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“You know, you didn’t need to accompany me. I promised Gorim that there would be no fanfare or banner men following me in my wake.” Bralinden stopped before she stepped out into the market square. “And with all due respect, having the blasted king in my wake isn’t exactly low profile.”
“We are low profile,” Alistair retorted. “Traveling under the cover of night with no guards and very few weapons is practically the definition of low profile.”
“Well, we will not be low profile for long if you two keep having a little spat,” whispered Zevran. “Now…my love, which way are we going again?”
Bralinden sighed, adjusted the straps of her satchel, and stepped into the oddly silent market square. She gestured for them to follow, only for her hand to get tangled in her cloak. The cloak was much too large and sat awkwardly on her shoulders. Alistair had offered a shorter one, but Bralinden had deemed the replacement much too ornamental for the occasion, whatever the specific occasion was. Bralinden had received a letter at dinner that evening from an out of breath messenger. She paid the surprised messenger double for his trouble, and went to change into something more homely. Alistair, intrigued, followed. Zevran insisted that he followed, since he was only in town for a short while and wanted to spend every moment with his wife, even if it was hurrying through the market district under the cover of the stars and moon.
“Honestly,” said Alistair, “you can’t expect us not to follow you. Sneaking off in the middle of the night is more than slightly concerning. What if you got into trouble?”
Bralinden scoffed at him. “Excuse me?”
“You know what I mean. After all, someone has to make sure that you don’t beat some poor, helpless cutpurse into submission, don’t they?”
“He’s right,” agreed Zevran. “We had to come. That way the cutpurse at least has a fighting chance.”
“You two are insufferable,” replied Bralinden, but Alistair thought he caught a glimpse of a smile when they passed by a lit window. She stopped abruptly at a door next to a small stall. A blacksmith’s forge lay cold nearby. “Now just…be quiet. Try not to draw attention to yourselves. Speak little. If we’re lucky—and I mean if—maybe they won’t realize that the bloody king of Ferelden showed up on their doorstep.”
“Most people would be honored,” grumbled Alistair.
“Most people are not anyone who keeps company with Bralinden,” said Zevran. “Now hush, your royal majesty. Let’s see what all of this is about.”
Bralinden knocked on the door and waited. Alistair tried not to peak through the cracks of the window shutters as there was movement and rustling from inside. He could hear people talking but could not make out who, or what was the topic of discussion. Bralinden was shifting from foot to foot until the door opened just a ways.
“Who is it?” asked a voice.
“I got your message,” Bralinden replied. “Am I too late?”
“M’lady! By the ancestors, you didn’t have to come tonight!” The door opened a little wider and Alistair recognized the man standing behind it. Gorin stood only a little taller than Bralinden, casting just a bit of shadow over her, but he dipped quickly into a bow. Bralinden rolled her eyes at his gesture and quickly pulled him back up and into a hug. Gorin’s honor-bound composure melted almost immediately.
“Nonsense, my friend. It’s good to see you. I come bearing food, and gifts.” She glanced over her shoulder. “And…I have two tagging along, but I promise they won’t cause any trouble. May we come in? I promise our visit will be brief because of the hour.”
“Of course! My house is yours. Come in, come in, all of you. Gentlemen, mind your heads.”
Bralinden stepped inside, and Alistair and Zevran followed. Alistair did have to watch the door frame, which seemed a bit smaller than usual, and quickly he became the tallest in the room as all the people inside were dwarves. Gorin and Bralinden were the only familiar ones in this small home, and the only ones who seemed comfortable with their presence. The moment Alistair and Zevran entered, a particularly burly dwarf who was more beard than man with muscles the size of war hammer heads got to his feet, and squinted.
“What’s all this?” he demanded, voice rough and brittle. “Who’re these folk—I thought only the Aeducan was stopping by? And that was tomorrow, lad.”
Gorin rubbed the back of his head, and smiled. “Don’t worry, Everal, she’s only here for a few minutes.” He then turned to an older dwarf sitting by the fire, who had the first dwarf’s muscles, but a kinder face. “Master Barrick, this is Lady Bralinden Aeducan, of Orzammar. She’s to be the child’s godmother. M’lady, this is Barrick Tortan, and my brother-in-law, Everal.”
The old dwarf got up from his chair and crossed the room. He looked Bralinden over and then smiled, holding out his hand. Bralinden took it and shook it, clasping her war-torn hands over his wrinkled ones.
“Gorin has told us many tales about you. It is truly an honor to meet you.”
“It’s an honor to meet you as well. Thank you for treating Gorin so kindly.”
“He’s a good lad. Perfect for my Lirta.”
The old man let go of Bralinden’s hand and glanced towards Alistair and Zevran next. Zevran bowed slightly, all smiles, and Alistair forgot all of his training and waved sheepishly. Barrick investigated them from a distance. He tutted. Alistair shot a glance at Zevran, who returned it with a shrug of amusement.
“And these gentlemen are…?”
“They’re just here to keep an eye on me, sir,” Bralinden replied politely. “They insisted on coming along for safety’s sake.”
“Can’t be too careful,” the old main agreed. “Streets can be treacherous for a young woman such as yourself.”
Zevran snorted, but tried to mask it with a cough. Alistair shot him a glare as Bralinden waved her hands, trying to stifle a laugh.
“Indeed, sir. Now, I don’t want to keep you. Where is Lady Saelac? Is she well?”
Gorin took Bralinden’s arm to lead her past the glaring brother-in-law and away from Master Barrick. Alistair and Zevran followed, crossing the room in half the time that they did.
“She’s in our room, feeding our newest addition to the family,” Gorin replied proudly. “She’ll be pleased to see that you’re here, your ladyship. It’s not every day that a smith gets a visit from royalty.”
“Not royalty anymore,” Bralinden reminded him gently. Her hands, oddly enough, flightily tugged at the straps of her bag. If Alistair didn’t know any better, he’d say that Bralinden was actually nervous. “Just so you know, I’ve been planning these gifts since you told me you and your wife were expecting. I hope they do things justice. I plan to take my role as godmother very seriously.”
“That’s exactly why I picked you,” Gorin replied. He knocked on a door and called, “Lirta! We have company, my love.”
“Come in!” called a soft-spoken voice.
The bedroom was small but homely. While it was not richly adorned, it was put together lovingly, where a cradle sat in the room, a fire sat in a small fireplace that lit the room, and the bed pushed in the corner housed an exhausted dwarven woman with a bundle clasped to her breast. She didn’t seem bothered that strangers had wandered into the bedroom, her golden hair tangled and slicked with drying sweat. Lirta greeted Bralinden with a smile.
“M’lady Aeducan! You did not have to come so soon.”
“You all keep saying that,” Bralinden replied, “but you are family. I would come as quickly as I could.” She dropped the bag next to a small stool that was settled next to the bed. Gorin leaned against the doorframe, effectively trapping Alistair and Zevran in the hall. Lirta and Bralinden exchanged pleasantries and small talk for a few moments.
It was strange to see Bralinden so gentle. Alistair had grown so accustomed to the familiar scowl etched on her face like she was made of stone, so to see her features relax, and dare he say it, see a ghost of a smile had made the trip worth it. As Alistair glanced towards Zevran, whose eyes were on Bralinden, he was certain that Zevran was thinking the same thing. Bralinden was quiet for a moment, settling next to the woman and the babe. Alistair noted how all the furniture was perfect for dwarves, and wondered if it was necessary to get some commissioned for Bralinden. Meanwhile, Bralinden seemed to be at a loss for words. It took the baby grumbling in her sleep to rouse Bralinden’s wits again.
“She’s beautiful,” Bralinden said. Lirta smiled, and bounced the round baby in her arms a bit. The little girl was still fast asleep. “Gorin—your wife is an expert craftsman, well done.”
Gorin snorted. “Indeed she is, m’lady.”
Bralinden smiled and dug into her bag. “I hope it’s not too presumptuous,” she began, “but I brought gifts for both you and the little one.”
“It’s an honor,” Lirta replied, touched by the gesture. “We didn’t expect anything at all, your grace.”
“Gorin served as my second faithfully for quite some time. There was no possible scenario that I was going to turn him down on his offer to visit, especially on an occasion such as this. I promise the gifts won’t be anything troublesome. Just things I thought she’d might like, and things I thought she would need as the newest Saelac on the surface. Every dwarf—topside or not—needs certain things.”
Lirta laughed as the infant began to stir. A rare smile graced Bralinden’s features, but it vanished a moment later. Bralinden suddenly realized she was being watched by almost all the men in the house. Gorin’s in-laws had peaked past Alistair and Zevran to get a look into the room.
“Leave us,” Bralinden said. Alistair and Zevran shared a glance, hesitating. “Oh, go on. I’ll be fine. It will just be for a few moments.”
“I can get you two some tea, if you’d like,” offered Gorin. “Don’t worry. Your ladyship is safe in this house, as long as we live and breathe.”
The tea was surprisingly good. Gorin even rustled up some small wheat cakes for Alistair and Zevran, and they shared them by the fire with the old dwarf and the scowling brother-in-law. Gorin was finishing the dishes when Alistair decided that being quiet was too much to bear.
“So,” Alistair asked, glancing at Gorin. “If you don’t mind me asking, ser, what exactly is going on?”
“I imagine they’re discussing private matters,” Zevran decided. “Womanly things that men’s ears should not hear.”
“Like what?” Alistair asked. Zevran winked.
“Exactly. No men have heard it yet.”
The elderly Master Barrick laughed. “Ah, nothing of that sort, lads. It’s custom for when our children are born for the godparents to visit and bestow gifts upon them, for luck. It just seems that Lady Bralinden takes her role as godmother a bit too seriously.”
“It’s tradition,” Gorin replied, “and Ancestors know her ladyship has always been one for tradition.”
“She takes everything seriously,” Alistair said after a moment. “But a stickler for tradition?”
“Some traditions,” clarified Gorin.
“That is one of the many reasons why we love her,” Zevran added with a grin. “She knows how to break the rules when it’s needed.” Alistair silently agreed as his companion steered the conversation away from Bralinden. “It is truly a pleasure to make all of your acquaintances. It is a rare chance for me to meet Bralinden’s family. She speaks fondly of all of you in her letters to me.”
The in-laws shared looks of confusion as Gorin laughed. “She would call us that, wouldn’t she? She’s so stoic, but there’s a heart underneath all of that stone-cold demeanor of hers.”
“Does that mean that we should be getting certain benefits?” asked the brother-in-law. “Being related to the Chancellor of Denerim and all.”
Alistair arched an eyebrow.
“No!” Gorin and Master Barrick exclaimed at once. Alistair found himself smiling, and made a note to make sure that castle-business go towards this family, if Bralinden hadn’t directed part of the workload towards them already.
“Honestly, brother,” Gorin continued, exasperated, “you can’t just ask the Chancellor that.”
“Ask the Chancellor what?” asked Braliden. The entire group jumped as she strode from the bedroom, bag significantly lighter than when they had first arrived. The brother-in-law blushed bright red underneath his beard.
“Nothing, milady,” Gorin said. “Merely jesting.”
Bralinden glanced at Alistair and Zevran for confirmation. Zevran slipped from his seat and smiled, leaning down to kiss her temple.
“Do not worry, mi amore. Did the mother enjoy her gifts?”
“Yes!” Bralinden replied, the ghost of a smile returning. “Quite so.”
“What’d you get her?” asked the brother-in-law. “Hopefully nothin’ too inconspicuous.”
“Of course not. Toys, books, and other sorts of things that are appropriate for children and their mothers. I also left some food I prepared for you all. That way she can rest a bit longer.” She glanced at Alistair and winked. “The more expensive toys are for when she’s older. I wonder if she’ll prefer the shield, or perhaps the bow? I’ll enjoy following my godchild’s progress.”
“You’re too kind, m’lady,” Master Barrick noted. “Feel free to come visit the child at any time.”
Gorin smiled. “Perhaps one day she’ll serve as your little one’s second, as I did for you. A Saelac and Aeducan, together again.”
Bralinden nodded. “One day, perhaps.” She seemed perturbed about the suggestion, but it was hard to be certain. “As for now, I have other matters to attend to. Al—erm—my friends, we shouldn’t take up more of their time. It is late and they need rest. Gorin, thank you for seeing us at such an inopportune time. We need to return back to the palace—I have paperwork to finish before tomorrow’s meeting with the nobles. If you need anything—and I mean anything—let me know. I will be here in a heartbeat.”
“It was no trouble, your ladyship. Please, feel free to stop by when you have the time. I know your schedule is quite busy.” Gorin smiled and the two embraced again. Bralinden’s hug lingered a moment longer than it normally did and she sighed, bowing respectfully to the rest of Gorin’s family.
“Come along, you two,” she said, and made her way towards the door. Alistair and Zevran dutifully followed.