Title: I know where babies come from
Summary: Alistair and his love survived the Archdemon. They will probably survive this too. But that doesn't make it any easier.
Pairing: Tabris/Alistair

Prelude

"Andrastes flaming sword woman, I know where babies come from!"

Well, Wynne had deserved it; she had been baiting him that time.

In the present, however, he almost wished he didn't know where babies come from. With a mirthless laugh, he guessed she would shrug and put it on her list of "why women weren't supposed to be Wardens". He knew she didn't regret it, but by the Maker, he almost did.

At least when it happened.

It had all begun soon after they had slayed the arch demon. There had been peace and quiet for a short time, while they got their strength back. While there was ridiculous amounts of celebrating. Even now, he still thought of those lazy days, as good times. Walks in the Market District, (perhaps not hand in hand, but close enough to touch), long morning spent in bed (definitely touching) and dinners with the Arl (only casual touching, but good food).

And then, one morning, she came into their room with an extremely puzzled look on her face.

"Alistair," she said slowly.

"Yeeeeees, my dear," he remembered that he had purred from the bed.

He knew he shouldn't have, but he loved her so, and they had just…well…

She had only looked at him funnily though, not smiling back.

"I thought wardens could not have children, because of the taint?" she said, blinking and looking down.

He flew off the bed and came to a standstill in front of her.

"Are you telling me what I think you are telling me?" he could hear his own voice waver.

She bit her lip, not seeming happy at all.

"I…guess I am," she finally answered.

"But that's wonderful!" he told her, probably laughing. The thought of babies meant joy and laughter back then.

At least that changed quickly.

Part 1.

She insisted to go and see Wynne. Even though she was healthy and eating well, and not exerting herself or anything, she still demanded that they should go see Wynne.

Alistair had not yet learnt to tell her no, and why should he? She was his commander, his lover, the love of his life. In a distant future, she was now even to be the mother of his child.

An even stronger incentive to follow her.

She seemed radiant, on that journey. She was beautiful, her skin pale and translucent, and she seemed, perhaps not happy, but fascinated. Absorbed.

After some thought she had come to the conclusion that she should be three months along, and when he glanced at her, sometimes he would catch her staring at her stomach, or fondling it gently.

He realised then, what a cruel fate hers had been before. Barely nineteen, a Grey Warden and war hero before she had the time to catch her breath. Few, perhaps only a handful of people who truly loved her.

She deserved this, some further shred of happiness, not just a medal and a royal thank you.

Something more than just his love and the odd 29 years or so, she had left to live.

She deserved to have some normal experience, something unspoilt.

Something untainted.

When they finally reached the tower, her stomach had a soft bulge on it, which had nothing to do with too much beef jerky. It was not visible when she was clothed or wore her stiff leather armour, but he knew it was there. In fact, he had made a point of finding opportunities for her to remove her clothing so he could look at her belly. As she fell asleep at night, he had clutched her close and caressed the soft swell that was their child. Her nimble and sinewy body now held such a treasure he never thought possible. He guessed he had slept most nights with a huge foolish grin on his face

Wynne was nothing if not efficient. After hearing their news, her lips curled very slightly, and she shot a glance under raised brows at Alistair. He could read it quite easily, after all he had been the target of most of her stern glances.

It said "what have you done now, you stupid boy".

He was, however, not quite sure of which feeling permeated her calm eyes. It could have been joy, but then he thought it was sorrow, and then suddenly fear. It made him confused, and a little worried.

Wynne did not find anything wrong, even though her lips remained sealed in that tight line, whenever she looked at him. As if this was his fault.

But it would only be his fault if it was a bad thing, if he was to blame. And it was a good thing, he thought. It had to be.

The pain came suddenly on the third day at the tower. They had been having a private dinner with Wynne, in her quarters. The glaring eyes of templars he had known at the Chantry, and who disliked immensely everything he was now, had been grating at Alistairs nerves. Wynne had invited them to dine with her, and they had accepted.

The food had hardly arrived, when the pain did. He did not knew when exactly, because she didn't say anything. He was just about to ask her if she liked a little more fish, when she moaned and slid off the chair.

Moments later, when the bleeding began, he reckoned Wynne had been right. She looked like she thought so too, when she shut him out of the room, leaving him in the chilly corridor.

Alistair knew little of women or their bodies (and what he knew she had taught him, with utmost patience and those little sighs of pleasure that drove him mad) but he knew blood was bad.

Leaning his brow against the chilly stones of the Tower, he focused on taking deep breaths and control the urge to hit something.

When Wynne exited an hour later and told him what has happened, some little piece of his soul died together with their half-formed child.

Part 2.

Alistar found her on the cold stone floor of the fortress, the second time. She looked peaceful, as if she was only sleeping. But why should she sleep in the middle of the day, in the middle of the floor. And why bleed while doing so?

At first, time seemed so slow that he felt as if he was moving through water. The few steps to her side, felt like a lifetime. But as soon as he reached her, and touched her cold and sweaty brow, with a loud crash, time and space returned.

He didn't let himself get worried, until he had lifted her up to the bed and sent someone for the healer. She was so pale, and she seemed so small and frail under the covers, now stained by blood. The thin scar on her cheek, from that time in Orlais, stood out stark against her skin.

This time, he hadn't even known. Perhaps she hadn't known herself, or didn't want to tell him. Perhaps she didn't want to know.

Another child.

Another lost child.

He had little hope that the fate of this one would be any different from its sibling four years ago. They had thought then, that perhaps Wardens could have children, that perhaps through some miracle, she had conceived and there would be a happy ending.

Life was cruel in that way, he guessed. This was only the unhappy ending all over again.

Reaching out, he took her cold, white hand in his, kissing her knuckles softly and then just holding it tight.

"We will survive this too," he told her in a low whisper. "You and me."

He could feel the panic dimly in his stomach, but he swallowed and focused on her face.

"We have endured everything thrown at us all these years…together. I am here now

When the healer arrived, it wasn't difficult to see that he wasn't surprised. It felt good to know they weren't the only wardens affected by trouble like this. At least they were not alone.

It did not lessen the pain, however.

Could anything lessen this pain?

They left another small part of their hearts buried outside of Weisshaput.

Part 3.

The third time, they were in the middle of the Korcari Wildnerness when she suddenly turned and started screaming at him.

"One night with Morrigan, Alistair, one bloody night, and she gets a child. I've journeyed with you for eleven sodding years, and what do I get for it?" She was livid, but Alistair could see the pain and grief behind her words. Still, the words hurt.

"Nothing! Nothing but pain and emptiness and the blood of my lost children spread over all of Ferelden like a damn bloody sacrifice to the gods."

Pain seared him like white, hot flashes of lightening. He bit the inside of his cheek to keep from answering her. Dimly, he felt his nails pierce the skin of his hands, wondering when he had removed his gloves. He couldn't remember.

But she needed to say this; she needed the anger to be able to go through it again. By now they both know that it could end in no other way. Pain, blood and death.

He could taste the copper of blood in his mouth.

"If I had known then, what I know now…If Duncan could have told me… Hey, chose this and drink from the chalice and be barren for the rest of your days. Which aren't that many, by the way…"

Her shoulders were heaving with every angry breath she took, her face was flushed.

"Why do you even recruit women, Alistair? What need is there really for women to go through these things, all these possibilities for worse than death?"

Her eyes were overly bright, but she was blinking furiously to keep control of her tears, and he knew she was fuelling her anger. Anger was easier.

"Don't you remember what we found…in the darkness deep under the earth?"

He did. He could not forget it more than she could. The Broodmother.

Nothing motherly about it at all.

"I'm doomed, Alistair, because the taint made me into a woman who is less than a woman."

His burning and restless eyes caught the moment when her teeth pierced her lower lip, and a drop of blood appeared.

"I'm barren, Alistair, empty. Nothing can live inside me, and…it feels like even my soul just wants to die too. The taint…kills everything…I'm…barren…"

"Well, so am I," he managed to tell her, his voice broken.

That snapped her out of it. He hadn't meant to speak, but his heart was breaking and his soul was in tatters. The words had forced themselves out before he could stop them.

Perhaps she had never really understood how his pain could equal hers, even though it wasn't his body. How he had cried with her, not just for her.

Their gazes looked, and for a moment the world stood still. Alistair knew, that if he looked right or left he would see birds stopped in midflight and the sun hindered in it's arc over the sky.

But he didn't look away. For a long while, they just stared at each other. Her eyes were shining, but the tears didn't spill over.

The next second it was over and she had crossed the small clearing and thrown herself into his arms. The air left his lungs in a swoosh, not entirely because of her sudden assault, and he felt his knees give in. She held him tightly when he buried his face in her lap and cried as if his heart would never stop breaking.

Epilogue

She could feel him tremble. This ridiculous, strong, handsome and brave man who insisted he had been raised by dogs, and who never had left her side whenever something bad or unpleasant threatened them.

His tears mingled with hers, but she cried silently and perhaps even mostly because it stirred her soul so, to see his distress. She had cried such a lot over each of their lost children. She had been heartbroken the other times, but he had just held her and soothed her and been brave.

Like always.

"Sssch, my love," she mumbled almost inaudible. Not because she wanted him to be quiet, but because she wanted him to know she was there for him.

"I'm sorry," she added, a little louder. "I'm sorry I haven't understood before…I'm sorry I screamed at you just now. This is not your fault. It's no ones fault I guess…"

And as she said it, she knew at once that it was true.

It was tragic, yes. And painful. But there was no one she could blame. It might be a life more fit for Lelianas heart-rending and sentimental tales, but it was her life. The only one she had.

Hugging Alistairs bowed head closer; she bent almost in half to kiss his golden locks.

"I have you Alistair," she murmured, not sure if he could even hear her. "And as long as you don't leave me, I have everything I need in life."

And then she bent to kiss his bowed head again, as another sob wrecked his body.