My Love

by Sabrina Zbasnik

  Soul wringing deep.

  A hand was wrapped around his. Huh. He hadn't felt it before. Turning his head a bit, his weary eyes opened enough to spot a tuft of white blonde hair sitting beside him. What was Reiss doing in the palace in the middle of the day? He couldn't see much, his vision shaking like wobbly pudding, but she seemed to be gritting her teeth.

  "Is there anything else you can try?"

  Ah, that'd be Spud. She had on her 'trying to sound diplomatic when I really want to pound your face in' voice. Whoever she was talking to was lucky she wasn't Queen yet. Sometimes Alistair suspected he was the only thing to keep her from snapping and going full tyrant. Not that he could blame her. Somedays he thought about hauling up every Bann and Arl that pissed him off, and dropping them in the dungeons for awhile until they could stop whining at him.

  It wouldn't really solve much beyond ensuring his head would be fit for a pike, but the dream was nice.

  "I'm sorry, your Majesty," a different voice answered his daughter. A high one with a major whine that made Alistair flinch.

  "Reiss..." he whispered, trying to shuffle deeper into the pillows.

  The hand holding his clenched tighter and her beautiful face loomed ever near, "Alistair? What is it?"

  "Shut him up," he groaned before fading into a small wasteland of darkness. It was nice, a bit cold for this time of year, but the blankets of unending nothing had a soothing quality to them.

  Alistair was shaken out of the darkness by a few voices whispering amongst themselves. When he risked a peek he spotted his son had joined into the mix along with Rosie's lover. The three of them were chatting about something, probably Rosie was yelling at Cailan, Cailan was yelling at Rosie, and the assassin was quietly watching. Or Anjali was tearing into Cailan. It seemed to depend on the day with her.

  "What do you want me to do?" his son had his arms crossed, his head tipped down. Worry wafted off him in droves.

  "How should I know?" Rosie's screeching voice caused her father to stir. She never sounded like that unless she was nearing on tears. What was the matter?

  "Alistair," Reiss tried again, rising with him, "here, you should remain resting." Her hand cupped behind his head, feeling as distant as a tower a mile down the road. Slowly she lowered him back to the bed, Alistair glancing over at her.

  "Hey," he attempted to smile but his face felt numb. Damn near everything felt numb really. "Look at you all here. Don't get that very often," his voice rasped out of barely functioning lips.

  "No," Reiss' big beautiful eyes were budding up with tears. She clasped both her hands around Alistair's one and pulled it to her lips. "No, you don't."

  "Wh..." he glanced around in confusion, "where's Myra?"

  Both Cailan and Rosie stared at each other, their lips clearly zipped tight. Reiss pursed her mouth and then attempted to put on a smile, "She's indisposed at the moment."

  "Sounds like Wheaty," Alistair tried to laugh but it ended in a choking sputter. That'd been happening a lot lately, damn early morning phlegm. Or was this night? What time was it anyway?

  And how'd he get into bed in the first place?

  A commotion blew through the darkened room, something invisible shoving aside both Rosie and Cailan until a tiny voice cried out, "Pampy!"

  Shifting in his bed, Alistair couldn't stop the smile in his heart wafting over his lips. "There's my Toffee," he called out. Just at the edge of his watering sight he spotted a full head of black hair and the biggest brown eyes he'd ever seen. She had her hands wrapped around a drawing, no doubt meant for her silly grandpa, but Rosie had a grip onto her daughter's shoulder.

  "Lizzy, now's not a good time," she whispered down to the girl who was staring hard at Alistair.

  Her bottom lip was shoved out and the old man braced himself for an oncoming pout, but Toffee began to sniffle instead of wail. "Mummy?" she craned her head up to Rosie who was lifting up her daughter's hair before laying it back down again. The poor girl looked frightened beyond belief; they all did. Was there a damn pride demon waltzing through the palace?

  Or...

  He couldn't feel the pain, but he remembered it seizing up his chest like a cold vice, air refusing to reach his lungs as he tipped to the ground. Was that how he wound up in bed? Maker, was that why everyone was gathered around staring at him in fear?

  Don't be silly, he was fine. Alistair tried to put on a smile to assure them all, but in shifting it felt as if an entire lung collapsed into custard. The beautiful woman beside him gripped tighter. Her eyes that'd faced down so many unending horrors without flinching began to well up. "Reiss..." he tried to turn to her, to mop away her tears, but she was futzing with the blanket stretched over him. Was she even aware she was crying?

  "Come on, Lizzy," Rosie bundled up her daughter and began to drag her out of the room, "Let's go find Grandma, okay?"

  "Mkay," the girl nodded a moment, her eyes as wide as cheese wheels while she watched her grandfather stretched out in bed.

  "Toffee," he called to her before she was pulled away. With a lift of his fingers, Alistair waved to his first granddaughter. She didn't smile, but she held up her drawing high as if he absolutely had to see it. Sadly, she was pulled away before Alistair had a chance. Well, there was always later.

  "Dad..." Cailan slid a bit closer to his father, but he seemed uncertain as if he too wished to be escorted out of the room. "How are you feeling?"

  "Just peachy," Alistair gasped through his cracked lips. "Water please?" He turned to the woman at his side and Reiss moved to reach for a glass, when his son coughed.

  "The healers said no fluids until...until we're sure."

  Her head dropping down, Reiss mumbled into her chest, "I'm sorry, Alistair. You'll have to wait." The tears wouldn't stop now, each drop plucking at his tender heartstrings.

  With a shaking hand, Alistair cupped her cheek and whispered, "'s okay. I can wait. I'm good at that."

  His eyelids grew heavy and sleep trounced him away before he even managed to pull his hand off of Reiss. The waking world came in spurts to the point he wasn't certain if he imagined it or not. Rosie and Cailan both staring forlornly down at him from above.

  One saying that, "Something should have happened by now."

  And the other backing it up with, "Why isn't it working?"

  Anjali holding a crumbling Rosie tight to her shoulder while Cailan furiously scribbled notes on Alistair's old desk.

  Reiss always sitting primly beside him, her eyes never wavering.

  Where was Myra? She was busy, but she wasn't that busy. Not enough to not be here when...

  A woman's head poked into the room and Alistair's eyes shot open wide as his nose filled with the scent of copper. Blood clung to her apron as she leaned in to speak with Rosie a moment. The princess nodded and gripped onto Reiss' shoulder. "You should go," she said, but not like an order to get rid of her. More as if she didn't want to have to do it, but it had to happen.

  Sighing, Reiss nodded her head. She moved to stand, but before letting go gripped tighter to Alistair's hands. "Stay with us," she whispered to his ear, her lips pressing the order against him as a kiss. While Rosie plopped into the chair, Reiss vanished out the door taking the bloody woman with her.

  "Spuddy?" he turned his head to his daughter, trying to follow the events and coming up with a lot of question marks. "What's going on?"

  "Don't worry about it, father." She too was crying but in her 'it's all bundled up inside' way. Cailan was the worst of the bunch. The last time Alistair remembered seeing his son cry was when he was twelve and took a fall off a horse. Scared the ever loving piss out of his parents, but the boy seemed more angry that tears of pain shed from his eyes than from any serious injury.

  "How does he feel?" his son asked, big tears dripping down his cheeks.

  Rosie lay the back of her palm flat to Alistair's forehead and she sighed, "Warmer than before."

  "Then it's working..."

  "We don't know. We won'
t know until..." her lip wobbled as she struggled to suck in a breath.

  Aware that he was being talked over like an obstinate roast that burned on one side and remained uncooked on the other, Alistair reached over to grip onto his daughter's cheek. "It's okay, kiddo."

  "Dad," Rosie shook her head, clearly not listening to him.

  "It's okay," he repeated, uncertain what else to say. Maker, sleep sounded so good. To stretch out for a few hours and give in to another nap, a long one without any problems that needed the King to prod his thumb into.

  But he made a promise to Reiss, and it sure seemed like his kids needed him for something. Something bad. Blinking a moment, Alistair honed in on his daughter, "You look nice."

  Rosie snorted in a painful laugh, the tears rising higher in her eyes. She glanced down at what looked like one of her more elegant gowns practically sewn onto her body. "This...I didn't mean to wind up wearing this. I'm far too overdressed."

  "Better to be overdressed than naked," he said sagely while nodding his head.

  Both of his kids cracked up a moment, though the laughs were raw they didn't come on the wings of humor. He could feel it now, those cursed flames of the pyre circling around the room. The air stank of death and loss. Where was Myra? Why was that woman covered in blood? What was going on in his own damn palace?

  "Dad, if you want to rest," Rosie began to gesture back to the bed he was incapable of leaving. Alistair moved to shake his head, already too exhausted to follow through on the idea, when the door to his room opened.

  It wasn't Reiss who returned, nor the nurse of gore. A great dark form stood in the opening and practically filled it. Alistair sucked in a breath, his eyes opening wider in terror, when the shadow lifted as the intruder stepped forward. Gavin stood where it seemed death had been, his arms wrapped around something swaddled in a blanket. He looked exhausted, maybe even more worn out than Alistair, with stains across his shirt.

  "Dad," Gavin said as he slid in right beside Rosie. Her eyes opened wide and she stepped back to give him room. Extending the bundle in his arms lower, the man continued, "I want you to meet your grandson."

  The new father began to laugh in joy as he lay this perfect, fussing, pink baby on Alistair's chest. A mop of brown hair curled up the slightly squeezed head. Struggling to sit up higher, Alistair smiled wide as he watched a fist no bigger than his thumb lift in life. The baby's lips smacked, taking in more of the air he was born into.

  Gavin cupped a hand down his newborn son's back and announced, "Duncan Theirin Amell."

  Grinning wide at the newest addition to join the pack, Alistair drew his hands up to the baby's scorching hot head. Maker, newborns were like reaching into a fire. The cheeks were already a little chubby, one pushed against Alistair's chest as he stared deep into his grandson's slumbering face.

  "Amell?" Rosie was the one who asked, her father too far gone in baby land.

  "With my mother gone we decided it was time her name returned. No one can hurt her over it now," the man cinched his eyes up tight and took in a sigh.

  "Myra?" Alistair turned away from the baby to stare up into Gavin's face. "How's Myra?" The noose cinched tight against Alistair's neck. If they sent for Reiss...

  "She's good," Gavin said with a smile, bringing one to the King as well. "Exhausted, and in a lot of pain, but trying to catch herself some sleep. She did wonderful." He sounded as if he was liable to explode in pride.

  Baby Duncan wiggled his feet, the poor limbs trapped inside of pajamas far too big for him. Absently, Alistair circled up around the full dark hair, "He'll need a hat."

  Gavin snickered to himself, "I believe Mom is working on that at the moment. We left most of the baby clothes back at our place."

  "And a bassinet, diapers..." Alistair began to list off everything he could remember from his happiest baby days. Internally, his brain was ecstatic to stare at this tiny being formed from two people he loved. Hello there, Duncan. One day I'll tell you all about your namesake, how he was willing to take a risk on your silly grandpa, and that he...he saved the life of the grandmother you never got to know.

  The baby tugged on his grandpa, stretching a bit across the old man's blanket, when his big eyes opened wide. Bright greens the hue of a fresh summer garden stared right at Alistair. He smiled, about to comment on the vibrant color, when the wailing began.

  While Gavin moved to scoop his son safe into his arms, the old King laughed uproariously. "Well, now we know the templar warned him about me."

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  An Angel Watches Over You

  "I see the moon,

  The moon sees me.

  Maker bless the moon,

  and Maker bless me."

  The bundle in his arms barely stirred, despite the terrible assault he was putting on such tiny ears with his horrific singing. Words tumbled free nowhere in tune, ragged at the edges as if he rasped them off a block of wood with a chisel.

  "I see the stars,

  The stars see me.

  Maker bless the stars,

  and Maker bless me."

  Alistair tipped the rocking chair back a sliver on his toes, trying to mimic the soothing waves of a boat but he need not bother. Those bright green eyes were shut up for the night, thick eyelashes cuddling tight to cheeks that after a bit of time in this world took on a drop of his daddy's tan. The curtains were slung open, giving the King a view not of the night's sky pocked with stars but someone attempting to get a sow to move. Seeing as she was heavy with a litter and in no mood for anything, she looked about two seconds from biting off the man's poking stick.

  "I see the world,

  The world sees me.

  Maker bless the world,

  And Maker bless me."

  Out there was all of Ferelden waiting for him many with questions about why that old fart of a King suddenly vanished into his rooms. Was he ill? Was he dying? Had he already died and no one thought to tell him? Alistair didn't care about all those politics. In here he had all he needed.

  "I know an angel

  Watches over me."

  His breath caught in his throat as he gazed down at the tiny baby whiffling in his sleep. Baby Amell. He spotted his Toffee had written it in big letters to put outside the nursery door. She loved making signs for anything and everything, probably that calligraphy class her mother insisted upon.

  The first baby Amell with his unwanted family name stuck to it. Who would have thought?

  Lanny, your grandson is perfect. But I bet you already know that.

  Leaning over, Alistair brushed his lips against the soft forehead. He whispered with his kiss the last words of the song.

  "Maker bless the angels,

  And Maker bless you."

  Duncan stirred a moment, his lips smacking open to reveal that helpless, toothless grin of a baby. Blessed Andraste, he had Lanny's lips in a perfect replica down to the same deep bow at the top. Certainly as thick as hers and her son's. By the void, the boy was in trouble with the girls on that alone.

  But, he was cursed with Alistair's honker of a nose. It was tiny now, snubbed in tight during the baby years but he remembered far too well what it looked like on Myra. Duncan would be saddled with the same, no doubt in a few years time. A nose that entered a room before he did.

  "Well," Alistair whispered, his lips darting near the soft forehead once more, "at least you got Reiss' eyes to balance it out."

  The baby fell back to his drowsy sleep, Alistair shuffling to tug the knitted cap back on over his head. Under his breath he began to hum the same lullaby, his toes working the rocking chair while he sat in bliss. Duncan's cheek snuggled against his grandpa's forearm, the thick lips both parted in a tiny snore while they smooshed together on his side.

  "Here's where you went off to..."

  Alistair sat up in surprise, his eyes darting out the window to find the sun had shifted a bit. Did he too fall asleep with the baby in his arms? Craning his head to the side, he watched as his Wheaty sli
d into the room. Dressed in a white nightgown with her blonde hair loose around her head she looked like an angel. Dipping to her knees, she curled a finger against her baby's chubby cheek.

  "I swear," Myra laughed, "turn my head for one second, and already he's sneaking off."

  "The teenage years will be hell," Alistair chuckled, even as he couldn't stop cooing at the infant.

  Myra smiled a moment before she turned to him, "How are you doing, Dad?"

  "Me? Who cares about me? I didn't create this," he gently lifted up the baby, causing Duncan's hand to slip off his arm and dangle freely. Kid was out cold. "All I did was take a nap for a few days."

  "Yep, that was one epic nap. Even had everyone coming in..." Myra licked her lips a moment and bounced back and forth on her knees. "You, ya know you got Mom good with that."

  "Oh?"

  "Never seen her so worried up to and including that time I broke a very important Bann's butt-ugly statue. Which I still say I was doing him a favor," she laughed while tugging back on a mitten that slipped off her boy's fingers.

  Alistair smiled at her gentle touch, not that he had any doubt she'd become a good mother -- though Reiss wasn't quite as certain. "Wheaters," he reached over a moment to catch her fingers, "you did good. He's..." Incredible. Perfect. Everything good in this word. Something that Alistair never thought was possible. "Beautiful."

  "He is," she smiled, tears welling up in her eyes. "And a great sleeper."

  "That won't last," Alistair said fast.

  "I dunno, we've gotten him..."

  "My, you did the same damn thing. First two weeks out you were a model baby, then at a month or so you transformed into a hellion in nappies. Which I think still holds true."

  Her eyes rolled sky high, but she didn't race to call him on it. "Regardless, I'll take what I can get right now."

  People weren't telling him much of anything at the moment. Somehow everything was fine. Myra was fine. The baby was fine. Rosie was fine. Cailan was fine. The sparks that leapt out of the fireplace and charred up a rug to cinders were fine. It was all fine despite the world never working that way.