"It's done," Alistair said, the disgust on his face matching the tone of his voice as he entered their room. "I think I'm going to be sick."
Aubrianna stood up from the table where she'd been writing, her face betraying none of the obvious relief at his return and his continued displeasure at the deed. She'd been afraid he would fall asleep in Morrigan's bed as he often did in their own. Afraid he would hold Morrigan as he held her after their lovemaking. The jealousy had almost driven her insane. But now he was back where he belonged and Maker providing, they would both survive the upcoming battle.
That jealousy returned when she took a step towards him, only to have him back away.
"I need a bath. I need to clean off this filth."
She nodded, relief flooding through her. "I'll call for one," she said as she stepped out the door in search of a servant.
Alistair sank to the floor, not wanting to bring her taint to their bed. He truly did feel sick. He had been sure he wouldn't be able to perform the necessary deed to complete the ritual and had been disgusted with himself when he'd felt his body react to her ministrations. In a perfect world he would never have been forced to do that vile deed.
Aubrianna returned to the room with a string of servants bearing a tub and hot water. The tub was soon filled, the servants gone.
"Let me," she said, ignoring his protests as she removed his clothing.
He stopped her as she started to discard the garments on the floor, his hand grasping hers. "Burn them."
She nodded and tossed them into the fire.
He stepped into the tub and sank down, relief crossing his face as he felt the water begin to work its magic. And then she was there washing him clean. Her hands, tracing over the very same body that had betrayed him so recently. But in her hands it was different. In her hands, not only his body but his heart, his very soul reacted. His entire being craved her touch.
They made love in that tub. Aubrianna wiping away the memory of the ritual, cleansing his body as well as his soul. Reminding him, without words or conscious thought, what was right and good and true in his world.
"This is perfect," she said, snuggling up close to him in the bed, the fire burning low, their bodies now dry and warm.
"Do you really think so?" he asked, stroking her hair. "I mean, don't get me wrong, I would be nowhere else than here, with you, but…"
"But what?" she asked, concern in her voice as she sat up, drawing the covers close around her as if in protection from forces unseen.
"In a perfect world, your family would still be alive. This isn't perfect. This," he paused, scratching his head searching for the right words. "This is wonderful, but it's far from perfect."
"You're right. In a perfect world, there would be no Blight. In a perfect world there would be no need for Wardens. In a perfect world," her voice broke, a small sob escaped as her eyes brimmed with tears. "In a perfect world, we would not have met."
He reached out and enfolded her in his arms, his heart breaking at the pain he could feel emanating from her.
"I don't want perfect," she said, clinging to him, clinging to the only man she had ever truly loved. "I want you."