This story was inspired by a conversation in the swooping_is_bad irc. Though their conversation was more lighthearted, I thank them giving me this plot nug.

Love and Loss

It had taken a long time for it to come to this.

Years of soft blushes, avoiding glances and electrifying accidental touches.

It wasn't until now, the circle quiet and she alone with him in his office to discuss an apprentice, that recklessness took over him and he closed the gap between them, locking his lips with hers.

The thought of consequences fluttered weakly in her mind before dying under his touch: the touch of callused hands lifting her onto his desk, pushing up her dress as he ran his fingers along her calves and up to her thighs. The touch of his lips on her neck.

No thoughts, only this.

Only the moment: the feel of him pressing against her. The feel of her desperate fingers fumbling at his clothes and the sound of his grunt of frustration as he removed them himself. The feel of his body shivering against hers as she ran her fingers delicately along his bare back. The feel of him pushing her back on the desk and pressing hot kisses on her stomach and up to her breasts.

Desperation and passion and years of tension made her delirious as he pushed into her, and he pressed his lips to hers before she cried out and woke the whole floor.

And then it was over, too soon, but she was glowing underneath him as he stroked her hair and gazed into her eyes.

"Wynne," he breathed, before kissing her again.

She smiled against his lips and they laid like that for what seemed forever before she slipped on her robes and ran barefoot back to her room before daylight broke.

The tension after that was palpable. She could almost see mages having to put more effort into walking through a room when they were both in it. And during the nights the air almost crackled from the energy in their touches.

But all good things must end.

She would always remember the look in his eyes when she told him she was carrying his child. The look of fear. Of shame. The look of awkward comfort he tried to give her when he saw she was horrified at his reaction. He fumbled words as he tried to explain himself to her.

But she had known before she had walked into his office.

She had known that she wouldn't be able to tell anyone. That they would take the child away.

And that she could never be with him again.

Months passed and her stomach grew. Though this happened occasionally to mages in the circle, the lack of novelty did not stop the wagging of tongues as her peers whispered in corners about who the father was.

She lost count of how many times people asked her.

The most popular guess was that it was Irving. She denied it vehemently, but that only seemed to stoke the fires until everyone was absolutely sure. She almost wished it was true, that it had been Irving.

Almost.

Her labor was difficult. Hours passed and the mages shifted uncomfortably every time her screams echoed through the tower. They thought she was dying.

She thought she was dying.

The intensity of the pain made her numb to almost everything. She closed her eyes and all she could see was blood and intense light. All she could hear were her own screams echoing in her ears like a rogue wind through the Deep Road tunnels. All she could smell was copper and the fear of those helping her. All she could think of was how she hadn't seen him.

Greagoir.

He hadn't come to check on her, to see if she was okay. Not even a glance through the door.

She screamed again, a sound of such anguish and heartbreak that many would hear it in their dreams for days to come.

She didn't get to see her child before he was taken from her. She didn't get to hold him, or touch him, or name him. She blacked out almost immediately when it was over and woke up hours later in clean sheets with a cool cloth on her forehead. She smiled weakly at the female mage who was tending to her. The mage returned a smile, but all it held was sadness.

She pitied her.

The mage left then and Wynne was alone. She placed her hand on her stomach, still swollen, but empty.

Like her heart.

She cried then. In mourning for her lost child and her lost love.

It wasn't until her sobs were dry hiccups and her eyes puffy that she realized that neither had ever been hers to lose.