"What was wrong with me?" Alistair asked, getting a slow eyeful from the woman who knew him best, "I mean what was I ill with, listing everything I screw up on will take us ages."
She looked about to pounce on the opportunity but sagged, "You're right. I learned little from Teagan, but it was enough to formalize a few theories -- when I wasn't driving horses to near death to get across Ferelden. It was easily the fastest I've ever traveled from the Hinterlands to Denerim."
"What about before the battle?" Alistair shifted, his mind traveling back all those years to both of them so young and even more terrified that the fate of the world was resting upon their knife blade.
"Aye, because there wasn't an army behind me. Anyway," Lanny waved away his reminiscing, "it wasn't until I saw you nearly comatose that I knew it was Rock Bite Fever."
"Do I want to know why they call it rock bite fever?"
She scrunched up her flat nose and shook her tuft of curls, "No, you do not. Your pedestrian alchemists managed to keep the symptoms at bay, as well as alter your humors on the hour and..." lifting up a small bottle overflowing with a pink potion she snickered, "keep you from falling pregnant."
"Thank the Maker," Alistair wiped at his sweaty forehead, "that's a load off my mind to never have to worry about losing my figure."
"I was rather surprised to find no mage healer present at your bedside..." Lanny began, that coy look skirting over his face. Grumbling, Alistair turned away, his eyes tracing the ceiling as he waited for the insinuations everyone had, but nothing came. Instead, she turned his desk chair to face the bed and flopped down into it, "And that's the whole story of how I came to be here."
She shifted her legs out from under her traveling robes, the garment more patches than original cloth at this point. While the woman was eternally etched into Alistair's mind, to most other people her attire would cause eyes to pass over here. Even still... "Is it safe for you to be here."
"Teagan's been running interference, warning me when anyone from the past is nearing so I can," she lifted up her hood and pretended to shroud herself. "And in general, no one asked many questions of the small woman appearing to rescue their King's health. Seems they went through damn near every alchemist in Denerim. Do you not have any other mages in attendance?"
"There's one," Alistair struggled to sit up, wanting to give Lanny his full attention, "no skill at healing, sells enchantments."
"Enchantment?" she smiled, her white teeth glistening below those dark rich lips.
"Enchantment!" he cried back before doubling over in pain clawing across his throat, "Oh, yep, not back to health, not by a long shot."
Once again a sip of that healing magic that so easily trailed her slipped through the fade and into Alistair's ailing body. He'd had mages over the years cast all manner of spells at him, some useful, most harmful -- depending on who he pissed off that day, sometimes both, but Lanny's always bore something special. It felt as if a butterfly glanced upon the back of his hand and the scent of meadow flowers wafted on the breeze whenever she healed him.
"Thanks," he gasped, talking over the pain.
"It's what I'm here for," she smiled, crossing her legs and revealing a pair of thick, wooly trousers below the muddy blue robes.
Alone together in his bedroom, Alistair in little more than an unbuttoned shirt and he hoped trousers -- at least knickers anyway -- with the always beautiful Lanny Amell, and she was smiling at him. A dread plopped into his stomach and his eyes darted to the door. "So, where's your lesser half? Off stomping around in the barracks giving orders to soldiers or perhaps he found a few mages to hassle?"
Lanny groaned, her head tipping back to stare at the ceiling. "He's back at home."
"Oh?" Alistair sat up higher at that bit of good news. His chances of being pummeled simply for breathing decreased dramatically.
"Things were busy at the refuge, more than busy," she scrubbed her face, the retired woman unable to let go of helping people. Suddenly, she pulled them off and a warm, ecstatic smile took hold, "Did you know I've helped to deliver five babies this year?"
"I didn't realize templars were so fertile," Alistair shifted, uncertain why this was exciting for her.
"They're not templars, not all of them. The locals are looking to us, turning to the abbey as a place of succor and healing. It's nice...refreshing to be wanted to help with good instead of--"
"Solving all your problems with a sword," Alistair interrupted, understanding why this tickled Lanny. She'd left her command and arling, so much power at her disposal, all to try and help heal a few forgettable villagers out in the woods. It was so damn adorable, thinking of it made Alistair smile in jealousy. He wished he could abandon all his duties and join her in it, but then he'd be back to risking having his teeth knocked in.
"There wasn't time for us to find someone to take over lead of the abbey in our absence, so I left my husband behind," there was an imperceptible emphasis on the husband part as if she had to remind him.
"And he let you go, just like that? Not even insisting you take the dog?" While Alistair and the templar got on about as well as poison ivy and bare shins, they shared a few things in common. Blonde hair and brown eyes not withstanding perhaps the greatest was a constant worry about Lanny doing something to get herself killed. Maker's sake, she already did that once and it took the pair of them teaming up together and breaking the fade to get her back.
"Honor's getting on in years, I don't know if she'd have kept up with the pace, and I'd rather she stay back and guard him," her fingers tugged at a chain around her neck until they could grace against the coin she always wore. Well, always since saying a bunch of silly words in front of a chantry sister.
"Was this a quick pop in and make sure the King doesn't die or will you be, you know -- just for curiosity's sake -- be staying a bit longer? We might have some cake left over from a fancy party." He tried to play it off as light but the dread in his stomach warped his airy words to something dire. Alistair didn't want to her to leave. She was his carrots, a comforting hand that he didn't realize he needed until it was gone. Which pretty much summed up their entire relationship in a nutshell.
Lanny placed her weary head in her hands and sighed, "I'll remain for a few days more, to make certain you're on the path of health but I can't stay any longer. I'm needed back at home."
"By all the sick templars," Alistair sighed, accepting that in her life he wasn't the most pressing issue.
Scratching her cheek she smiled, "Them too. You should get some rest. I should as well, come to think of it."
Yawing, Alistair moved to stretch his arms, when he thought of something, "Where are you sleeping?"
"Teagan was going to work some magic to get a cot brought up here. That room you filled with training dummies isn't the worst place to sleep. I can pretend we're camping in the dwarven fighting arena all over again."
"No fancy suite for the woman who saved the King's life?" Alistair snickered even as he leaned back onto the pillows. She was right, as usual, exhaustion tried to wrap its cloying grip around him and drag him into a warm slumber.
"I'd rather not risk traveling too far from you, in case someone recognizes me," Lanny whispered, and he heard that familiar trill of dread warping her vowels as that normally dormant Free Marcher accent flared awake.
She'd risked a lot to come to his side, bandits on the road, weather, lack of sleep, and the potential for people realizing the Hero of Ferelden wasn't really dead and ruining her perfect life. Guilt erupted in Alistair's brain at that thought and he blinked against a burning in his eyes. "Lanny," he began. She stirred from her seat and hobbled nearer to him upon the bed, "thank you for saving my life, healing me, being here." He didn't deserve that, barely deserved her friendship, and whatever love they once had was beyond redemption.
Her fingers playfully smoothed up his matted, bed mashed hair, and she smiled, "I always come for you, Ali." That drew a slow blink from Alistair and the beginnings of a smirk. In
an instant the cozy image of Lanny shattered and the icy frost mage below burst free, "Don't you dare say it."
"What?" he tried to play the innocent, parting his limp hands in a perfect who me? "It's nice to hear that from you is all. Though I don't remember your coming being a constant before."
"Maker's breath," she groaned, scrunching up her face as if she bit into a lemon, "I'm glad he stayed behind because I refuse to set broken bones. Get some blighted rest before I grab that pillow and smother you myself."
Chuckling at her banter that was quick to slip to a smile even as the exasperated and exhausted woman returned to her chair, Alistair leaned back on his pillow and let sleep carry him off to Mr. Tibbles and the great squirrel war.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Healing
Bright green wings flapped across the sky, a butterfly darting down to a flower before being abruptly attacked by a three year old dead certain she was some kind of sea monster. Alistair couldn't get which one out of her, Spud far too excited to form proper words, but it must be a terrifying creature as she kept lashing her hands together to make a tail and cackling.
"Should it bother me how good she is at that?" he asked, while trying to shuffle more of his weight off the woman holding him up.
Lanny didn't even blink at Spud's over exuberance at being mustache twirling evil. "Better to get it out now and not let it fester," she chuckled. Their shared arm gripped tight to her cane as Lanny hobbled around the garden seeming to be requiring the King's assistance. In truth, he was the one relying upon her to keep upright. They hadn't gone far, only skirted around some of the fancier flowerbeds and stopped on the path to watch the sea monster eyeing up a fresh dirt patch.
Every few feet, someone with enough fancy titles to their names to sink a ship would wander past, tip a hat -- or a pretend one if none was available -- to the King, then scurry on back for the next contestant. At first Alistair humored it, but after the tenth or twelfth "Just checking to see if you're really alive" he was growing more agitated.
"Maker take Eamon and his constant politicking. I can barely get out of bed and already I'm supposed to wave politely and make small talk."
"Actually," Lanny started up again, dragging him with her. While his body groaned and popped with each movement, the sun beating down upon his aching bones was Maker sent. "It was my idea."
"Yours?" Alistair stuttered. She'd been a constant throughout the past few days, a fact that made his knowing she'd be gone soon ache even more. While Alistair dozed in bed, or attempted to read something at first important and then frivolous, he'd glance over to find Lanny sitting primly at the desk, elbow bent, and scratching away at vellum with a quill.
Turning under him, she smiled politely, "Don't act so shocked I can play the game. I was Arlessa of Amaranthine for nearly ten years. It was like walking in a pit of vipers and having to shake their tails every morning. Whenever word would reach the Banns that I'd been in the deep, flocks would show up at the Vigil. Throwing on a false smile and leaping out of bed regardless of injury I'd parade before them to prove that the Arling was safe. Maker do I not miss those days."
She groaned under her breath at the memory, pinching into her nose as if the very idea drew forth a headache. "Also, I needed to get out of your bedroom and feel the sun on my skin again before I snapped."
"Ha, now that I can agree with," Alistair chuckled. Even he began to grow restless trapped under silk sheets and wishing to be anywhere else. On occasion he tried to talk Reiss into bringing him a bow so he could practice aiming. That got an eyebrow arch from Lanny and a 'I don't think that's wise, Ser' from Reiss. Glancing over the once hedge maze that began more as a hedge labyrinth and then, after Alistair got drunkly lost in it, a waist high spattering of shrubbery, he spotted Reiss. She stood awkwardly beside one of the tasteful statues of a man carrying around water. Her eyes would wander over to him for a brief beat before canvasing the rest of the nobility.
A burning sensation flicked at the back of his ear and he knew it was his brain reminding him that they hadn't talked about rolling around on the ground and trading tongues yet. After this much time would it even be possible? He feared he might die of awkwardness if he tried.
"Auntie!" Spud suddenly flipped on her muddied knees and bum rushed straight to Lanny.
"Ah, yes," she took the muck like a champion, but Spud's enthusiasm almost sent her and Alistair toppling over.
"Spudkins, you have to be gentle with your auntie, remember?"
She nodded her head vigorously before latching both arms around Lanny's battled legs and hugging tight. Instead of flinching, Lanny tried to hug back and began to pick at a stand of leaves stuck in his daughter's eternally filthy hair. Alistair released his grip, taking all his weight back onto joints that as the healer predicted, burned like someone dropped hot coals against each one.
"Maker's fiery crotch," he groaned to himself, when bright and always curious emerald eyes danced over to her father. Ah shit, he was in for it now.
"Do you need help?" Lanny whispered to him, sliding closer and gripped a hand around his back.
"No, I've got it. Gonna have to figure out walking on my own soon enough. And you," he turned back to the woman who could barely hobble up a flight of stairs, "how are you able to keep going and prop me up?"
Those deep brown eyes stared into his when a flare of blue washed across them. Chuckling at his reaction, Lanny whispered, "You never were a good templar."
"You can say that again," he sighed. "Spud, you play with your auntie. Daddy's got to sit."
That drew her attention away from her favoritest aunt and she turned her world renowned pout upon him. Unable to bend to meet her, Alistair tugged out a leaf and in a loud whisper told her, "Lanny can do the sparkles." Spud's eyes lit up and she turned her gaping maw back to the mage that was trying to not scowl at the girl's enthusiasm. "Big ones too, big enough to light up the sky and change the world."
"Auntie, auntie," Spud tugged on Lanny's sleeves, begging to see the sparkles while Alistair shrugged and moved towards the bench. In sight of all the gentry coming to make certain the line was still secure, he tipped his head back to face the sweet sun and groaned. A rawness remained in his throat, often following a long hacking session as he tried to free up more of that fluid Lanny kept on about. But what really got him was when all that mucus moved up to squat on his brain, lightening up his nose until it felt like it was going to float away while his mind languished in headache hell.
At the moment all he felt was a slight constricting in his ribs, and a flaring pain against his butt cheeks from the stone bench flattening them. It could have been far worse. "Are you all right, Ser?" a voice broke barely over the bird song flitting through the garden.
He cracked an eye, getting a beam of sunlight and had to hold a hand over his forehead to watch Reiss standing hesitantly behind the bench. Shuffling to sit up properly, Alistair smiled at her and weakly patted the seat beside him. "Please, join me," it wasn't anything romantic by any means, not that he had much at his disposal at the moment, but the beautiful lady's lips lifted and she stepped around the bench to sit beside him.
Saying nothing, Reiss' hands gripped onto her thighs, the fingernails trying to dig into the leather section between all the metal bits. While a tiny part of his brain knew he shouldn't, Alistair couldn't stop staring at her. The hardness, the sharp edges, the armor filling out and reenforcing her form didn't detract from whatever kept tacking his tongue to the roof of his mouth. Not below or hidden but mixed into the gruff and ready to leap off a roof parts was the softest smile. It'd begin slowly each time, her vibrant eyes glancing around to make certain it was all right, before blossoming into a full flower by the proper light. Alistair found himself wanting to figure out every trigger that could get it to go, even if it meant making a colossal fool out of himself just to catch a glimpse of that rare sight.
"Sire." Her voice snapped him out of his hazy daydream and Alistair blinked like mad, trying t
o focus on her with a Kingly gaze and not the lust addled man trapped inside. Reiss released the death grip on her thighs to worry her fingers together in thought. "I should apologize."
"For what now?"
Those bright green eyes landed upon him and he had to bite down an urge to cup her cheek. She looked about to break, whether into tears or screams he couldn't tell. All he wanted was to try and provide a modicum of comfort and pray she wasn't mad at him for screwing something up. "Your illness," she explained, swallowing deep and letting her sight travel across the garden, "I should have stopped you from racing to the rescue."
"And if you had, the dam would have burst and I'd probably be dead anyway. Maybe. I forget how dams work exactly." He'd hoped that would draw a chuckle from her, but she glared down at her knotted fingers and whispered to them.
"You don't know that."
Forgetting decorum and anything else that would get tongues flapping, Alistair reached over and scooped her hand into his. She had the thinnest fingers he'd ever seen, tinier even than Lanny's, with a small callus knotted upon each pad. Absently, he ran his thumb over them all while saying, "It's not as if you could know that I'd get sick or that every alchemist in the castle is a blighted moron apparently." That was courtesy of Lanny cursing up a storm as she went over their masses of bottles and getting very jabby with some of her vellum. She was a woman with very certain opinions on things that one didn't cross and survive. That was a fact he didn't miss so much about her. Good luck to the templar with that one.
Love's Blush Page 43
