My Love

by Sabrina Zbasnik

  She smiled at that, "I don't think Lorace got the idea until he was nearly five."

  "And you never let your brother forget, I bet," Alistair smiled at her. Reiss only lifted a shoulder, but the ornery grin told him all he needed to know. "Anyway, castle's sleeping all that off when not pursuing hordes of children in various stages of sugar berserk rages. All I had was a meeting this morning with the Denerim crew and a few letters to answer. Oh and keeping up the diary for Lanny. Day 65 since I took your potion, still no dreams. Can't sense darkspawn, but there are very few in the city for some reason. Perhaps they're not impressed with the spring salons this year. The horrifically tainted are so fickle. All in all, seems to be working."

  Reiss tugged their clasped hands together, drawing him away from his story telling gaze right to her eyes. A hint of tears brimmed in them as she whispered, "Good."

  Cupping her cheek, Alistair bent over to press his forehead to hers. "I'm sticking around as long as I can," he promised her and moved to press his lips to hers and seal the deal.

  Suddenly, Reiss yanked her head back, a hand flying up to her mouth. Her entire face knotted up in concern and panic as she whipped around searching for something, but after a moment it seemed to pass. "Sorry, I've been fighting this Maker awful stomach bug for the past few days. Because," she raised her voice to be heard through the boxes, "someone brought in tainted potato salad!"

  Lunet's groan pierced through the barricade, "How long do you intend to blame me for that?"

  "Until I stop vomiting comes to mind."

  "I already swore I wouldn't get any lunch from that cart ever again. What more do you want from me? My blood?"

  Reiss sighed, "Do not tempt me."

  Softly, Alistair parted his fingers over her forehead, noticing how clammy it felt to his touch. "Are you pushing yourself? Should I go? I don't want you to get sicker for my sake."

  Smiling, she wrapped her arms around the back of his neck and tugged her head against his chest. "Please stay. I feel better when you're around."

  "Okay," he sighed, dipping down to pull her fully into a hug, "but I'm guessing this means dinner is out."

  That same seasick queasy face returned, Reiss shaking her head away. It passed just as quick as before and she snarled, "I'm going to kill Lunet."

  "You say that every time I visit," Alistair chuckled. "Come on, you should probably take it easy. Bosses can take half days after all."

  He expected her to argue, she always did whenever he showed up early, often leaving the King to prod around in her desk drawing things or sometimes questioning witnesses that strolled in. But this must have hit harder than she let on as Reiss nodded her head and slipped to her legs. With her arms still wrapped around him, she turned her head to shout, "Lunet, I'm heading upstairs to rest. You can handle lock up."

  "Already figured I would," she shouted back as smug as ever.

  Reiss rolled her eyes but curled tighter to him. Together they took the long stairs up to her private apartment where hopefully no one below would overhear their vigorous reunion.

  ***

  She meant to rest, but when Alistair's fingers began to slide across her back undoing a stuck button to help her into her pajamas, well...

  "You need a bigger bed," he complained, as he always did for every visit.

  "Last I checked, there's only one of me," she sighed, snuggling tighter against his warm chest. Those fingers that'd teased and tempted her body carefully parted her fallen hair. Reiss stopped keeping anything in her bun on the days she knew Alistair would arrive. It was only going to wind up crashing to the ground anyway.

  "What about Muse?" he pressed a kiss to her hair, as if sealing his job at combing it, letting those strong hands traipse down her naked back.

  "The dog does not sleep in my bed," Reiss growled. "Maker's sake, there's barely enough room for me."

  "Ah ha!" he cried, trying to sit up but it was impossible with all of her laying on top of him. "It is too small."

  Struggling up to her elbows, she crawled higher to stare deep into those cocksure eyes. Muse didn't whine and wheedle as great as Alistair did, probably because it didn't work for the dog unlike the human. Brushing her swollen nose against the side of his, Reiss tasted those tender lips still flushed from their exertions. He seemed to abandon his thoughts on the bed, Alistair's hands skirting up around her waist to tug her tighter against his stomach.

  Maker's breath, she moaned in the back of her throat. The nights in her bed had felt particularly lonely as of late, their last encounter being of the official variety save a quick lunch together. It felt like weeks since he'd massaged the pads of his palms into her hips or rolled them back to cup her ass.

  Reiss noticed that the potion the Hero created for the both of them seemed to be having another effect, age finally creeping up to take down his infamous appetite. But the small layer of fluff that turned mountains of abs into molehills didn't damper an inch of her desire. It was kinda fun to snuggle to a softer body and not worry about a bone prodding into her more tender flesh.

  "I missed you," Alistair moaned, his fingers skirting off her hips to curl up her stomach. Ever so softly he graced those palms against her breasts, but it was pain instead of pleasure that seared against Reiss' skin. She sat up fast, her hands slipping over both to try and coddle them tight.

  Wincing at the pain and concern in his eyes, she sighed, "Sorry, they've been temperamental lately."

  "Oh," his hands barely drew against her naked thigh, those sweet brown eyes weighing her attempting to soothe her aching chest. "Reiss, did I hurt you before? I..."

  "No, no," she raced to comfort him, "it comes and goes at random. Been doing it for a few days now."

  "That's why no metal breastplate," Alistair mused, surprising her.

  "You noticed that?" she turned to him, that investigator always on the lookout for new talent honing in on him.

  He chuckled, both hands splaying against the pillow in a strange defeat, "Noticed, stared enraptured at your chest. Tomato, red orange." The cheeky smile caught her in a familiar loop, both of them grinning like idiots upon each other, when it suddenly fell. "You're not sick, are you?"

  "You mean aside from whatever stomach knot Lunet put me under?" she groaned, glad it was fading. Perhaps she'd finally overcome the slippery thing. It felt like it'd been a good week she'd suffered this barely simmering flu, which wasn't entirely surprising. Reiss had a habit of pushing herself too hard for too long.

  Exhausted, she curled up back on top of her husband, her fingers climbing up and down the feathery chest hair. "I doubt it's anything serious. It'll pass in time."

  "I'm more worried about pains in your chest, that can be deadly," the usually sunny voice skipped deeper into a hole, his eyes burning through her dilapidated ceiling.

  "Alistair," Reiss whispered his name which always seemed to calm him. "They're tender is all. It can happen. Maybe the breastplate is pinching too tight, or I laid on my stomach too long, or..."

  A thought trickled through her mind.

  No.

  They'd already been down that road before. It wasn't possible, as she'd proven to herself over the years.

  "Or...?" Alistair prompted, staggering up to stare into her eyes. But Reiss was too busy glaring through the air to look back at him.

  Sixty five days since he was in theory clean of the taint. What if...?

  Oh Maker.

  Reiss slid off him, her feet hitting the ground as she hunted for clothing. Most of hers was scattered to the four winds of her tiny apartment, Reiss not being one to cling to orderliness. She snagged on a pair of trousers, then slipped her hands through a robe. Far too large for her, she usually kept it around for Alistair in the event there were any surprises knocking upon her door and he had to clothe himself quickly.

  The man sat up on her bed, "What are you doing?"

  "Downstairs," she said, wadding up a pair of pants and hurling them at Alistair, "I think everyone's gone for the day, bu
t just in case."

  He held them up in utter confusion, those expressive eyebrows knotted together. "In case of what?"

  Reiss yanked open the door, causing the oversized robe to expand and leave her sternum further exposed. Normally, she'd blush at so much of her skin being free but her mind was too busy broiling in concern. No, not again. Padding down the stairs, she emerged out into her desk area still swamped by the wall of evidence. Barely any light flickered from the fire beyond her mess, and she heard no noises out in the agency, but still she held her breath while yanking open drawers and digging through them.

  "What are you doing?" Alistair asked, his voice hissing as he attempted to slide a shirt on over his head.

  "Looking," Reiss answered back, not meaning to be smart, her brain too focused on the hunt. "I know it's here, somewhere."

  "I wouldn't be surprised if you have the Sword of Mercy somehow lost in one of these boxes," Alistair mused, his fingers running over one of them.

  Shuffling through sheafs of papers and upending ink bottles, Reiss ransacked her own desk about to give up hope when her prize rolled out from the back of the drawer. Leftover from a potion master case, they'd been using up the evidence as it became clear no one was going to collect the stock. A handful of the more useful but less necessary ones wound up under her eye. It was stupid, there was no reason for her to keep this one, but Lunet said it wasn't as if she'd ever need it, so it fell to the boss.

  With a set in her shoulders, Reiss placed the bottle onto her desk. It drew Alistair's eye away from whatever had captured it. "Okay, I'm guessing you found whatever you needed."

  "Not quite yet," she sighed. Glancing around her desk, she turned and spotted the ceremonial sword her lover gave her for saving his life. She scooped up the bottle off her desk and marched over to it. Steadying her finger, she plunged it against the point.

  "What are you doing?" Alistair hissed, watching Reiss dribble a drop of blood into the bottle. It swirled with her scarlet life before fading back to crystal clear.

  She held the bottle tight, her eyes hunting over it. "Blue and it's empty," she recited the mantra from what felt another lifetime ago. Alistair's fingers landed on her shoulders, kneading into the robe's neck as he must have felt her anxiety. "Red and..."

  Reiss thought it'd take time, it had before, enough for her to unstick her tongue and voice the fear nibbling in her ear, but like flipping a switch the entire potion bottle turned bright red. Her fingers began to shake, the ruby liquid sloshing back and forth before she tucked it tight to her chest.

  Holy shit.

  "Red and...?" Alistair prompted. "Are you okay? What's wrong?"

  "I," Reiss swallowed her fears and turned to find him. He looked panic stricken, the same fear on his face he wore when he thought she'd been lost to the darkspawn. Gently she placed her fingers to his face and sighed, "Red and there's a baby. I'm pregnant."

  "You..." his eyes darted down first to the bottle declaring for all to see, then to her queasy but flat stomach. "You're, there's a...but how...? Oh shit!" he groaned, "oh shit, shit, shit! I didn't think that it would. I mean, it's been years, and years ,and..." He gulped, sweat percolating on his brow as the pair of them absorbed the news.

  Pregnant.

  A baby.

  They were going to have a baby together.

  One half elf to one half king.

  "Reiss," his face was blank, his fingers curling over her cheeks as he lifted her eyes to his. "What are you thinking? Feeling?"

  "I hadn't considered," she blinked, listening deep within herself. There was fear cloaked in trepidation. She'd never had a baby before. What would happen to her body, her life? But... A smile skirted around her lips, her eyes closing in a few soft tears. "I'm happy," she admitted.

  "Oh thank the Maker," a great smile enveloped Alistair's face, his fingers tugging that nearly white hair skyward. "I mean, I'm ecstatic. A baby! Another! To think..." he bent over, his face skirting near her stomach to whisper, "there's one growing inside of there. And with you."

  Alistair staggered up to cup her cheeks, pressing a sweet kiss to her lips, "A child with the woman I love is, well, it's beyond anything I ever dreamed of. To tickle those tiny toes and have big green eyes staring up at me while I try to craftily change a nappy without getting pissed on." He laughed in obvious joy at the thought.

  "The child could have your eyes," Reiss mused, her heart opening up to the possibility. A baby tucked inside of her at this very moment, getting bigger and stronger with her every breath. Her hand wrapped tighter around her stomach. She never really paused to think that being with Alistair meant there were no children on her horizon. It was enough to be with him, but a part of her on occasion regretted the loss with a small pang.

  And now...

  He curled his hand around the back of hers, the pair of them clinging to this miracle of Andraste herself. "I love you," Alistair whispered.

  "I love you too," Reiss smiled, trying to shake off another round of queasiness rising in her gullet. Damn, she'd have to stop blaming Lunet for it.

  A baby. Maker, no matter how many times she thought it, it still sounded impossible. Inside of her.

  "What do we do? What do I do?" she mused to herself.

  "For now," Alistair scooped her up into his arms as effortlessly as their first year together. She giggled, nuzzling tight to his neck, "we head upstairs and celebrate. Later, we'll argue and foot stomp over whether junior should attend a prestigious charter school in the Free Marches or be trained by the Avvar in strategic loincloth placement." It was silly, she had so much to plan but...there was a good nine months left to go. He was right, for now they had something magnificent to celebrate.

  Alistair carried her up a handful of stairs, when he suddenly paused, and blanched white. "And first thing tomorrow I send a missive to Lanny. She'll want to know about this unexpected side effect."

  CHAPTER TWO

  And Baby Makes...

  A bracing wind whipped away the sweat clinging to Cullen's brow. Alas, little could be done to the rest percolating across his back as he finished tacking up the last of the wet sheets still steaming from the boiling cauldron. They'd had help for laundry, but then the ditzy boy ran off and got married. He gave it a month before the kid returned tail between his legs and eyes casting back out of fear of a vengeful in-law.

  Sounds of boots drawing up the path pulled Cullen's attention away from the lines of soggy bed linens to a man stepping proudly up the road. The sun's shadows cast his form in the dark, but Cullen would recognize that proud gait of a templar anywhere. Sliding away from his work, the ex-Knight Captain wiped off his hands against the towel knotted to his belt.

  "Commander," the voice broke through the air.

  Cullen glanced up to find him saluting, as he always did every trip out to the abbey. "Ser Barris," he smiled, reaching over and grasping the man's hand for a generous shake. "You know you need not call me that."

  "You're due your respect, Ser, as are many sequestered here."

  He rarely stayed long, but Cullen enjoyed the man's biannual visits. Barris was what one wanted in a templar, loyal but not blindly, kind but always aware, and he never talked back. Maker, after a week and a half with the squire rejects Lana hired off of Teagan, Cullen was grateful for a man who knew when to hold his tongue.

  Cullen glanced back to the abbey cells, his eyes making quick note of the various colored swatches outside doors. This many years after the collapse of the order they didn't get any fresh cases, but a few were here permanently. Counting three from the left he spotted a green sign hanging off the knob. "Good timing, Ser Barris," he smiled, leading with his arm. The Knight waited until his superior took command, despite knowing exactly where he wished to go. "He is having a good day."

  "Excellent, I'd hope the spring's thaw would do wonders for his constitution," Barris said, trailing behind the watchman of the refuge. A few of the harried help nodded at Cullen in deference, but they were all too busy w
ith their work to properly salute. "How are you?"

  "As well as can be expected. Winter did a number, as it always seems to in these parts of Ferelden. You're from further north, right?"

  "Yes, my family at least. It feels as if I haven't been back in an age," he stared out towards the horizon with a world weary exhaustion Cullen knew far too well. Barris seemed to shake himself from it and smile, "And how is the Lady of the abbey?"

  Cullen chuckled at that. "Lana's well. She's off doing something with potions at the moment, but I'm certain she'll be delighted to talk with you over dinner."

  They paused outside the door to his friend's room, the Knight collapsing his hands behind him. "I shall look forward to it. She is a woman with a sharp mind."

  "And a sharper tongue," Cullen sighed, rolling back and forth on his heels. "Feel free to head in, you know the drill."

  "Thank you, Commander," Barris nodded before pausing. "Oh, I nearly forgot. My path crossed with a messenger bringing this note addressed to the Lady..." He passed over a folded sheet of vellum. Cullen's gut sank before he even caught the familiar seal of the Theirin family.

  "Wonderful," he murmured, pocketing it to give to his wife later.

  "Unwelcome news?"

  "More unwelcome sender," Cullen groaned. They'd been writing near on constant, a lot of it on Lana's side as she prodded her friend and duplicate test subject to keep her informed at all costs. No doubt the King suffered a bout of heartburn and thought it imperative to inform her. On the plus side, at least he didn't arrive here with a retinue to tell her.

  "Forgive me for impeding you. Please, head on in," Cullen stepped back, giving Barris enough room to prop open the door. The sound drew the attentions of a silver haired man who'd been perched upon the bed knitting a scarf that had surpassed twelve feet.