My Love

by Sabrina Zbasnik

  Their kiss broke as their son began to wiggle his legs more, flailing them to try and stave off the nap. "Our little boy," she cooed to him, her fingers massaging up and down his waist. "We should really pick a name for him."

  "You have some thoughts already on that," Cullen said. He didn't ask because he knew the answer.

  "Perhaps, a few, to run by you. Seeing as how someone was so certain we'd have a girl," she drew her teeth across her lip, all but inviting him to kiss his wife again.

  Cullen felt as if his heart might burst from all of this, but Maker's breath was it a wonderful feeling to have. "I love you," he said, "and I know you. You've already got your heart set on what you want."

  "That..." she frowned, then wrinkled her nose the same way their son did before yawning. "Ma-a-ybe," the word stretched with her own exhaustion. "Why am I always so tired?"

  "Because you made that," he tipped his head over to the baby that was already slipping back to sleep.

  "Seems a lousy excuse," Lana murmured. "Walked the deep roads for weeks, took down a brood mother, then a crazy dwarf with a bunch of golems. Did it all on four hours of sleep a night." Her rant faded as she pressed her cheek tighter to his chest. "I suppose I should head back to the room."

  Cullen shifted and glanced behind him. "Why? We have a bed right there. Come here." With one hand around her waist, he guided his wife back towards the bed. He lay down first, their son cuddled up in his left arm while Lana claimed the right side. Against his skin he could feel her smile as she softly touched the tip of their boy's nose.

  "Do you want me to hold him?"

  "No," he sighed, holding the entire world in his arms. "There's enough room for you both."

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Moving On Up

  39 weeks...

  Everything was pristine white. Not painted white -- when left to her own devices Reiss defaulted yellow while Alistair kept insisting on green -- but it felt white. Crisper than chantry robes that never set foot outside their hallowed halls. Her first time into the nursery Reiss jammed her hands into her pockets out of fear of smudging up anything.

  While the legitimate children's rooms were on the west side of the palace, this rested on the east closer to the King's room. It wasn't chosen right next to his which told Reiss that there'd no doubt been many arguments over just where to stick the elven mistress who spawned her way back to the palace. At least it wasn't a broom closet, Reiss mused.

  But no, the father would have kicked up a major fuss if she or their child were jammed into a forgotten corner of the palace and given only scraps to eat. Still, she didn't expect this kind of expense given to the bastard child of a King.

  Soft light lanced through a rose stained glass window, casting a cherry wood rocking chair in a heavenly light. A long, plump cushion rested upon the seat and back, beckoning any and all to fall into its embrace. Various tapestries of animals hung upon the grey stone walls. Not so much of the fuzzy and happy variety, but there weren't too many beheadings to traumatize a child. Nestled along the cozier walls were chests of drawers jammed with all the clothing any child would need seemingly from age zero to fifteen.

  When exploring on her own Reiss first unearthed a dress she suspected would have fit her pre-pregnancy. Just how long did they plan on using this room for her kid? The thought turned to an icy fear until she began to dig through the drawers and realized there was a highly detailed system for the clothing. No doubt it was Karelle who came up with it, running off of vague suggestions from the King and not Alistair himself who expected her to remain here until their baby was old enough to squire.

  While all the clothes were of a fine make, some almost bearing glints of gold and she feared a jewel here or there, it was the crib that caused Reiss to gasp. Carved from iron bark and darker than mahogany, it had a great headboard to the front which bore the Theirin crest. No doubt to remind anyone who stumbled upon the little baby sleeping inside that this was the King's child. She assumed it was the same crib used for the other two children, until Reiss drew nearer to spot the etchings dug deep into the crib's railing and bars.

  Running down and across it were words in elvish. She recognized the old lullaby her mother often sung, as well as a blessing that the other elves in the refugee camp would pass around the fire. Some of it she had no clue of, which Alistair did his best to translate. Seemed it was a gift from the Dalish, the people never forgetting the King who nearly risked his life to save their child. Given that they were rather happy on their land, he figured the words weren't a curse upon him and his house. Hoped, at least.

  In an ingenious elven fashion, the crib was designed to rock like a cradle, while later be locked in place by a mechanism for when the child grew. She'd never seen anything so well crafted or so beautiful in her life. Nearly everything in the room was far too good for the woman terrified to touch it. Maker, how was she going to keep it clean and away from a baby?

  "Hello, gorgeous," Alistair's sunny voice called from the door. She turned slowly, feeling as if an entire moon was orbiting around her stomach while doing so. A bright smile beamed upon Alistair's face as he stared at her. "Maker, I love having you around so I can do that."

  "Do what?" Reiss asked.

  Sliding into the nursery, Alistair wrapped one arm around her expanding waist and kissed her cheek. "Say hello whenever I feel like," he whispered to her.

  She couldn't respond, already feeling a return of the blush. It was taking her some time to adjust to the idea of being out in the open in the palace. It's not as if people weren't well aware the two of them were having an affair, in particular when her stomach entered a room long before she managed. And they'd been nice so far, Karelle chuckling at some of Reiss' good natured grumbling and Renata offering to save her the better leftovers. Maybe this wouldn't be such a long year after all.

  "Ugh," Alistair groaned, then twisted his overloaded arm around to drag Cailan's face up to his. "You are a squirmy worm, you know that?" The boy giggled ferociously, his fingers stuck inside a pair of gauntlets far too big for him. He kept waving the fingers then laughing.

  "Where's your daughter?" Reiss asked. It was rare to find him with one and not the other.

  "She's off at her princess lessons. You know, don't eat your soup with the salad fork. Don't spit on the floor. Don't finish a sentence with a preposition. The real boring and pointless stuff. So..." He hauled Cailan up into his arms and bonked his forehead into the boy's. That got another brash of laughter from the child. "It's just me and him for a little while. Isn't that right?"

  Reiss expected a tiny yes from her presence, or a blast of agreement because he forgot she was there. Instead the boy merely giggled more then twisted in his father's arms. Despite the strain, Alistair hung on, the rising bicep bulging up through his royal tunic drawing Reiss' attentions.

  "Little pipsqueak," he groaned at his son, "he's up and decided to not talk today. No idea why. Just thinks it's more fun to giggle at everyone, don't you?"

  Another hard laugh echoed from Cailan's wide mouth as his father tickled against the boy's sides. "Are you gonna talk now? What if I do this...?" Twisting him quickly, Alistair managed to catch both of Cailan's ankles together in one hand and dangled the boy upside down.

  The gauntlets slid off with a heavy thud, but the child found it all hilarious. His laughter was so infectious, Reiss felt her cheeks splitting in joy. Alistair let the boy dangle closer to the floor, Cailan's jet black locks sweeping across the rug. Still he laughed, even as his father gently lowered him to the floor until Cailan rested upon his back.

  "Maker's sake," Alistair groaned, trying to massage his overexerted bicep. "When did you get so heavy? I swear, last I checked you were all of ten pounds. Eh," he softly nudged the tip of his boot into the boy, "where's all this extra weight coming from?"

  Shaking off the laughter from his son grabbing onto his shoe and promptly untying the laces, Alistair glanced over at Reiss. She knew there was a blush to her cheeks from how
easily she was pulled into his web. Sweet Andraste, he was deliriously sexy while playing with his kids. Reiss didn't see the two often, but enough to know that...it may be hard for her to keep her hands off of Alistair once he held their child.

  Her hand drifted across her stomach, getting a solid kick in response. Catching on, perhaps because the kid's limbs were evident even through her widening maternity dress, Alistair scooped a hand around her waist and asked, "How are you doing?"

  "Feeling very, very fat," Reiss groaned.

  "You're not fat. It doesn't count as fat when it's nothing but baby in your stomach," he chuckled, his fingers drifting back to dig through her hair. She let down the bun, but kept half of it pinned back in a low ponytail. It was enough to make Alistair happy while also keeping the hair out of her face.

  "What if I ate a baby? Would that still count as not fat?" Reiss prodded as she tipped her head to his shoulder. When not exhausted she felt useless. It'd only been a few days since she moved up to the palace, and already she was out of anything to do. Alistair offered her the chance to sit in on court, and aside from being wildly inappropriate, she'd rather eat rusty glass than join him.

  "You've got me there," Alistair admitted. "If you plan on eating babies for constant five course meals I guess I can't ever call you fat."

  His other hand drifted across her always widening stomach. Reiss thought she was large before when it prodded a bit out and none of her old pants fit. Maker was she an idiot. Now she drifted through life like one of those river barges used to cart around livestock, barely mobile and liable to barrel through anything in the way. Lunet all but hauled her ass up to the palace district after Reiss accidentally knocked over her stack of files for the fifth time.

  "Feeling tired? Need a nap?" he asked her softly, before glancing down at the boy that was now attempting to tie the shoes he undid. "What about you? It's nearly time for your nap."

  Cailan, true to whatever vow he took, shook his head a giant negative but didn't voice it. His bright blue eyes shone while he tried to figure out how to make those little loops and knots all the other shoes had. She hadn't run into Beatrice yet, though Alistair assured her ever since the pre-crowning ceremony with the princess the Queen's wrath had cooled to polite indifference. Still... Maybe Reiss could stick to one side of the castle for a year without anyone noticing.

  Pinching away a round of 'everything in her body not feeling normal' Reiss shook her head and then tripped into Alistair's fawning eyes. He twiddled a finger through her hair, curling it back behind her ears before trailing up the edge to caress the tip. Still an elf. Always an elf. Blushing, Reiss felt an urge to grab onto this man who was no doubt meant to be in a national meeting and take him to bed. Not for anything romantic, she doubted she'd be up for that for months for how she despised her body, but to lay upon, to nap beside him. He made for the best pillow.

  "Sire!" A short man dashed into the room and bowed. Alistair turned from Reiss but didn't release his hand off her waist. It's okay, Rat. They all know you two are a thing. Don't panic over it.

  "That'd be me," Alistair chuckled, then wiggled the toes in his boot at Cailan to add, "right sired?"

  The man yanked off his messenger cap to reveal a set of pointy ears. Tipping lower, he tugged a small letter from the back pocket and pressed it into Alistair's hand. "Just arrived, Sire. Thought it looked like something you'd want."

  "Thanks, it's..." he twisted it around in boredom, then smiled wider. "This is just what I needed." Alistair clasped the man on the shoulder and a great grin broke over the elf's lips.

  Placing back on his hat, he nodded once to his King then turned to go. But, for a brief second his eyes lingered on Reiss. It was so fast she easily could have convinced herself that she imagined the look of disgust that curdled his lip before the elf turned to leave out the door. She wanted to point it out to Alistair, but he was too busy yanking open the letter to read it. While his eyes slid up and down, his face went from ecstatic, to concerned, back to overjoyed, and finally blank.

  "Well..." Reiss prompted.

  "It's Lanny, she's had her baby! A boy, much to the templar's chagrin," Alistair snickered.

  "Already?" Reiss groaned. They hadn't been perfectly synched up but Reiss had hoped she'd be the one to go first, if only to cut down on the agony of waiting.

  At that Alistair's eyebrows pinched together, "Over two weeks ago, he came early. Really early, barely even four pounds."

  "Maker's breath!" Reiss gasped, "Are they...?"

  "They're doing okay, looks like. Lanny's good, and the baby's getting bigger, eating lots she says. But..." His voice trailed off as the far too short letter wafted in his hands.

  Reiss drew her fingers over the back of his, cupping his hands tight as she tried to scrounge the contents of the letter through Alistair's eyes. He blinked, aware that he was being stupid and whispered, "She says the taint's back." No! "It's why the baby came so early. Then Lanny assures me that she'll work on another answer, get this licked. The usual stubborn bits I'd come to expect from her."

  Not again. Reiss had done her best to not think about the curse of the Grey Wardens when he first told her and what it would mean to him, to them both. So little time remained in comparison to what they could have had and the thought of it stung her. All those missing years. She'd been so overjoyed when this potion seemed to work and now... "Alistair," Reiss drew her hands around his back, and he followed suit, the pair of them falling into a hug.

  "There's probably gonna be another joining on my horizon soonish. That'll be fun because the first was nothing but fluffy bunnies and candy colored rainbows. I'm..." he shook it off, the smile she expected slapping into place. "This is a problem later. There's a baby. A baby she says looks just like his father. Poor kid. But a baby! That's celebrating time."

  "Are you...?" She knew when he was dodging, but also that sometimes he had to.

  His breathing slowed as the hands behind Reiss tightened. Taking in the enormity of his looming mortality, Alistair placed his lips against her forehead and began to place wandering kisses. "Lanny's alive. Her baby's alive. It's a good day, even if..."

  "It is a good day," Reiss assured him, those sweet brown eyes honing in on hers, "and I'm almost jealous that she's done with having to cart around a giant stomach."

  Alistair smiled painfully, the lift of his lips sliding quickly down but he cupped a hand against Reiss' stomach and whispered, "Don't listen to her, little one. You take all the time you need in there."

  "Fine," Reiss groaned, "but next one you're carrying."

  He chuckled at that and moved to kiss her lips when a blur suddenly popped up and grabbed his hand away from her belly. Cailan's expectant eyes stared up at his father the way a mabari's would. "What do you want?" Alistair asked.

  "Sissy!" Cailan shrieked, breaking his vow of silence.

  "Of course," Alistair groaned while lifting the boy up into his arms. "Out of every single thing I tried to get him to say, Spud's the only one he cares about. Couldn't even get cake from him."

  Cailan laughed at that, his busy fingers fiddling with something else upon Alistair's busy shirt. "You sure do love your sister, which I guess is better than you two hating each other. Last thing Ferelden needs is another civil war because 'He ripped the head off my dolly when I was six!'"

  Without Alistair to hold it, Reiss' fingers drifted back to her stomach trying to calm the flutters from within. Every day they'd start up giving her hope that proper labor would begin, and every day they'd recede back to nothing. What if this kid didn't come out, ever? What if she was cursed to be forever pregnant?

  "I'd better take this little critter back to his nanny, then it's to the mines. Karelle had something about a tax increase levied to..." Alistair let his head slump forward, fake snores reverberating out of his nose. Shaking it off with a laugh, he cupped Reiss' cheek and kissed her quick on the lips.

  "Good luck," she said while Alistair, holding tight to his son, slowly shuffl
ed his feet. He couldn't properly walk because the child had managed to fully tie his laces across the shoes into an unbreakable knot.

  "You two stay safe, and comfortable," he called behind him, "I'll check in on you later. Hopefully before dinner but you know how exciting tax codes are."

  As the King and also father of her child left the little nursery, Reiss ran her hand over the elven etchings into the crib. She had no idea what the future would bring but, by the Maker, she wanted to face it head on already. This waiting was killing her.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  O Holy Night

  41 weeks...

  "Daddy!" The princess' high pitched squeal of excitement echoed around the grand hall as she snatched onto a ribbon and began to peel out between trees. A near on dozen of the saplings sat in decorated buckets lining one side of the room. The other was filling with stacks of gifts and also plates of nuts. While the piles of children staying in the palace for Satinalia pawed and prodded at the gifts, it was the trees that enraptured their future Queen.

  She was in high spirits doing her best to help the other servants decorate the trees in time for the festivities tomorrow. Karelle kept glancing over at the nanny, Marn too busy with the multitude of cousins to care, then back to the child who blew a full bucket of glitter at the once gold and silver trees. And, of course, the entire time her father kept secretly encouraging her.

  "Looking good, Spuddy!" Alistair called while sticking up a thumb. He'd snatched up one of the red and white helmets traditionally worn by the marching armies of Andraste and perched it upon his head. Normally they decorated the statues set about, or were left upon the trees as part of the old diversionary tactic. But there was barely a hat in thedas that didn't beckon to the King of Ferelden.

  Dashing between him were all the piles of servants racing to make this a wonderful Satinalia tomorrow. The Queen directed from the dais, her opinion taken as law and usually overriding whatever suggestion Alistair threw out. It was probably for the best as he seemed to only concern himself with the dessert table's placement.