cut to her shoulders, if that, before the princess needed to chop it back. She hated having it grow, a constant problem with her mother who had her hair down to her backside.
While Cailan no doubt rolled off of whoever he rolled into bed with and hightailed it to beat Rosie to the high door, Rosamund had already breakfasted, bathed, dressed for the day, and took the time to look over the latest requests from the chantry.
"Not to act all dour, doom and gloom, but doesn't it strike you as a bit strange?" Cailan continued to talk beside her. Despite being short for a man, he had a lanky stride. His body appeared trim even without the stature, a curious illusion she sometimes wondered about.
"Mother will often send summons to us," Rosamund tried to wipe away any lingering fears in her mind.
"Sure, yeah, okay, you. Me she just drags about by the ear," Cailan grumbled as if he wasn't mother's baby boy. And Maker was she never going to let him forget it. "But dad? And it was even signed by him. He never signs anything unless Karelle grabs his hand and makes him."
"Then perhaps the Chamberlain is behind this," Rosie couldn't hide the shudder up her spine. Cailan was right, not only was this unusual, it was even more strange for their parents to request them together. Aside from high holidays, their parents were never in the same room together. It wasn't due to any major fights, Rosamund couldn't remember a time either parent raised their voice to the other, but because their lives had little to no impact. Once the kids were old enough to talk and be trusted to not lie, any instructions were passed through them.
They both came to father's office door. It was strange to see it shut. He wasn't a noon riser like his son, and never closed the door as if afraid that people might forget he existed and he'd wither away from hunger. Or so he joked when Rosie asked. That sharp trill of an alarm in her ear added a few horns and a drumbeat. Were they mad about something? Something Cailan did?
She glanced over at her deviant of a brother and sighed. If this was about Cailan acting out, it'd be a never ending parade of scoldings wherever their mother found him hiding away, not in their father's office. No, most likely it was about her. Shit. What'd she do wrong at the damn ball her mother forced upon her? She tried to be polite, to speak with every chinless, brainless specimen of Ferelden nobility they threw in front of her.
Taking a deep breath to calm herself, Rosamund grabbed onto the handle.
"Pst, Rosie," Cailan said, before she could open it, "if they have you executed can I have your stuff?"
Sticking her tongue out at her snot brother, who laughed at the reaction, she pushed the door open to find both her mother and father behind his desk. The Queen sat, her hands placed upon both sides of the wood as if terrified to touch anything else, while the King paced back and forth behind what was usually his chair.
"Ah," Alistair's white brows lifted and he waved a hand, "kids. Come in, come in."
"Close the door please," Beatrice instructed and her youngest nodded his head. Cailan was careful to close the door softly, but he wasn't quite careful enough, causing the hinges to squeak. Rosamund caught him scrunching his face up to try and hide the obvious hangover Cailan managed to fake his way through.
"Mother," Rosie nodded to her, then glanced over, "Father. You asked for us? For both of us?" The obvious question hung in the air. What was going on? To say the air was thick with tension would be to claim the Waking Sea is a bit wet. It was so obvious, the windows should have been fogged over with anxiety.
"I'd," Alistair rocked back and forth on his heels, a hand swiping through his hair to tug it up. The nervous tic had slowed over the years, her father's vanity afraid he might rip himself bald. But either his roots were strong, or his grip weak as that hadn't come to fruition yet. "I'd ask you both to take a seat but we're out of chairs. I could go and ask Karelle to..."
"That won't be necessary," Beatrice waved a hand through the air. The Queen was a quiet sort of woman. She moved through the hall to be seen and not heard, preferring to only announce her opinions of others from behind a gilded hand. Rosie was a damn near spitting image of her, younger of course, and with a smaller nose. Too bad when it came to a queenly temperament, Rosamund had to slot hers on like a false cloak while Beatrice seemed to prefer it.
"There is a matter that we need to discuss with you," Beatrice began, her mother trying to rise from the chair when she suddenly froze and panic struck her face. Her own emerald eyes darted from her eldest daughter to the young, cocksure son almost as if seeing them for the first time. "Maker's breath," their always marble mother cracked, a hand flying to her mouth and fully spooking the children.
"Mom?" Rosie gasped, all but running towards her. Cailan was quicker, the boy never truly far from his mother's side as he gripped onto her elbow. The one fully out of the picture was the King who was continuously scrubbing his face with his hands.
"I am fine, do not concern yourself with it," Beatrice tried to wave away their help.
"Are you ill?" the thought struck Rosamund fast. It would be a reason to bring them together, for their father to get involved. He would be good moral support if...
"No," Beatrice shook her head sweetly, "I merely had a long, emotionally trying night." At that she stared up at their father who was also wincing.
Rosie and Cailan shot a look. Was she with their father? Were they arguing together or...? Somehow the idea of their parents ever being intimate seemed outlandish beyond reason. It was the world they grew up in, their father found comfort with Reiss, and their mother was with a few varying uncles over the years. Them being together seemed as wise as making a jam and mustard sandwich.
"Kids," Alistair interrupted, leaning closer, "you know we love you. No matter what."
"Oh boy," Cailan leaned back on his heels, no doubt trying to remember all the evils he'd concocted recently. "Whatever Rosie did, I think you should throw the book at her," he spat out fast to shake the heat off him.
"You ass," she snarled, but her brother answered with a shrug and laugh. That was his answer to life.
Normally, their father would laugh at their antics or when they were younger send them to the naughty corner. But now he paled. In fact, he looked the way Cailan should. The bags under his eyes hung lower than usual, even the smiling lines always embossed into his skin were cracked and turned into a slick frown. Was he really up with their mother the whole night?
"We should have spoken of this earlier," Beatrice said, her eyes darting over to her husband, "but we were never certain when the proper time was to tell you." The Queen took a deep breath to begin, "At the dance there was an issue brought to my attention."
Rosie hissed, "I did not appreciate that ambush, mother."
It took a moment for Beatrice to shake away whatever she was thinking of, her matter seeming to be dropped as she turned on her daughter. "Ambush? You treat a nice dance as if I've sent assassins after you."
"May as well have," Rosamund sneered. "I s
pent the entire night fielding constant questions of my future intentions without knowing a thing about a single person there."
"For the Maker's sake, Rose," Beatrice sighed, a hand slapping into her forehead, "you're not supposed to trade genealogies on the dance floor."
"Then what am I meant to do?"
Both the men in the room fell silent as the daughter tried to get her mother to confess that whatever her plan was she failed. If it was to get Rosie to commit to a husband or even find someone worthy enough to be trusted with the crown, then it was a fool's errand.
"You talk, you fall under the spell of romance, you find love," Beatrice spat out before throwing her hands high and spinning in her chair. "It's all your doing," she jabbed at Alistair who touched his chest but remained quiet. "If we'd found a proper suitor for her when she was a child there would be no issue now."
"Issue?" Rosie felt her cheeks burning not with shame but exhaustion and anger at how often they tried to hammer her into place. Somedays she felt like a stripped bolt.
"Your father, in his daft but...kind way, keeps thinking it's best if you take your future in your hands instead of knowing you'd fumble the task," Beatrice said.
"I am!" While all her friends were spending their time playing games or riding horses, she was curled up in libraries studying policy and proper diplomatic etiquette.
"Really?" Beatrice cocked up her perfectly pruned eyebrow, "Does that mean there was a suitor chosen from the vast sampling last night?"
Sneering, Rosie slapped a hand on the table, "Of blighted course not! How does one pick that important of choice of who to marry out of a few stupid words traded above cocktails and whatever that liver on a cracker is called?!"
Something in her rage must have caught her dad as he snorted at the idea, which caused Beatrice to snarl at him. Everyone knew whose fault it was that the future princess of Ferelden wasn't already betrothed. It used to be kinda quaint when she was ten and chopping heads off of dolls. Now that she was approaching twenty-five, everyone kept clucking their tongues and all but racing her to the chantry in her best dress.
"Do you even try, Rosie?"
"Yes!" She wanted to pace in place. No, she wanted to have her sword in her hands and stab apart wooden dummies. But neither were wise while in the presence of royalty. "I'm polite, I let them talk, I ask about their upbringing."
Her brother snorted, "Sounds like you're trying to select a good mabari."
"How in the Maker's sake did all the charm pass to him," Beatrice waved a hand at her son, before pointing it at Rosie, "and none to you?"
"I believe I take my charm very seriously. It's a honed skill, thank you." Cailan was being in a real 'throw his sister off the boat' kind of mood. She wanted to amend punching him in the face to her list, but he never joined her in the arena.
Was everyone in this room against her? Rosie gripped her fingers against her dress and spat out, "This is not easy."
Her mother turned on her, "Only because you are..."
"Okay!" the King interceded, dropping a hand between the two, "Okay, we're all running on not enough sleep and could say things we may regret. Let's take a step back and..." his eyes darted down to Beatrice who was fuming, "get things back on track. You know, why we brought them here in the first place?"
Something passed between their parents that was buried in a look. Even Cailan caught it, an elbow jabbing into Rosie who was trained to notice such things. Secrets shared amongst nobility was always cause for concern with the royal family, but these were her parents. They wouldn't do anything to hurt them.
Slowly, their mother shook her head in the negative and their father's head snapped back to stare at the ceiling. Silence beat between them a moment before he cried, "Then what? You know he's wandering around right now..." Whatever their father was about to say faded again, something clearly hanging in the air.
"It is not an issue," Beatrice insisted, a hand slapping onto the desk as if she put a stamp on a proclamation.
Their father snorted, "Not right now if we keep the spikes warmed up, but I'm gonna be heading out on the ol' trip through the Bannorn soon. Three months of shaking hands, checking out their fancy middens, and pretending to solidify alliances. Ugh."
"So," their mother sat up, her eyes burning hard, "take the children along."
"What?" Cailan leaped forward, in no mood to play the adorable child prince to break up their father's boring meetings. They used to go when younger, both always outfitted in the most outlandish frills and were mostly there to stand around being cute while the King looked as if he wanted to leap off a building. "No, there is no way I am wasting my summer..."
"You will do as you are told," Beatrice turned on her son, venom in the normally sugar sweet voice.
"It, uh," the arrogant son tried to fight back, clearly uninterested in having to travel the countryside with his daddy, but he couldn't argue with his mother. "Damn it," Cailan cursed softly to himself instead.
"What if I go in your place?" Rosamund said, folding her arms across her waist.
Her brother rolled his eyes, "You know they make us both go together."
"Not yours," she grumbled at Cailan before turning to her father, "Yours." She caught his mouth opening, no doubt a million reasons about to tumble out but Rosie beat him to it. "As you always say, the tour is easy and tedious. Nothing more than smiling, eating at strange people's houses, complimenting the furniture, and trying to steal all the soaps you can find."
"Soaps?" her mother repeated, glaring at their father who was self consciously tugging on his hair and shrugging.
"Rosie," the King said, trying to ignore his little, rebellious sins, "I get that you want to do all the exciting crown stuff early, but..."
"The tour is to remind the Bannorn that the crown works for them and not the other way around. To reinforce alliances that are ancient and keep Ferelden from sundering in half. I know, it's...this is the stuff I've been working on. Learning about. Dad, it could," her eyes dropped down and she watched her fingers twisting around in circles. Odd she didn't wear gloves today.
Taking a deep breath, Rosie looked up, "Father, it would give me a chance to speak on behalf of the institution I will one day run. To bridge the gap between our..." She felt a sting in her brain that flashed across the other's faces. Rosie couldn't even think about the idea of her rule without her father's death hanging over it. "And," she said with certainty, "you wouldn't have to go at all."
"That," Alistair stopped tugging his hair out and circled a thumb over his chin, "that's not a half bad idea."
"You cannot be serious," Beatrice cut back with. "Sending our child out alone..."
"She'd be far from alone, there were already a bunch of advisors heading out with me. Add in a couple knights, her handmaidens. Yeah," her dad nodded his head, "yeah, I don't see why it wouldn't work." Whether it was the excitement at Rosie's growing up or the fact the burden was taken off his shoulders, her father grinned wide.
Her mother on the other hand looked as if she was going to throw a huge bucket of water on the entire idea.
"Mother," Rosie said, twisting her head to the side, "if I am of marrying age, then should I not also be old enough to take on more responsibilities?"
"That..."
"Are there not numerous girls all over this land who leave their homes at even younger ages for work? They rarely have knight escorts."
"They are not princesses," Beatrice sighed, already buckling under Rosie's logic.
"Then it will make it easier on me as there will be very little competition."
Her dad cracked a laugh at Rosamund's move which caused the Queen to scowl. "Very well."
Cailan stretched his arms wide, "Welp, glad that that's settled."
"But you are taking your brother with," Beatrice tacked on.
"What?" both siblings shouted, glaring at each other. "But he...Dad..."
"No, your mother's right," Alistair nodded, both of their parents apparently in this get
ting them out of Denerim mood. "You'll want some help out there when Banns start getting tetchy. In fact, that'll be your first challenge for this trip Rosie. Find a job suitable for your brother."
Unless accountant prostitute was an option for this, she doubted he'd take kindly to anything she suggested. Rosamund glared at her brother, who was giving the same back. Still, she was offering him a trip without their parents in the way. If he was smart he'd take it and not cause too big of a fuss.
"Fine," Cailan threw up his hands, "not as if I had anything important to do here anyway."
"Glad that that's settled," Alistair tipped his head. "I'll get in contact with Karelle and she'll help you get things rolling."
He leaned closer to Rosie as if to shake her hand, when their mother intervened. "Children, could you give us a minute to talk?"
"Yes," Rosamund nodded, her spirits brightening. She grabbed onto Cailan's collar, causing her brother to spin around. "Let's go."
When the pair of them reached the door, their father called out, "Good luck, kid." She smiled wide at that, nodded her head, and then stepped out of her dad's office.
Maker's breath! What an exhilarating turn of events. She'd be in the middle of the important decisions. Not just hearing about them second hand or while sitting beside the table, but at the head. Being the one hosted and greeted by so many Banns as they strengthened alliances. Finally, Rosie could show off her wit in the political sphere she ached to pierce. No more sitting in the shadows.
"What do you think they're talking about in there?" Cailan asked, his bright eyes darting up to hers.
"I don't know, nor do I really care. Probably mother's issuing her formal complaint against the idea, but who cares?"
"Uh huh," her brother adjusted his shirt and moved to leave, when he stopped and said, "You better not give me some piece of shit hard labor job or I will make your life hell on this trip."
Sighing at her brother attempting to puff himself up, Rosamund couldn't hide the yelp of excitement. She was the leader, the one at the forefront of all of this politics. The sovereigns would stop with her. It was going to be grand.
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