"They're really yours?" Sabriel asked, looking down at the courtyard where the two children were playing. She'd just arrived that afternoon, and the nearness of him was a palpable heat, like sitting too close to the fire.
"Yes, they are."
There was something in the way he said it that made her turn and look at him. A little bit of pride, but a little bit of something else. She knew him too well, could see the emotions he kept hidden under the surface. He'd become very good at hiding them, but he'd never been able to keep a secret from her. Well, not since that first one, she amended. The one that changed the whole direction of their lives.
"He looks very much like you." She turned to look back down at the children. They were playing some sort of chase, laughing and racing over the cobblestones. They were obviously very happy. "Your daughter's hair is beautiful."
And it was, long and curled and the softest, deepest black.
"Her eyes are green?" she asked. It was an innocent enough question, spoken with just a slight inflection. But he knew her too, after all these years.
Alistair didn't answer for a moment, his brows furrowing.
"Do you really want to talk about this now, Sabriel? I haven't seen you in months," he said.
He set his hand near hers on the railing, and she felt a physical pang of longing at the closeness of him. He could do this to her every time. She let the side of her hand graze his own, but then pulled back, crossing her arms.
"I know, and I've missed you," she felt her voice almost crack, and then willed strength into her tone. "But you invited me here this time, you must've wanted me to see them. To have this conversation."
"I just… wanted to share them with you," he paused, "And, yes. Things… need to be said. But I didn't want to hurt you. And I don't expect you to… I don't know, accept them right away. Maker knows, Anora doesn't want to have anything to do with them. She's been very happy to have them raised away from Denerim."
"I'm not Anora," she exclaimed, voice a little sharper than she'd meant it to be. "I would never..." she stopped. Never what? Stay silent while he took another woman to bed? Look away while another woman gave him children? She'd done all those things, the same as Anora. She just hadn't had the fortitude to kick him to the gutter afterward. Oh, not literally. They were heads of state, King and Queen of Ferelden. A kick to the gutter just meant rooms in different wings of the house, and separate summer estates.
She looked around. His was quite beautiful. In fact, she'd bet he spent most his time here. It was as good a place as any to rule from. Even divided he and Anora could manage that. The country ruled itself very thoroughly and very well. The people spoke of the reign of Alistair and Anora as if they could do no wrong, people wrote songs about them, and cheered them in taverns. What went on behind closed doors, stayed there. For as wonderful as their outer appearances were, their true faces were cold, civil and always strictly polite.
"I would never be like Anora." She finished. No, because no matter how many times I burn your letters without reading or you refuse me audience, we both come right back ready for more punishment, and we're never cold, civil or polite.
"I know, don't you think I know that?" his voice rose slightly, tinged with anger, "You're nothing like Anora. And I wouldn't have… I… You're the one that started all of this. If you'd marri..."
Sabriel put her hand across his mouth. "Don't say it again. I don't want to talk about it."
They stood looking at one another. Her breath stopped, started again. Stopped. Was she breathing? Then he was pushing her into an alcove, door slamming shut behind them, his mouth hard against hers. She weaved her fingers through his hair, molding herself to him. He pressed her against the rough wood, trapping her with his body, but she only pulled him closer. A line of fire ran through her, down her naval and ignited, filling her with a fervent hunger.
"Stop, don't…stop," she groaned pulling her mouth from his and pressing her face into his neck.
"I could take you here, just like this," he growled softly against her throat, lifting her up against the door. She knew it was true. She could feel him straining against her, hard through the fabric of his king's robes. She wondered, not for the first time, what all these years had done to the boy she'd known. Her leg slid up to hook around his thigh, rocking them together. She also wondered what happened to that very proper duty-bound girl she'd been.
"We have to stop this, you know we do," she whispered, curling her fingers in his hair more deeply. He'd let it grow over the years, and the blonde was now touched with gray.
"You say this every time, and I agree every time, and here we are."
"You sent for me."
"You came."
His mouth found hers again, and she was lost, caught in the current of desire that always swept through her at his touch. It had been like this from the first moment, that first unexpected kiss. They'd lived in a world of make-believe; of violence and heroism and romantic endings. It had been like something out of a story – chasing after death every day, and every night coming together in the heady culmination of life. The story had ended, but the driving ache he caused in her had not.
He was hiking up her dress, and she was helping him. Candles fell from the shelves as they knocked against them. She wanted to wrap both legs around him, right there against the door. But they'd tried that when they were much younger, and knew it resulted in unexplainable bruises, dashed heads and far too much flailing around. She glanced around. They were in some sort of supply closet, with candles and brooms, and unbelievably, a small, narrow bed.
"Bed," she gasped. They stumbled towards it, unwilling to break contact for more than a moment. The bed creaked, knocking against the hard stone wall. They didn't hear it as their bodies arched together, plunging into the void where nothing mattered except the compelling need to fill and be filled. They arched and then arched again, slamming into each other, bodies straining, mouths open in silent cries. Even scattered to pieces, not knowing where she began and he ended, her screams came silently. Just a gasping breath of sound, and the panting of two bodies together. Their bodies were trained, after all these years. She forgot herself in the moment, always. And always, felt the old pain afterward, like a sundering of souls. It shook her, and they clung together, like they always did.
They'd been so young and foolish. Decisions and consequences had spiraled out of control, until they'd faced each other on separate sides of a chasm not quite sure how to bridge it. They'd just been so young. So very young. Afraid of death and of not beating back the blight, afraid of failing, afraid of so many other things. But not of their future together. She was noble, he was a bastard heir to the throne. Something like that couldn't really get in the way, could it? He'd be king, and she could be queen with him. Or maybe they would just travel the world, be Grey Wardens together. Either way, it was perfect. Just kill all the pesky creatures, and live happily ever after. Andraste's knickers, but they'd been young.
Of course it had all come crashing down at the Landsmeet, both of them shocked at the other's lapse in judgment. It had been devastating moment when that romantic bubble burst, showing a reality neither one of them wanted to know existed. Although really, there had been signs even earlier, at Howe's. That's when she first saw the chink in the armor.
Their breath was harsh in the small room, as they lay tangled on the small, lumpy bed. Most their clothes were still intact, and she brushed her skirts down over their nakedness.
"You're so beautiful," Alistair's voice was still ragged, but his hands were soft as they ran the length of her side. "I've missed you."
He tilted her mouth to his, kissing her slowly, more tenderly than before. She felt it like a bolt of electricity, reaching right down into her toes. Melting into him, she gave herself over to the kiss. Their quick passion sated; now they would be slow and tender. He would make her remember just how much she loved him. Why she could never stay away.
She broke the kiss with an effort of will, and laid her palm against his cheek. They'd both been so unbelievably young when all of this started. The boy was eight now. Another ten years and he'd be the same age she was when she'd joined the Grey Wardens.
"I shouldn't have come. I…" she stopped, searching his face for something, she wasn't sure what. His children were beautiful, vibrant, happy. He obviously was a much better father than his own had been. She thought of her own parents, sacrificing themselves to save her. Alistair had been the first person to make her laugh, after their deaths.
"What is it?" he asked, covering her hand with his own.
"I look at you and I see our youth." He was still so handsome and boyish, but no longer a boy of any sort. Life had weathered him. "Everything was all so easy then," she said. "Before the Landsmeet," She amended.
"Easy!" he laughed, a little too bitterly, "Pulling together armies, fighting darkspawn, killing an Arch Demon? Oh yes, easy. Ah, the good old days."
"So you're saying things are easier now?" Her mind went to his children playing outside, to Anora in Denerim, to the Nobles and Orlesians with their politics forcing intricate games of duplicity and deceit, and then to themselves, lying here when both of them had others, somewhere, waiting out there. She wished for simple problems she could run through with a sword.
"Well, a lot less death now, and you know, dying. I don't wake up in the morning, thinking, 'Hmm, I wonder what's going to try and kill me today.' Which is always good, in my opinion."
"And what do you wake up thinking about?" she asked.
"Ahh… good point." His hand swept up and down the curve of her back, squeezing each time his fingers passed her hip, sending a current of warmth throughout her body. "Oh wait, I know the answer to this – you. I wake up thinking of you," he said.
"Getting a little slow with a quip in our old age, are we?"
"Who's old? I'm just refined. Like a good wine. Or cheese," he said, his voice holding a plaintive note, and he raised an eyebrow at her.
"Yes, I brought it. I left it with your cook. Do you really ask to see me for me, or because I bring you fancy cheeses?"
"Do I have to answer that?" he smirked, and then pulled her against him, kissing a line down her neck. "You are as lovely now as the first day I saw you, marching up to me with that determined look in your eye."
"Flatterer. That didn't stop you from being snarky with me, now, did it?"
"You're only snarky to the ones you love," Alistair intoned solemnly.
"Then you just must've been head over heels for Morrigan," she snickered, looking up at him.
A thick silence filled the room as he met her eyes. She looked away first.
"Have you ever heard…" he started.
"No," she answered sharply. "I never have."
The silence fell between them like something tangible. She turned in his arms, facing the wall, and he pulled her against his body, spooning behind her. They hadn't seen Morrigan again after the last battle. The harsh reality of the world held no place for the idealistic youths they'd once been. Morrigan tried to tell her that, before the end. She wondered if Morrigan would be satisfied, if she knew just how well they'd learned her lesson. How many people had they hurt over the years? How many were they hurting at this very moment? All for their own pleasure and profit. Oh she would be so happy.
"We should end this," she said.
"I know," he answered.
Still they lay, his arm around her waist, holding her close against him. She pulled his arm around her tighter.
"We won't though, will we," he said. It was a statement, more than a question. They both knew the answer. They'd been over it before. Had attempted it, many times. It never worked. Her strength lay in all the wrong places, she thought to herself. She was missing it the one place she needed it most. And so was he. Maybe it was something the taint took from of you. None of the grey wardens she knew led remarkably happy lives. Some could be said not to be living lives at all, with their dark, deadly visages. Weisshaupt scared her a little.
Still, she meant to go back. There was a man waiting there for her. She couldn't think of him now, it hurt too much. They both knew she wasn't faithful. He took it in stride, as if it were part of being a Grey Warden. That almost hurt more. They'd been together a long time, but each time she left she felt that stab of betrayal. Sometimes she wished he'd confront her about it, but he never did.
"Where did you send her? Is she still here?" Thinking of who she was betraying, she thought of the other person being betrayed.
"Anora? You know Anora never comes here. She stays at the capital, or her own southern home."
"I'm not asking after your Queen, your majesty, but after the mother of your children, since I'm sure that's who you spend most your nights bedding?" She pulled out of his arms and leaned against the bare wall, looking down on him.
"I spend most my nights alone, or in the company of a tavern. None of those looks, Sabriel, it's true. It's drinking and telling tales. And I spend an odd night reminiscing with Teagan, when he finds his way through here."
"And of your children? Do you not spend your nights with them, or their mother?" She would hear it out this time. She would hear it, and take it all.
"My children are… mine. They are the light of my life and the best part of me. Second only to you," he tried to take her hand, but she pulled it away.
"Of course. But you were saying… their mother?"
"Their mother." Alistair stopped. "You want this tale now, Sabriel, here? Why don't we have supper, meet the children, find a proper bed and not just a tiny dust-ridden mattress in an alcove."
Motioning to the bed they were on, she said, "But you've planned for everything. There's even a bottle of wine I spy, hidden under that shelf. Knew you weren't going to wait until tonight, hmm?"
"I had…. Well, last time and the floor… and you'd said… It wasn't… presumptuous?" his voice trailed off, making her smile. He still had some of that unsure, tentative boy in him. She found it so hard to stay angry, when he was so cute.
"You have your pants around your ankles, and you still have to wonder?" she asked lightly.
He sat up to face her, this time taking her hand and not letting it go, "Yes, I still wonder. And you will never let me ask."
"We've been over all of this before, and no good ever comes from it," she said, trying to cut him off.
"Why did you refuse to marry me?" he whispered, and she felt a surge of pain. No matter how many years this was still an open wound. This, and everything it lead to.
"You know why. And you never answered your question, about their mother."
"I still don't understand why, I need to hear it again."
The hurt in his voice cut her, and she turned away from him. It had been too much. All of it.
"Why did you kill Loghain, and take the kingship, without even waiting to hear what Riordan said, or what my views on it were?"
"You know why," he said, repeating her own words back to her.
She did. He'd taken his vengeance on Loghain, just as she'd taken hers on Howe. He hadn't listened when she tried to tell him it wasn't worth it. Vengeance didn't make things better or change anything. She'd felt sick and empty looking down on Howe's lifeless body. She'd kicked him as he lay there, his head lolling to the side. She wanted her father back, her brother, her life. She wanted to be lectured on being a lady from her mother. She wanted so much and it was all gone, and he was just dead. There was no satisfaction, no revelation or feeling of relief. She still ached with emptiness.
The murderous little elf they'd rescued had murmured, "You'd feel better if you cut off his head. I did." The girl had cut off her tormentor's head. Had grasped a blade quicker than Sabriel could breathe, and sliced Vaughn's head clean off as they'd opened his cell door. The girl had taken Alistair's side, after the Landsmeet. Sabriel hadn't even understood why she was there. Now the irony of it ate at her.
"And see, this is why we shouldn't talk about it. We've talked about it, and talked about it, and talked about it. Nothing happened the way it was supposed to, it was all ruined, and this is what we're left with. Why bring it up now?"
"I think about it more, these days. How many years do you think we have left? Ten, fifteen, maybe?"
Ten years and his son would be eighteen. Left to rule alone… no, left to rule with Anora, who hated him.
"I don't want to squander the days left," he continued. "I want to embrace them, to do everything as well as I can do it, to be… someone Duncan would be proud of. And someone my father might've been proud of. But mostly… I just want to be with you. I feel most alive when I'm with you. I know it sounds… I don't know. But it's the way that I feel."
"I know Duncan would be proud, look at all you've accomplished. And your father – protecting the land, beating off the blight, holding the Orlesians at bay, and Maker knows what else we're stopping at our borders. You've done it. You're a superb king."
"But not a superb man."
"I…"
"No, I know I'm not. I'm a good king, and a good father. But I haven't… my younger self you keep talking about – he would be horrified at the man I am. You want to have the truth out this time. It's why you came." He pushed back against the wall next to her. They held hands.
"I married Anora to spite you. She refused to give me fealty, and we were going to behead her. Eamon… Eamon offered her a place in court. She refused, saying she was a Queen. So… Eamon offered her the title of Queen. With me. To unite Ferelden, and stop any civil wars from happening. You were out there, you knew how fragile the countryside was."
She nodded. She had been out there. It had been bad. City against land owner, land owner against neighbor, thieves walking broadly down well-worn lanes - it had taken a lot of cleaning up. Their marriage had helped greatly, uniting many factions, as much as she hated it.
"I didn't lie to you when I said Anora gave me free reign to… well, do whatever as long as it wasn't conspicuous. She didn't want rumors getting back to her. And I was not to touch her, and never enter her bedchamber. This had Eamon pretty well flummoxed, let me tell you."
This was the part she wanted to hear. Would he lie to her now, try to hide what she knew had happened? Deny her again that she had been right, and things had changed even before the Landsmeet, at the Howe's estate.
"I… I put him off. Anora put him off too. But, she would have to pretend the children were hers. She didn't like the idea, but a few healers convinced her that the trouble between her and Cailan... well, that it'd been his fault. So, we tried."
"You and Anora?" She didn't withdraw her fingers from his, but she looked away, studying the other side of the room. She'd always hoped that maybe… Anora was so cold, after her father died.
"Just... it was like an appointment. Sometimes things didn't even work. It felt wrong. You were gone then, you'd left and refused to come back."
"I know! You married while I was away fixing a mess that you sent me on. Then you didn't even show up, Anora did! How do you think that made me feel? No, I wasn't going back to the capital after that. I traveled."
"With Anders, and Nate..."
"Don't forget Oghren, he tagged along a few times."
"Yes, you had all your fun while I was stuck with all the matters of state coming down on my head, as well as Anora who only hated me more for forcing myself on her, when I wasn't even forcing her! And I had no one to talk to."
Oh yes you did, she thought. You had a certain little thankful elf girl. One who I saved, but you insisted on bringing back to the house, like she was a hurt kitten. And you fed her, and clothed her, and practiced fighting techniques with her. You saved her family, and elevated her cousin to speaker for the alienage. Oh yes, you had someone to talk to, all right.
"So you were trapped in an arranged, loveless marriage of state, with no one to talk to of your worries while I was out gallivanting around, slaying demons with a new crew. I got it, you were jealous. That must make everything all right."
Was that when it started? She wanted to ask. But it was time yet.
"Yes, I was jealous. And I couldn't help thinking that was the very reason why you wouldn't marry me. You didn't want to be tied down. I had reports, I knew your companions probably better than you did. Don't tell me there wasn't…."
"I wont' tell you that. Because we're talking about you. Finish your story."
"But don't you see, all my stories lead around to my one real question – why didn't you marry me?"
So, she guessed it was time for that question, after all.
"When did your affair with Tamyra begin?"
"I…uhh.. what?"
"When did it begin? When Eamon said you had to have children? When Anora was so cold to you and wouldn't let you touch her? When I left you all alone after killing the Arch Demon, did you fall into her comforting arms then?" Just minutes after I left? She wanted to add.
"No, I… not until much later. After... Anora and I couldn't stand one another. We couldn't... there had to be an heir. Did you leave because of her? I didn't love her, not like I do you."
"I didn't leave because of her, she was just one of the reasons. I saw how you took care of her, saw that growing respect in your eyes every time you looked at her. I knew if I wasn't in the picture, you'd end up together. Anyone could see it. It was just there."
"I didn't! I never even thought…"
"Maybe you didn't, but some part of you did. It was so clear. And you have always refused to see things from my side."
"Then tell me again, I'm listening." He took both her hands, forcing her to turn towards him on the narrow mattress.
"Killing Howe was not what I thought it would be. It made me feel emptier. But you weren't there to talk to. Instead you were helping Wynne care for the girl."
"She'd been terribly abused, and was pregnant with some monster's child!"
"I know, and I felt bad for her, I did. But I wanted you to talk to me. Then while you're off helping the wounded mother-to-be, Riordin tells me that Grey Wardens cannot have children. And you have to have children. Still, I thought I was prepared. I thought maybe I'd be able to handle it, marrying you and having you… get children on someone else. Or maybe a miracle would happen, and I would get pregnant. Truly a happy ending. But that castle of dreams was coming down like cards. There was Tamyrn with her swollen belly, and me with my infertile one, and Eamon going on about heirs and the Therin line. Then we get to the Landsmeet, and nothing went like we'd planned. You killed Loghain, and assumed the crown yourself, before we could even hear what Riordan had to say!"
"He was a traitor! He deserved to die, not to have a hero's death."
"Maybe. But it forced other decisions on us… does one of us die, or do you do a dark rite that will produce a baby, one that should suck the soul of the old god right into it."
"I would've given my life. You asked me to do it."
"I know. I convinced you." She bowed her head onto his shoulder. "It made it so much worse."
"I still don't understand. The blight was over, we'd won. You told me you loved me, and I asked you to be my Queen. You said no." His voice still held a bright pain. She knew how much rejection cut him.
"I said no because you wouldn't listen to me, because we had to give up our ideals and a part of ourselves to Morrigan, because we died just a little bit to do that ritual, because there was a girl in love with you who could very well give you children, and because I couldn't give you children, and couldn't be married to you and see you with another woman."
"But, Sabriel…"
"I know. Do you think I don't know? Obviously I can be the other woman. I just can't be..." she waved her hand, not knowing how to explain it. She could cheat, but she couldn't be cheated upon? What kind of person did that make her? "I should've stayed away, but I couldn't. And once I saw you again…"
They both knew what happened then. Even sitting here like this she felt a physical need to touch him, an ache that burned her both with desire and guilt.
"Could you be…" Alistair waved his hand, as if to indicate all of the estate around them, "now?"
"With your mistress and her children, and your wife in the capital? I don't think so. And I have to go back."
"You don't think it would be easier on him? Knowing for sure instead of wondering where you really were, or if you were coming home? Be honest with him now, while he's still young enough to find someone else."
She started to argue, and he cut her off.
"The time I spend with you is more precious to me than any other. You make me feel alive, like no one else ever could."
"That's because our time is stolen, and you don't have to put up with me day to day. I've become very cantankerous."
"Become? I remember putting up with your cantankerous behavior on a day to day basis, and only loving you more for it."
"You shouldn't say that."
"Say that I love you? More with every passing day?"
Turning in his arms she kissed his lips softly. "I love you, too."
"See? Was that so hard?"
She laughed, "Do you ever change your lines?"
"Not when they work so well, I don't."
"Let's not talk about it. We have this time, and we'll… we'll have the end. Isn't it enough?"
"It will have to be," he murmured against her neck. "But it could be more. The Warden Commander could take her place here. It's better situated logistically. Much easier to get out in the field. And I'd be here most of the time."
"Except for the months you spend in state, at the capital."
"And the months you spend, out in the field, training your recruits. I know you take them out at least twice a year. I've heard you like to make a mixed group of them. Male, female, human, elf, city, country... and dwarf, if you can find them."
"And Grey Wardens and regular soldiers." She said. "You never forget your first group in the field. They're like family," she paused, her mind wandering a moment. She hadn't seen her companions often in the past years, but still, they were the closest friends she had.
"If I can give that family to some of these recruits, they'll go back into their world with less hate in their hearts. I'm tired of seeing soldier turn on warden, and human turn on elf. We fight together, we become family together, they begin to understand each other and they don't want it to happen either."
"See, can't keep you from the field," Alistair said. "So I'll be gone some, and you'll be gone some, but when we return… we could have this place."
She looked around.
"This place? With the candles and the lumpy bed? I don't know…"
"This place, with a big bed and a window, and maybe a family. We could do it, this could be it. We have fifteen years at the most left. I'll be Duncan's age before then, and he said he'd started feeling it… before the end."
"Those are Tamryn's children, Alistair. It's written all over that little girl. The hair, the eyes, the quick way she flows around her brother when they're moving. I can't stay here. And I can't have you send her away from her children, every time I show up. You know that."
"I wouldn't!" Alistair turned her to face him, "It was never what you thought. I did love her. But… things were over before Lenora was even born. I'd been her savior and she was… not you. I'm trying to make things right, the way they should be. Maybe we can't marry, and maybe you would tell me no, even if we could, but we can have something, something not so… tainted."
"Tamryn's left?" She asked, and then realizing, "You named her Lenora?"
"I'd hoped someday…" his words trailed off, hanging in the air. "You often spoke of her, how she stayed with your father, even at the end."
They sat, both lost in thought. Her mother had been so brave. Her sacrifice had shamed Sabriel greatly over the years. What would her mother have done? Refused Morrigan's ritual, probably, and taken the Arch Demon on herself to save her father. But she wasn't her mother, and Alistair wasn't Bryce. Her heart gave a guilty surge. And Tamryn was gone. How had she left her children?
"When did she leave? I can't imagine ever leaving… not when you had them." Her mind went back to their bright peals of laughter.
"It was hard for her, after. They'd done… she'd been through some awful things. There came a time when she just couldn't stand to look at any of us. Humans, I mean. A group of one of those Dalish you're always sending came by, and she was gone when they left."
She turned to watch his face, but didn't see any regret. He even seemed a bit glad, as if he hoped she found a better place. Sabriel felt some of the bitterness she'd held all these years for the woman slip away.
"I did want for you to be the only woman I slept with, you should know that," his voice was gentle.
"I know," she whispered back, a tear rolling down her cheek. "But then one of us would be dead." All the years lost. "Maybe I'll just be the last, instead."
He pulled her head to his chest, and they lay there together for some time, listening to the sounds of children playing outside. Maybe it was time to start letting go of the old hurts, and hard-won guilt. Maybe they could find a little bit of happiness here, for awhile. Her heart still hurt for all of them, though. No one had come through this unscathed. But she could learn from her parents. She could teach the children what they had taught her, and maybe leave them stronger because of it. And she could follow her mother's example, and be with him at the end. They would go out together.