Not For the Lack of Trying

Summary: "Having an heir… might not be possible." Rosetta Cousland contemplated this for a second and smirked ever so mischievously, "Well, it won't be for the lack of trying." It wouldn't be the first time they fought against all odds. But, this fight may be the most difficult yet. POST GAME – Alistair&F!Cousland.

Disclaimer: Dragon Age: Origins and anything relating to it belongs to the amazing Bioware.

Prologue: Blessings

For the first time in months, Denerim's Royal Palace was quiet. For months since the late King Cailan's death, the Palace had been thrown in utter chaos with threat of civil war, the danger of the Blight, and a surprising change of power. Finally, things had quieted down a bit. The only real clamor was from the hustle and bustle from the many servants, who were busy cleaning up after a lavish wedding.

'Damn these Royal traditions.' Alistair cursed mentally. He struggled to keep a straight face as he became a spectacle in his own chambers. Well… correction; his and his bride's chambers. He could see why Arl Eamon had neglected to inform him of this little tradition. If he had any say in this, Alistair would have excused such a thing. The thing being a royal 'blessing' before King and Queen consummated their marriage.

Before the royal newlyweds were to rest for the night, a small audience consisting of their court, companions, and family relations to the King and Queen, would gather at their chambers and stayed until the Revered Mother had finished the blessing. What was the point of it all? The point was for tradition sake and the court's obvious demand for an heir to the throne; avoiding another problematic situation should anything happen to the King. Maker forbid…

'Could they not have done this blessing during either the ceremony or reception?' Ferelden's King questioned mentally, 'Or, at least when we aren't dressed in their night clothes.'

He glanced over to his new bride and Queen of Ferelden. 'My rose…' he smiled to himself. Rosetta Theirin, formally Cousland, stood with her head tilted down in prayer as the revered mother continued her blessing. Should he be doing the same? The King grimaced as he heard snickers from the audience. He could only imagine where those snickers were coming from. 'Probably Oghren, the drunken bastard enjoys torturing me. Or maybe it's Zevran?'

"…For you are the fire at the heart of the world, and comfort is only yours to give." The Revered mother finished and smiled warmly at the couple. "You have the Maker's blessings, your majesties. May the both the Maker and Andraste smile upon your marriage and give you many many little blessings." The audience behind her agreed.

"Thank you, your Reverence." Rosetta's voice finally snapped Alistair from his thoughts.

He cleared his throat, "Y-yes, thank you, your Reverence. May the Maker walk with you."

Arl Eamon excused himself and the remaining guests for the night; bidding farewells until tomorrow. Of course, Oghren couldn't leave quietly. "Ehehehehhhh, give it to 'er good, Boy."

Alistair felt his ears and cheeks burn. A faint yelp of pain was heard through the door, obviously from the Dwarf. Maker bless whoever disciplined him. The new King closed his eyes, rubbed his temples, and sighed, "I thought they would never leave. "

"They have the best of intentions." He hears his wife laugh, "Did you take note of the 'many little blessings' part? Just married and they're already expecting me to give birth right here and now."

When he finally opened his eyes, he was met with a very lovely sight. Rosetta had already climbed into bed, pulled the sheets down, and laid down in a provocative manner. She rested on her right side, left arm lay on her side, and the hem of her night gown was hiked dangerously high; giving her husband a nice view of her long bare legs. She eyed him alluringly and smirked oh-so-wickedly. "Well, my King? We mustn't let that blessing go to waste." she purred, "What shall we do for the rest of the night?"

The Senior Warden stood almost speechless, except for the long 'Uhh' sound he was making. It felt like the hundredth time his bride had left his speechless today. The first being when he first laid eyes on her as she walk down the aisle in her wedding dress; second, after she recited her own written vows, and the rest following throughout the day. Maker, if he had one weakness other then his unholy love for cheese, it was her.

She giggled. She loved teasing him and he loved letting her. Never had he met a woman so bold as she. From the very first moment they met, he found himself enraptured with her. So much so, at one point during their journey, he swore she must have been an apparition, conjured up from some evil Desire Demon, to lure him into a false sense of security until his entire life force was sucked out from him. Thank the Maker a thousand times that he was wrong.

She got up and made her way across the bed; gliding with the grace only a rogue could have. Alistair came back to his senses as he felt her arms wrap around his neck. He placed his hands on her waist and pressed his forehead against her own. "Mmm, milady, I have a few ideas." He said, huskily. He reached and tucked a piece of her long silky black tresses behind her right ear, leaned foreword, and whispered in her ear, "But, as always, your desire is my command."

Hey, he learned a thing or two of his own. One thing he learned, his rose loved it when he used that line.

Their lips locked into a passionate dance. Her hands combed though his hair and he lowered her body onto the bed; all without missing her lips. She let out a moan and he moved his lips to kiss along her neck to her collar. He felt her hands go from his hair to his loose shirt. She tugged on it, telling him without words that this troublesome article of clothing had to go immediately. He stopped his tirade of kisses to lift his shirt over his head and attacked her lips again.

Her hands explored every inch of his newly exposed skin; every muscle, every scar, everything as if she was searching for the very reason he was who he was. "My love…" she moaned feverishly. He felt every sense go utterly mad with desire just by her moans. "Alistair…" she says breathlessly.

It was her turn to expose some flesh. His hands fumbled with the buttons on her nightgown. 'These blasted things! Why must there be so many buttons?!' It probably didn't help that she now playfully biting on his earlobe; which tickled him in the process. "Fighting dirty, are you, my dear?"

She settles down enough to allow him better access to the blasted buttons on her nightgown. She smiles at him, "What is it they say, love?" she reaches up to gently caress his face, "All is far in love and war?"

Finally, the last button was released and he pushes aside the fabric for a better view of his beloved's frame. Their room is dim with a few candles lit around. Still, he can see her, all of her. It is not the first time, of course. But, every time he sees her, she is more ravishing then ever. Maybe this time is different… different, because now she is his Queen now and forever. She is his and he is hers until the Maker, himself, forces the very last breath they breathe in this world.

The dim candle lights create interesting shadows all over her exposed skin. He watches as her breasts rise and fall rhythmically and he lays his right hand flat on her slim stomach. He is careful though, because he knows she is ticklish here. He leans into the caress of her palm and stares down at her. They gaze into each other with love in their eyes. "My rose," he whispers.

Rosetta smiles when he calls her that. It was his little nickname for her since the very day he confessed his feelings to her one night by the campfire. No one else calls her that nickname. It's his forever; as is she. "My beloved..."

They kiss once more and proceed to make passionate love throughout the night until sleep and exhaustion finally claims them both.

To be continued with Chapter 1: Biological Clock