Your Stomach's First Plunge

Anora watched the small cataclysm from where she and the prince stood, but the miniature row did not unfold as she expected—the dratted little girl had won over her parents with such dumbfounded ease that it was almost insulting. She did not understand her sex, or the wily ways that came so naturally to others.

But something quite singular did occur, for Cailan all but choked on his drink when they both fixed their eyes on the boy who stood next to the Cousland girl— Alistair. He had been given a set of clothes, and these being quite distinct from his previous rough garb, brought out the glints in his dirty blonde hair. Cailan's visage darkened at this, and he glared rather menacingly, blazing fury in that glimpse of the boy's finery.

Now Anora did not consider herself akin to the other nobles at this event, many of whom would be outraged by this intrusion of a lowly peasant—but she saw the inappropriateness of such a situation, though the prince did seem to be overly put out by the boy's otherwise innocuous presence.

"Cailan?" She whispered when the King grew curious at the Couslands' little party. The royal child did not appear acknowledge his name; so intent as he was on his discovery—and this left Anora little choice but to keep up with him. She did not like the way the other nobles looked over at them every now and then, meeting her eyes and giving more than flashes of irritation in their quick darting glances; she was sure that they'd fall upon her the moment she left her prince's side.

But by the time they reached the front of the crowd, Anora realised that the children were gone again— both the little Cousland girl and the stableboy— leaving only a despairing Fergus behind. She breathed a sigh, both sympathetic and relieved. While she pitied the long-suffering older brother, Anora felt most happy when Cailan seemed almost back to normal, gurgling cheerfully at the king's. Briefly, she wondered what it was that affected him so, before the King Maric turned around and introduced all of them, her father included, to an Arl Howe— a man with a very greasy nose—father to the other cheeky little boy, one Nathaniel Howe.

The man was very polite, though his standard remarks did not appear as civil as they sounded.

"Bryce and you were the defenders of the White River? Yes, I remember. The Arl of Amaranthine."

A smile spread on the Arl Howe's thin lips. "And Amaranthine is doing very well, Your Majesty."

"Very prosperous," continued Anora's own father. "And some have said that it looks to rival Kirkwall's own port influence in the region."

"Ah, but so will Highever, began the king, his hand clasping Bryce Cousland's familiarly. We have economic stability in central Ferelden, and that is even more important than our foreign exports. And thanks to Highever, it seems that Fereldans are reaping the benefits of a prudent overseer like Bryce."

Anora had not imagined it, for again, there was a stressed emphasis on the word "Fereldan". It did not appear to be a seemly thing to mention, not when the Arl of Redcliffe had invited several Orlesian dignitaries to the wedding.

"I… only hope that I'm doing as good a job as people believe, your Majesty," came the modest reply from the friendly-looking man—one who did not look as if he had brats for children.

And then Anora saw it—something ugly streaked across in the Arl Howe's beady brown eyes, but it vanished as Teryn Cousland turned to praise Amaranthine's apparently new and bustling marketplace.

"It certainly is a shining pearl of a harbour," nodded the King indulgently, and Anora knew in that instant that it was only a diplomatic change of topic—something that she would have to learn if she was to fend for both her and Cailan in the future.

"With the support of Highever's economy, Your Majesty," bowed the man with the large, hawk-like nose. Anora decided that she disliked this Arl of Amaranthine very much indeed.

She then noticed that the dry talk was losing Cailan's attentions, for he began to glance around at the crowd, almost searching, though somewhat disinterestedly. There was quite a bit of movement by the walls, where servants began moving tables of food.

Another clamour rose, though of quite a different sort from the one before- and everyone looked around them to see musicians begin taking their places around the hall. The ceremony was to begin, and quite shortly. Several instruments caught Anora's inquisitive gaze—a six stringed lute, a beautiful harp almost six feet tall came into view as the tables were miraculously cleared from the hall. Pews were arranged, decorated with little bouquets of flowers; and no sooner did they sit down was the floor carpeted with a shower of similar petals, pink and vermilion, and the complicated chords of Orlesian origin began to play.

It was all meant to be enchanting, no doubt—this Anora understood— but few of the nobles seemed affected by the grand display. From her front-row view of the proceedings, Anora thought that she spotted two little figures hiding behind the altar where the Revered Mother of Redcliffe stood, looking just a little out of place, dressed in her plain ceremonial robes amidst such ostentatious finery.

"That's not just a brilliantly coloured shadow, is it?" hissed Cailan under his breath as his brow furrowed again. Anora bit her lip nervously—things were certainly not turning out well.

P.S.: A few more till the end, I should think! Can you guess what happens next? :3