My Love

by Sabrina Zbasnik

  "Okay then, I've gone fully mad. Good to know," Alistair stumbled backwards until his shoe plummeted into a river. It'd been calm before, a cottony pink, but as he watched the water lifted up high into the air as if someone snatched it up and then dropped it. Rapids rushed fast, threatening to drag him down the banks and into Maker only knew where. He began to slide back from the threat, when he heard the pitiful death knell of a talking frog being beset upon by squirrels. Through the tufts of fluffy tails and gnashing white teeth all Alistair could see was a gentle wave of the silver sword before it too collapsed under the rodent weight.

  Without the frog to fight them off, all the squirrels turned to their last prey, red lights flashing in their eyes. He had no choice. Whipping around Alistair ran full bore into the river and leaped into a cannonball. The water didn't splash but oozed like melted cheese and as he felt himself suckering down into it the smell hit him -- exactly like that fondue Cherie insisted they all had to try. Heat burst along Alistair's body, the cheese trying to burn his exposed skin as he trudged through it to the other side. Behind him, the squirrel army paused, either afraid of cheese, or waiting for the human to roast himself alive for them.

  Hot! So very hot! Sweat gushed off his forehead, down his back, and out of more unmentionable areas. Midway through the cheese, the bottom suddenly dropped off. Alistair felt himself falling downward when a rope launched from the far shore and circled around his midsection. Glancing up he caught his savior, blonde hair knotted back into a bun, a stern set to that broken nose.

  "Reiss!" he shouted, trying to jump up and down in the cheese. "Reiss!" The heat suffocated his throat, flattening it into the cheese and strangling his words. He tried to cough it out, hoping the woman would tug faster before his innards were broiled alive. "Reiss," the world began to melt like paint in the rain. Darkness raced to fill in the gaps, dabbing away the bright yellow sky and furry trees until only a crushing and impenetrable depth remained.

  "Gah," Alistair stuttered, his hand lifting up off a bed. In a rush his brain told him that he'd been dreaming which should have been obvious seeing as how squirrel armies are not a thing. Yet. His skin burned as if the cheese really did touch it, and it felt like the frog leaped down his throat and squatted there for protection.

  Slowly, he lifted up an eyelid, fairly certain he'd find a ceiling above him and not the thrashing jaws of a squirrel. But a shadow lurked directly before him -- black as the hand of death come to render his soul from his body. In terror, his body tried to swallow but that enflamed the already ransacked throat. Screwing up both eyes, Alistair risked facing this impenetrable demon head on. As he opened his eyes fully, light landed upon a curl down the back, a curve of her soft cheek, and that scar bisecting down it nearly faded to nothing.

  "Lanny?" Alistair gasped, blinking against what had to be another illusion about to vanish into smoke.

  But she leaned closer, her deep eyes searching up and down his face as that smile -- the one he'd never forget no matter how hard he hit his head -- filled her cheeks. "I'm guessing that fever didn't damage your memory too bad," she said. There were a few quills jammed in her hair, just like how she'd wear it when they were on a down time from saving the world.

  "How are you...where am...?" Alistair turned away from the surprise woman to take in the very familiar bed posts, paintings on the wall, and collection of dolls upon a high shelf. He was in his bedroom, safe, with Lanny. "What's going on?" he rasped out before gagging upon the pain.

  Barely slitting open the veil, Lanny waved her fingers causing a blue glow to sparkle off them. The cooling sensation was instantaneous, as if someone dumped a pound of peppermint down his throat. "Thank you," Alistair gasped.

  Lanny smiled sweetly at him and nodded. She slid closer to his prostrated form upon what had to be his bed. Alistair tried to sit up to greet her, but she laid the back of her fingers against his forehead. It wasn't a tender move, but he felt the pain in his body lessen at the minor physical contact.

  "Hm, fever's still present but it's gone down," Lanny said to herself. Taking her hand off, she suddenly bent down and placed her head against his chest.

  "Ah," Alistair stuttered, feeling an urge to cup her pile of spirals spilling off him and down the bed, but his hands lay exhausted against the sheets.

  "Damn," she sighed at herself and began to undo the first two buttons on his pajamas. That had to amp up Alistair's fever tenfold, the beautiful woman tugging apart his clothing to lay her cheek against his skin. Maybe this was still a dream.

  "Can you take in a deep breath for me?" Lanny ordered.

  "Maybe," Alistair struggled, trying to keep his voice normal while staring up at the ceiling. He remembered that vision of Lanny's head nestled tight to his chest and what was usually entangled with it. That was not the reaction his body needed right now. Sucking in air, he puffed up his cheeks and slowly let it out.

  "Okay," Lanny sat up and inched away from the bed. "There's some obvious congestion in your lungs but nowhere near as bad as before. Maker, you do not want to know how much fluid I got out of your lungs."

  "Probably not," Alistair blinked, trying to piece together what the hell happened to cause Lanny to appear in his bedroom. Was it a gift from the Satinalia trickster and also over six months early?

  "Heart rate's a bit erratic," she continued to list off his symptoms with a detached tone before turning back to him and smiling, "but I think I can guess why."

  "Ah ha," Alistair knew he was blushing now, his skin burning bright against the white sheets, "yeah, that uh, I'm sorry. Why are you here?"

  After jotting a few things down on a scroll she pinned to the wall -- Maker, somethings never changed -- she shuffled back to him by the bed. "A few more questions first to see if you broiled your brains or not. What's your name?"

  "Mister Tibbles!" Alistair exclaimed, the name landing on his tongue from the ether. He focused on Lanny who looked gobsmacked, her lips hanging wide open. "The frog trying to defend me in my dream, it was Mister Tibbles -- Spud's favorite toy. He looked good in that army uniform."

  "Okay," Lanny's eyes kept glancing over to piles of half empty bottles along a side table. He didn't remember the table being there, and certainly not the glass paraphernalia. "Try this again, what's your name, not the frog's."

  "The Reluctant King Alistair the First, Maker willing."

  That drew a smile, "And what year is it."

  "9:47 Dragon, which is proving to be one of the shittiest ages on record."

  Lanny tipped her head in agreement but didn't respond. "Well, you remember me, your own name, your daughter, and her toy, I doubt there was any significant memory loss."

  Alistair willed his hand to lift up off the bed, pain seared through the joints and he gritted his teeth but damn it he was going to try. He felt Lanny watching the move, her fingers poised to wipe away the pain with the magic, but she waited until he asked. "If that's all done, can you tell me why you're here?"

  "Sorry," she blushed, a hint of that stammering mage he met nearly seventeen years ago popping up. Grabbing onto her cane propped by the desk, Lanny got it under her as she limped out of his bedroom door. Alistair tried to sit up to watch but his body was of no mood to obey. Through the silent castle, he heard Lanny's beautiful voice say, "He's awake."

  That set off a lightning storm inside the castle, one that struck a hive of hornets as a thousand voices suddenly erupted into chattering and feet slapping up and down the stones. Maker's sake, what was going on? Alistair redoubled his efforts to sit up, when Lanny returned. She'd tugged a hood over her head, rendering most of her striking features down to shadow while sliding to the side. Beside her dashed Teagan. There was a nervous tic to his jaw, but it lightened immeasurably as his eyes fell upon Alistair sitting up in bed and blinking.

  "Sire!" he cried, all but falling to his knees in reverence.

  "I get the feeling I missed a lot," Alistair said.

  "No, wait, stop," a voice hissed out of the dark
ness of his other rooms. It had no chance to stop the blue blur flying under Teagan's legs and hopping up onto the bed.

  Alistair groaned as thirty pounds of child smashed into his tender chest, but the pain faded away as he managed to wrap an arm around Spud. "Daddy, daddy, daddy," she repeated, clinging tight and burying her face in his bedshirt.

  "I'm here, Tater tot," he whispered, tears springing to his eyes from the unfettered relief wafting off his daughter. The others kept it in check for his sake, but Spud was too young to have that trained into her. Her "Daddy's" continued, each one stampeding into the next as if she didn't need a breath.

  "And so are you," he smiled, the tug of his daughter's body renewing the purpose in his own.

  "Sire, I'm so sorry," Marn appeared, her eyes wide as she gazed down at him.

  Dread filled Alistair's lungs. If Marn was apologizing to him, how blighted near death was he?

  "Come along, child. Your father needs rest," Marn tried to tug Spud out of his hands but neither the girl nor father wanted to give up. It grew into a bit of a tug of war, the reunion wishing to last while Marn had her duty to perform for the sake of appearances and what not.

  It wasn't until Lanny spoke up from her corner, "It would be best to keep any compromised children away for fear of passing the fever on."

  Her voice drew the attention of Marn who glanced back at the tiny mage doing her best to blend in with the wall. No one was supposed to know of her existence, she was risking so much by setting foot in Denerim never mind the palace. Accepting that she was right, Alistair let his hands fall off Spud. She raised her head, and tears streaked down those rosy cheeks. "Daddy?"

  "I'll be here, I promise, but Daddy needs rest so he can get better and we can play together. Okay?"

  "I don't..." she tried to argue, but Marn scooped up her hand and pulled the girl away from him. A chill knocked against his body where his daughter held him and Alistair tried to not shiver.

  "I'll see you again soon, Spuddy. And, there should be some toys for you in the gear and stuff we brought back." That last bit brightened her eyes instantly, the girl craning her head back to stare the bottomless question at Marn.

  "Yes, fine, we'll go and find some. Thank you ever so much, your Majesty," the nanny bowed deep in sarcasm which made Alistair feel much better. Everything was back to normal.

  His eyes darted to the dark woman shuffling over the bottles and inspecting her papers.

  Almost normal.

  "Sire," Teagan stepped forward before his eyes trailed out the door. Alistair tried to lean forward to follow and he caught the right side of his bodyguard doing her best to be present without interfering. He raised his hand and tried to give a small wave to her. It must have been enough as a whisper of a smile lifted up her pretty lips.

  "How are you healing?" Teagan interrupted, doing his best to not watch the small display between King and Guardswoman, though Alistair caught Lanny's curious eyes inspecting it.

  "Feels like my body was crushed by a broodmother hug," Alistair groaned.

  "I, uh," Teagan glanced back at the other grey warden in the room and she rolled her eyes, "take it that's a bad thing."

  Lanny limped towards Teagan and spoke up for Alistair, "His fever remains but the dangerous heat has broken. There's some residual mucus in the lungs and there will be pain in the joints for most likely a few more days but..." she smiled brightly at him, "I think the worst has passed."

  "He will live," Teagan sighed in relief.

  "Yes, assuming you do exactly as I say," Lanny tacked on, glaring down at her most obstinate patient.

  "I always do, you know that," Alistair tossed out. He was good at following her orders on the battlefield, a bit less so when it came to matters of poultices and when to change bandages. It got so bad in the woods, she left him to Wynne for a good month. Aware of his stubbornness when it came to medicating himself, Lanny crossed her arms and glared.

  "Well, I should let our healer here continue to mend you to health. Your Highness," Teagan bowed.

  "Did, uh," Alistair interrupted, "did anyone else get sick?" His eyes darted out the door to the woman listening in, hoping she was safe from this.

  "Only you, Sire."

  "Thank the Maker for small miracles," Alistair said back. He wanted to speak to Reiss, to make certain that nothing bad befallen her but with Teagan and...Andraste's fiery underpants, how was Lanny here?

  Good to his word, Teagan swept up out the door but not before grabbing Lanny's hand and shaking it warmly. After the doors closed and she waited a beat for the feet to die away, Lanny tugged off her hood and tried to reanimate her smooshed curls. When she was satisfied with the bounce, Lanny smiled down at him, "How are you really feeling?"

  "Like five broodmothers sat on me," Alistair confessed.

  "I'd assumed as such," she sighed and crossed the floor to him. "May I?" Lanny asked while gesturing to his bed. Alistair nodded and she sat perched upon the edge. With her eyes shut tight, he could see the signs of wear building below her sockets, her normally dewy skin matte.

  "No offense, but you look exhausted," Alistair said, focusing on her cracked lips.

  The coca butter beauties split into a smile and she turned back at him, "No offense, but you should see yourself. You look near death."

  "Was I? I...how are you here? What happened?"

  "Teagan," Lanny said her fingers gripping onto the edge of the bed. "When you collapsed he sent for me with the sending crystal. Which you've got in the memorial?"

  "People tended to look at me weird when I'd be talking to thin air. I figured no one would look twice if I started conversing with a dead woman, as confusing as that sounds."

  Lanny tipped her head at either his ingenuity or idiocy. It was hard to say. "I'm exhausted because I traveled by horseback for four days across country, then ran up to your room, and spent the next day tending to you. Sleep's barely been an option." She groaned, her overwrought fingers digging into hangdog shoulders. Guilt tried to find purchase in Alistair's gut, but it rumbled in wrath at the hollowness knotting through him. When did he last eat?

  "What-" His sentence scattered into coughing, Alistair barely able to get a fist up which splattered with yellow and green mucus.

  With a slow eye, Lanny gazed over it, "No blood, that's a good sign."

  "There was blood?" Alistair tried to not shriek but his voice lifted high into the rafters. "Maker's sake, are you certain I'm not dead right now?"

  Her cool fingers skirted across his forehead, drawing down his faux panic as she smiled, "Fairly certain and I know a thing or two about being dead."

  "Is it safe for you to be here, in the palace with so many people watching?" Alistair waved his hands around the room as if the only other pair of eyes weren't in her beautiful face. "How'd you even manage to sneak in here?"

  "Teagan. Though I am aware of a few ways to get past the guards there wasn't much time to waste by gathering up ten lost seals," Lanny said. She let her hand fall off her shoulders and stared at both resting in her lap. The woman looked as if she wanted to stretch out beside him in the bed and take a nap. Scrunching up his nose, Alistair tried to shake that idea away even if it sounded nice and soothing. There was less a down and dirty appeal to cuddling beside her, more being near another's body that was happy to put up with him.

  Unaware of his thoughts, Lanny staggered to her feet, causing the bed to lift as she picked up her cane. Must be a new one, again. This was even less subtle than the last one, oak for a base with silver runes carved into the wood, but what made it stand out as an obvious mage's staff was the blue crystal radiating energy at the top. Maybe the little mage was getting tired of hiding. Her fingers ran across the bottles piled upon the table and she groaned, "I found nearly every tincture and tonic known to man brewed up and left here."

  "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?"