M.B.C.R says:: Its just accrued to me that I didn't post this on here. Huh. Normally Im good with posting everything on post my AO3 account and FF. Welp, I fixed that. So I guess that's all that matters, right? So anyways, this is my first ever fanfiction for this fandom. I'm really excited for this actually. I don't plan on having too many new characters, though if you readers would life a brief cameo I'm more than willing to add you! It helps me in figuring out what to name these people.

This is currently set after the events of "Witch Hunt" and before Dragon Age 2. Well I guess it kinda overlaps, but anyways it's still set after the confrontation with Morrigan and around the time that Alistair goes off to meet Hawke.

Please leave any comments or questions, I will gladly get back to you :)

And lets get with the Warnings:

-Miscarriage, mentions of past character death, profanity, trying (and failing) to conceive a child, mourning lost family members, sexual themes (warnings will be presented at the start of the chapter)

Full Summary:

"You know they'd expect an heir" and how very true those words were. It didn't matter that she had just finally returned to court, it didn't matter how many times they've tried. Its been a year since her hunt for Morrigan, her hunt for answers, and it was obvious that she had returned empty handed.

OR.

The fic where the taint is strong and those words Alistair had said were very much true. But that wasn't going to stop her-there had to be another way, another mean (excluding Blood Magic, that was a big no-no) to her end.


She jolted, heart beating seemingly in her throat. She swallowed thickly as she sat up in the bed. The hearth still popped with the glowering embers, casting the room into a warm glow. Vyal had gotten used to the light and sound of a fire these past few years. Even more so now that winter was nearing its completion, though it was mild. But it had always been mild here in Denerim compared to Highever—

Vyal sighed, pulling the covers from her body and stepping into the cool air. She doubts that she would fall back into a restful sleep after those memories of years ago. Two years in fact since the death of her family—since the end of the blight, since the beginning of this new life of hers. Two years and she was still haunted by the faces of her mother, father, nephew and sister-in-law. It's a silly thing to think of in the dead of night, yet in her dreams she's reminded of a happier time with them and when she wakes it's simply a reminder.

She palmed the table closest to the bed, grabbing at the collection of long match sticks and pulling one from the others. She dragged it against the wood, pushing the air from her lungs through her teeth as it caught in a soft whoosh. She held the flame against the wick of the candle, fingers only slightly shaking, until it caught. With a flick of her wrist the match died out.

The man shifted under the sheets drawing her attention to her husband, "not that I'm not enjoying waking to the image of my beautiful naked wife." Even waking in the dead of night this man could pour compliments out of that mouth of his; she did really enjoy that mouth.

She rolled her hazel eyes not just at his comment but the lazy drag his body stretched as he rolled onto his back and propped himself up on an elbow. "What are you doing awake?" he yawned, his hair wasn't how it normally was when he woke up meaning that he had more than likely just settled into bed not too long before.

His worries warm her heart, just as much as it frustrates her. She has expressed both of these issues to him a number of times—he had only laughed, kissing her in the privacy of their room. He had grown confidant in these past years; a wonderful man, and a good King.

Not yet a great King; he was too young for that, still too new to the role of royalty and the troubles of court and political stupidity. Vyal was a warrior, a fighter, though she understood court and courtly matters she could never understand why all these nobles would much rather talk andbitch about things rather than actually doing something about it.

This coming from the woman who talked a guard into her cell that she shared with her now husband and made that very guard shed his clothes before killing him. Yes... yes, she knows how very different these matters are. And yes during the blight she did speak her way into the hearts of many to win favours, but that was different.

This was her standing around by her husband's side while court was in session and itching to stuff a blade between the next nobleman's eyes who dared take a disgraceful tone to her husband. Though the list of those nobles were very few in numbers, they still remained and Vyal wanted nothing more than to remove them from court and her husband's life.

So in her own way, Vyal very much did worry about him too. Though she tried to hide it more and more with... the situation in which she wished were not looking to be true. They had both been through so much together; she wanted...

What she wanted wasn't what was asked, and for the moment it was not what was important.

"Dreams," she finally replied wrapping her arms around her ever persistent flat stomach. This had been haunting her more and more since her hunt for, and later discovery and confrontation, of Morrigan. The witch was her best friend, they were close, and yet it was so very easy to watch the ties between them slip and shatter away.

Vyal had never had a sister and Morrigan had called her hers... for her to just slip away like that—it felt like losing her family all over again.

Alistair fluffed up his pillow behind him, leaning against it and the headboard. He was staring at her, just like how she was him. He had gotten very good at reading her and she'd like to blame the court for that as well. That, the late nights going over documents and other grueling tasks of similarity, and the bags under his eyes that no one but she noticed.

Maybe she'd keep him in bed for the whole day tomorrow—or at least for most of it. Tell anyone who comes knocking to stuff a hot iron up their arses and bugger off.

He raised a brow, "of the unpleasant variety," he spoke finally. And of course he knew, he most likely knew what trouble her more than everything else. More than the reminder of times long ago.

Vyal huffed sitting back onto the bed; he jutted his chin out towards her in an action that would normally be used in promising of pleasantries later the evening when both of them were stuck in court where the nobles were ever watchful. It was amusing to think of all the different actions they had that spoke so many different meanings.

She understood how her mother just knew when her father was annoyed just by a few seconds of looking at him. It all made sense now.

Vyal settled back under the covers, curling around her husband and tucking her face into the junction where neck and shoulder met. His skin was warm, pleasantly warm from his time under the covers. Her skin slid over his as she settled into her position, nails trailing over the fine blond hair that dusted his upper chest. You couldn't even see it unless you had your face already pressed against it—more of a feeling than anything else.

His chest rose and fell, heart beating calmly under his skin. She was being lulled back into a state of peace; his fingers weaving into the strands of hair that fell passed her shoulders. She remembered now what had awoken her with a start, "I dreamt of my family." His fingers stilled momentarily, "Mother loved my long hair," she continued curling her fingers and trailing them up his chest. "I hated it; it got in the way during practice and she would insist that I wear it in these elaborate braids," she couldn't even remember the names that these hairstyles even were. "And the dresses!" she let out in a shrill, laughing at the memories.

"I remember when Mother and her ladies would waltz into my room on the mornings that some lordling and their son would come by in their attempt to woo me. Mother would stand there scolding me for things that I haven't even done yet—she knew, oh that woman knew that if I had my way I would waltz out to meet them in full plate armor with a sword strapped to my back and beat their son black and blue." She could hear the rumble in his chest before his shoulders shook with the chuckles.

"She had me dressed in this Maker awful dress that hurt to even breathe—Orlais, she had told me. Like that made it any better," she chuckled despite herself. "After she and her maids had dressed me up in it and fixed my hair and makeup she made this huge show of making me promise that I'd make an appearance and behave."

She felt his lips press against the crown of her head. "I waited nearly five minutes after Mother had left before taking my knives out and cutting the damn thing off me—"

"So that's why you were so vocal about me tearing your wedding dress off—and you show absolutely no regard for those other dresses you have to wear to court!" his head thumbed against the headboard as he let out a deep rich laugh. She hadn't heard him laugh like that for awhile; it felt nice.

"—I left the makeup on. That horrible Highever blue-green colour that was on all our crests and shields, it never matched well with anything else I'd wear. And I just remember thinking 'I hate this' and 'this is stupid' as I snipped and sheared my hair away. Until I could no longer have those braids weaved into my hair." She pressed her tongue against the back of her teeth, "Mother was livid when she saw my hair. She didn't care about the dress by then; she was embarrassed and Father was too. I could tell he was disappointed that I had decided that now was the time to act out like such."

He was shifting under her, dragging her back down so they could lay curled up in each other's embrace. She could feel moisture gathering at the corner of her eyes; it was ridiculous in having this reaction. Completely and utterly idiotic; yet she couldn't help but feel the tears gather.

She was always that failure child; too spirited for her own good, too much temper, seduced the knights and a few of the lordlings yet never settling down with them, she had acted more of a second son than a daughter—with becoming a warrior and itching for battle. And now here she was. She had settled down with a King, a Gray Warden and a Queen... yet she couldn't even have a child.

Wasn't that what she was meant to do? Breed?

"From then on Father didn't actively send invitations to other Lords for marriage propositions and my warrior training was my sole priority. I keep my hair short when I know battle is upon us, or if I'm looking for one—" she had grown her hair out since the Blight, since hunting for Morrigan. She had settled down for now, had remained by Alistair's side from then on. "I felt bad, just a little." That was a lie; she felt more than just a little bit of guilt for what had happen. For how much that had changed everything—for not being able to see her Mother truly proud of her until the night that everything had ended... when everything had truly begun.

She still wore the Highever blue-green colour on her eye lids; had worn it though out the blight, had worn the shade during her wedding... had even worn it the day before.

She blinked and the tears fell, splattering against his skin and rolling down his neck. The sound that escaped his lips—that rumbled up his neck—sounded pained. And they were moving again, moving until she was pressed against the bed with his entire naked body pressing against her's. His lips pressing kisses all over her face; her eyes and cheeks were his focus as he avoided her lips and kissed the tears that escaped and that continued to escape.

She had thought that she had mourned for them already—during the months after the blight, though it was busy. She had thought that she had moved passed the nights where she'd wake from a dead sleep to the memories of what was. Her tears had turned into sobbing and she could feel herself falling apart—and the worst part of this was was that she knew that this spell of emotion wasn't because of what had happened at Highever.

She couldn't conceive a child that both of them wanted—that they needed.

She couldn't.

Not anymore, not with the taint. And even if they would, who was to say that she could give birth to it? Who would say that it could live inside her?

She had went hunting after Morrigan for answers on how to carry a child with the taint—to birth a child with the taint... to even get pregnant. She had hunted and chased; followed after a woman that she had considered her sister. All she was left with was a warning and nothing in the ways of answering her question.

She wanted a child—she wanted her own child, she wanted to keep trying yet she feared that it'll be more years of disappointment. Feared that maybe Alistair would tire of her—though she knew that that was improbable, but it couldn't help but tear at her in her weakest moments.

He was saying things against her face; sweet, tender terms of endearment. Yet she couldn't stop her crying, it was soaking her cheeks and dripping into her hair. His hands pushing her hair back and away from her face where it was starting to stick with tears.

She wanted a family—she wanted to give Alistair one; a large one full of love and happiness. Yet here she was nearly two years later and still nothing—not even a miscarriage. She's heard the mutterings the nobles at court would gossip about, she heard the servants too.

She wished she still had her mother to tell her that it's normal that a woman body sometimes doesn't conceive while it's stressed. Vyal had been fighting darkspawn for far too long and it was only this year where she had finally settled back in Denerim and had hung her blade and armor up until a time where it would be needed again.

She knew this, but it wasn't about knowing it—it was about actually knowing it (in the sense that it stuck).

He continued to shower her with words far too kind, with too many kisses to count—he didn't stop until well after her eyes ran dry and her breath caught. He tucked an arm under her neck and settled half his weight on the bed before curling around her.

"You and I," his voice caught and he was forced to clear his throat, "this bed. All tomorrow; no court, no servants 'cept for those moments where they feed us. We need a break from ruling and saving the world, don't you think?" he was trying to make things light, and she thanked him for that in the depths of her mind.

"That sounds perfect," she whispered, throat raw and soar.