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Practical. Goldanna was practical. And fair. That's what they said about her ‘round the market when they thought she wasn't in earshot, but they’d also have more to say and little else of it was kind, because that sort of talk only ever started out with a bit of sugar to make the salt sting sharper. She was fair, but she was a shrew and a harridan and if you got on her wrong side she’d shave your whiskers with an axe blade.
Goldanna knew what they said, and though it bothered her, she couldn’t say it wasn’t true. To people outside her house, or those who passed through her door who were anything less than family, she gave very little of her time and patience. She simply had too little to spare. Five children needed the best of her, and when there was any surplus of energy she poured it into them like honey on porridge. Then she could reap the rewards of their affection, which in turn was enough to fuel her for one more day of keeping them fed and safe in Denerim.
The evenings, when work was mostly done and exhaustion was settling into their bones, were Goldanna’s favourite time. She would shove pillows into the corner of the large mattress they all shared in the backroom and settle in while her children nestled in around her. Even Rue, who at fifteen years was almost a woman herself, would tuck in beside her mother and rest her head on her shoulder. If she’d done one thing right with her children (and sometimes it seemed she’d done so little right) it was that at the end of each day they found comfort in each other’s company.
That night the youngest, Orchid, snuggled into her mother’s chest. She found a lock of hair that had strayed from Goldanna’s bun and wound it around one finger. “Can we have a story, Ma? Just one?”
“Oh sweet, I was hoping one of you might have one for me. It’s been such a long day, and I think all my stories went out with the dirty laundry water. Whoosh!” She pushed her hands through the air as if she were pushing over the big washing tub. ”Right out into the street.”
Willem shook his head. Only a few years older than Orchid, but already so grown up and serious. “Stories don’t go away like that.”
Rue sighed and pulled him in close to her. “Sometimes they do, Will. You work so hard that the first time you bend over, they fall right out your nose.”
“They do not!” He rolled his eyes. “You just get tired, so tired you can’t put them together right.”
It hurt to think Will already understood this; Goldanna put a hand over his. “Well, maybe I can put one together. But not a long one.”
Dan, who’d wriggled into the space on his mother’s other side, spoke up. “I don’t want one! I just want to know who those visitors were today. That elf was a mage, Ma! He had a staff and everything!”
“And the other one was a soldier.” Ester had crawled between Goldanna’s legs and rested her head on her mother’s belly, just below where Orchid was tucked in. “I bet he was at Ostagar. I bet he fought darkspawn with Loghain and killed a hundred of them.”
“Loghain ran away,” said Rue. “If he was with Loghain, he’s a coward.” She was twice as clever as most of her peers and kept her ear to the ground when it came to important gossip. Goldanna knew she hoped for a place in the castle one day, maybe in the kitchen, and although chances of that were slim with no family there, Rue held fast to the hope that she might one day hear a piece of news that would offer her a chance.
Except, she did have family, Goldanna thought. She closed her eyes, trying not to remember the events of that morning too sharply. In her anger, she’d made a mess of it with Alistair, coming off all prickles and sharp edges. He had dared walk into her house and demand some sort of attachment from a sister he’d never known? From the woman whose mother he had killed?
But… the smart thing to do would have been to pretend gratefulness, to welcome him and his friend, and see what she might be able to wring from them to help her children. Instead, she’d let her rage guide her and run them off. When she’d realized what she’d done, what she had taken from her children, she’d almost cried.
“They weren’t with Loghain, Rue. They were Grey Wardens.”
The children gasped. It was as if she’d said Ser Aveline had visited.
“Mama!” said Ester. “Grey Wardens? Both of them? Why were they here? Did you know them?”
It was Willem, of course, who presented the least exciting option, even if he did it with shining eyes. “I bet they wanted their clothes washed! I bet they haven’t had clean clothes for a long time. Maybe they were in the Deep Roads and--”
“Had dirty underwear!” announced Orchid. That set off a round of laughter and Goldanna gave Orchid a pretend-nasty look and a teasing tickle. She giggled and repeated her joke.
Rue shook her head. “Oh Orchid, don’t you know? One was a mage. They never have dirty underwear because they just magic the dirt away!”
Willem wrinkled his nose. “That’s disgusting!”
“More disgusting than dirty underwear?”
“Enough!” said Goldanna, trying not to laugh herself. “It was not for laundry! They were simply looking for someone and thought I might know where she was. If you can all settle down, it reminds me of a story.”
Because they had to know eventually, one way or another. Maybe they could do better than she had. Maybe they could forge something from the bond she’d rejected. But she couldn’t tell them outright, not when most of them weren’t old enough to understand. Instead, she’d plant a seed.
They nodded, and Rue, second mother that she was, put a finger to her lips to keep them hushed.
“This is a true story, or as true as I can make it, and it happened when I was a young girl.”
“Are you in it?” Dan asked before Rue gave him a swat.
“Oh, I don’t know about that, but it’s one I’ve known for a very long time.” She wiggled slightly to give everyone a chance to get as comfortable as possible. “It’s about a woman who worked in an arl’s castle, which” — she held up a hand to pre-empt the inevitable comments — “I never did. I promise you, it’s not me.” There were a couple of disappointed sighs from Dan and Ester. They were always conspiring to churn magic out of the ordinary, and if she left even a hint that she’d worked for an arl, they’d be spinning tales of it to all the neighbourhood children
“This woman was very pretty. She had long red hair and a deep voice that could carry tunes like a songbird.” Mostly lullabies for Goldanna when she was young, and slightly bawdy working songs when she was old enough. “She was popular with the ones she worked beside and the ones she worked for.”
“One day, the King came to visit. He heard her singing and asked to meet her.” This was where Goldanna strayed from the truth because she simply didn’t know it. There was so little for her to piece together. Had her mother caught his eye on purpose? Was he simply an insatiable pig who took advantage of her? The last possibility twisted her stomach, so despite the bitterness she held about how her mother had been treated by him and his, she preferred to imagine something better. “She was sent to his room, and he thought she was beautiful. He had them bring tea and sweets and they talked and laughed, until it was so late that it would have been improper for her to be seen leaving. So they stayed together for the night.”
“In the way that makes babies?” Of course it was Will asking. Except for Orchid, they all had an idea of what that meant. There was no shame in the act and no hiding it when most folks had barely more than one room or two to house their family.
“Yes, in that way. And in the morning, since it was just a short visit, he left while she snuck back to her duties.”
Rue didn’t look pleased at the revelation, but she’d watched her own mother struggle with men and had more of an idea of the unfairness of it all. The others, were still young enough to attach some sort of romantic feeling to the whole encounter.
“In a couple of months, she knew she was pregnant. Her cycles had stopped and she felt sick in the mornings. She was scared, because she knew she carried the child of the King.” Goldanna didn’t know what her mother had felt, but she could imagine her fear. If she’d been in a similar position, she might have sought out an herb woman to get rid of the sudden target she’d painted on her belly.
“She thought about what to do and could only think of one honourable thing -- tell the arl. The arl, she thought, was kind. And he did take her in and give her a safe place to stay while she carried the babe. She got the best of food and clothes and care. The servant had her own servants, and at the time, word was that this child was a bastard of the arl.
“Eventually the day came when she gave birth. It was a boy and too hard a birth. She died shortly after. And then... he died as well.” Goldanna’s voice dropped to a whisper at the end, the loneliness from so long ago still able to squeeze the breath from her. She’d spent years missing her mother, but when she’d had her own children the story held new horrors. Giving birth only to die and leave a child without its mother. Giving birth to a child that never lived.
She paused long enough that Orchid pulled on her hair. “Mama, that’s not a good story.”
“Oh, it’s not a happy one, but it does have a surprise.”
“Make it a good surprise, Mama,” pleaded Ester. On the cusp of leaving childhood behind, she needed her happy endings more than the others.
“Of course, Love. You see, the little boy lived. The people around the King told everyone he died, but he lived. And he’s still alive today.”
“And he’s a prince?” Orchid said brightly.
“No, he’s not. But he’s no doubt had an easy life.” Much easier than her, perhaps, but for a moment she tried to imagine one of her own children growing up without her. Maybe there was room for a small bit of grace for a man who’d been raised without a mother. “Might be a little harder now that we’re without a king.”
Dan didn’t look at all satisfied. “I want him to be the King. And marry a princess!”
Rue reached over to tap him on the nose. “And I want to be the princess, but Ma said this story was true, and true stories don’t end the way fairy tales do.”
“Just so! Now,” said Goldanna, disentangling herself from the children. She wished she could curl up with them, but her day wasn’t done yet. “Time for bed. Cuddle up and get some sleep.” She kissed each of them in turn — all but Rue — telling them she loved them, and pulled a thin blanket up to their chins. Rue kissed them after her, then got up to join her mother at the table in the front room.
Goldanna poured them cold tea, sweetened with the barest touch of honey. Rue brought over the small basket of sewing supplies and held out a shirt for Goldanna to take. After a full day of washing, there were always a few pieces of clothing in need of repairt and that was good way to make a few extra coins.
Goldanna took the offered shirt and dug through the basket for a thread and needle. Rue watched her carefully before speaking. “So the woman… you said she wasn’t you.”
“She wasn’t,” Goldanna said after a sip of her tea. Of course her oldest would have questions.
“Did you know her?”
“I did.”
Rue, knowing exactly how to draw her mother out, retreated for a bit, focused on threading her needle. Goldanna breathed slowly, sorting out the words in her head several times to try and make some distance between what she needed to say and the pain she’d inevitably feel.
“She was my mother. Your grandmother.” Goldanna said quietly. “You have her hair.”
Rue looked up, and Goldanna couldn’t tell if she’d been expecting that answer. “Then, you were there too.”
“Only as much as they’d let me be.” She snipped off loose threads around a tear in the shirt’s sleeve. “Once she told them she was pregnant, she never left the palace again. I’d be allowed to visit the odd week, but otherwise… no.” Goldanna kept her voice low. The others would learn in time, but tonight was Rue’s turn.
“And when she died?” Rue asked sadly. She reached across the table to touch her mother’s hand and Goldanna let the shirt drop to the table.
“When she died…” Goldanna paused to slow her breathing. They’d told her bluntly, as if she were an afterthought, unimportant to the whole affair. “When she died, they brought me to her. I was no older than Dan. They told me she was dead and gave me a purse full of silver.” She shook her head and saw a tear hit the table; felt a familiar sorrow creep into her bones. “Told me my brother was dead, but they wouldn’t show him to me. I knew they lied.”
“Oh, Ma.” Rue’s hand tightened around hers.
“The silver was gone quick enough. Doesn’t last long when aunts and uncles learn you’ve got it. I asked for more, they packed me up and sent me to Denerim.” The loneliness that exile had sown could still wrap itself tightly around Goldanna’s throat at times. She’d been given a bed at the Chantry when she arrived, and little attention after that. The expectation had seemed to be that she should disappear. Soon enough she did. Denerim had more than enough dark corners to stuff unwanted children in.
“And the man who visited yesterday? We could hear you yelling at him from outside.”
Goldanna managed a short laugh, the bitter kind she rarely used with her children. “You’re far too smart to be the daughter of a washer woman. That was the baby. He is my brother, the King’s son.”
Rue nodded, obviously having gotten the answer she expected.
“And I sent him away, Rue.” Goldanna choked. So many years later and the bastard had come back, asking for a pittance, just a sister. And in trade, who knows? “I yelled at him, told him he killed my mother, and sent him away. I had the man who might be our next King in my house and I sent him away.” She couldn’t regret her anger with him, but the opportunities her children could have had…
“He wanted his sister?” She still looked concerned, but Goldanna could see her stitching together the pieces of the story, working toward some conclusion that couldn’t be guessed at. The was Rue’s gift and Goldanna’s pride. Where her mother would persevere through difficult circumstances, Rue planned for what came after.
“He wanted to meet me. He seemed to think I would welcome him like family. The man who killed my mother. Oh Rue, he could have done good things for us if I’d simply let him be. I’ve ruined it.”
“No you didn’t.” Rue’s said firmly, her tone one Goldanna had heard often enough in her own voice; the granite resolve she’d inherited from her own mother. “He’s a warden in the middle of a Blight. He’s a king’s bastard in the middle of chaos. There are posters up calling on people to turn the wardens in, and yet he took the time to come see you.”
“To rub in the fact that he killed my mother.” But even as she said it Goldanna knew she was being petty.
“To see his family. And someone who’ll risk all that to see his sister? Well, maybe he won’t turn his sister away if she tries to meet him again.” Rue let her hand go and lightly knocked her fist on the table, a habit she had when she won a trick in a game of cards.
“And how would I do that, love? He’s gone and I’ve no idea where to.”
“He’s a Warden, and an heir to the throne,” Rue said, “He’ll show up somewhere again. And when he does, we’ll visit.” Her confidence was like a lit lamp in the darkness and Goldanna began to believe that perhaps she was right. This wasn’t Dan’s fanciful imaginings. This was Rue, hard and practical in her own way. “We’ll welcome him. I’ll call him ‘uncle’ and maybe I’ll be able to hope for just a bit more than a spot in the castle kitchen.”