Chapter 4

What followed was pure bliss.

Fiona curled up beside Maric in the bed, their hands entwined and their baby son nestled between them. Maric leaned in often to brush her lips with his, his eyes glowing with love and contentment. Soft words were exchanged between them... promises for the future, plans of things to come.

Never had Fiona felt so loved. It was addictive, this aura of safety and happiness. Any second now, I'll wake up, Fiona fretted even as Maric's fingers traced her cheek. It was just too good to be real. A seedling of fear had embedded itself in her stomach after her acceptance of his proposal, but every touch did much to uproot it.

It would be fine. Maric's eyes told her so.

Even so, her anxiety soon fought its way through, and she asked, "What about the kingdom? What will they think?"

Maric shrugged, seeming unconcerned as he lifted her fingers to his lips. "Who I marry really shouldn't matter to them. Cailan is my heir, and this little one will be an excellent second. His existence alone should make the Landsmeet happy. There've been rumblings of getting me remarried for years, with the sole purpose of providing a 'spare.'"

"No. I don't want him mixed up in the intrigues of the court." Fiona shook her head, that disquieting clench returning to her belly. "I don't want him in line for the throne. He may be a Theirin, but his bloodline is divided, and I'd rather not put our son in harm's way."

"What harm could come to him?" Maric laughed, his eyes crinkling with amusement. "What safer place could there be for him than here, under our care?"

"Maric," Fiona hesitated. How to say this in a way that would make him listen... "You're being naive about this. He looks human, but his mother's still an elf. When Ferelden sees who I am - when they see what I am-"

"You're the woman I love," Maric cut her off. "And that's all I care about. Why are we still talking about this?" His mouth captured hers again, halting further protests.

Silenced by his advances, Fiona trailed her hands over his chest, lacking the impetus to actually push him away. He was too delicious, and she too starved for his affection. As if Maric knew she intended to press the issue, he deepened the kiss, sending shivers of warmth through her. Fiona turned to jelly, but then she shoved at him with both hands, determined to have her say.

Maric chuckled against her mouth. His hand crept over her, squeezing the dip of her waist as he attempted to ease her closer. "Quiet, woman," he murmured. "How can I kiss you when you keep trying to talk?"

"How can you hear me when your ears are full of sawdust?" Fiona countered, ducking away at last. Her fingers pressed against his lips when he closed in again. "This is important, Maric. You say you love me. Give me this. Please."

He sighed, backing off as his eyes dropped to the little bundle between them. "He's a prince, Fiona. There's no reason why he shouldn't have his birthright."

"There's every reason," Fiona argued. "But mostly, I don't want this for him."

"But why?" Maric seemed puzzled. "What boy wouldn't do well to grow up a prince? He'll have the finest education, the best weapons training. He'll learn tactics, politics, strategy."

"He can learn all of that without being a prince. Maric..." Fiona wove her fingers through his. "If he's in line for the throne, he'll learn what it's like to live in fear," she said. "To be used and manipulated. He'll never feel like he can trust anyone, or he'll end up spoiled and entitled." Her eyebrows met as she entreated him. "Remember all you've told me about the burden of the crown. Have you forgotten?"

A frown dented Maric's brow as she spoke.

She closed her fingers over Maric's. "Our son can be... anything. An advisor, a warleader, Cailan's right hand man..."

Maric studied her, that same frown furrowing his forehead. "Does it really mean so much to you?"

"Yes, it really does. You have no idea. He'll face terrible things, being my child. No, listen to me," she interrupted when he began to protest. "You can't keep my race a secret from the country, and when they know what he is... he'll be tortured for it. Tormented. Maric, I've seen it."

"I wouldn't allow any such thing," he swore. "Anyone who dared-"

"It wouldn't matter," she interrupted. "I know you wouldn't let anything happen to him, but the things you don't see are the things that will hurt him the most." Her mouth thinned to a tight slash as she recalled her own childhood. The contempt from humans, just for the supposed crime of being elven. There'd been a modicum of acceptance in the White Spire, but Maric would never understand the prejudices she'd been party to before then. There was no way she wanted her son to have that same stigma, not when he'd been blessed with rounded ears. "Please, Maric. He doesn't need that, and neither do you. And neither does Cailan."

The king sighed. "I don't understand why you wouldn't want this for him, or why you think this would be a hardship for me or Cailan. But, for now... nothing needs to be declared. Let's just take it as it comes?"

"Thank you," she whispered, then bent in to kiss him again.

The sound of the panel sliding open interrupted the moment. Fiona jerked back, then scrambled off the bed, smoothing her hair as her cheeks heated. What would Baltan think if he saw them like this?

Maric chuckled. "Ashamed of me already?"

"Shut it," she hissed at him.

Baltan stepped through the opening, unhooking the cloak from his shoulders as he entered. In one hand was a basket, and in the other a canvas rucksack. "Anything happen while I was gone?"

"Not much," Fiona said offhandedly. "Did you get what you needed?"

"I did." The healer draped his cloak over the back of the chair as he glanced at the baby. "So? What's his name?"

"Uh-" Fiona's heart jumped. She'd completely forgotten Baltan's edict. "His name."

A wry look flitted over the mage's face. "You didn't get around to naming him."

"Ha, right. That's funny. Of course we did," Fiona scoffed. "What kind of a mother would forget about naming her child?"

Maric said nothing, though one of his brows lifted. Wicked amusement sparkled in his eyes. Fiona shot him a pleading look as Baltan directed his attention to the basket, beginning to unpack it. The king only shrugged, shaking his head. Damn it! The ass was going to let her twist.

Baltan glanced up. "If you haven't named him-"

The words spilled out in a rush. "No, we did. I already said we did, and we did. Why would I lie about something like that?" And yet, here she was, lying. Why am I such a dunghead?Damn her pride! This time it had really knocked her sideways. What did it matter if they needed an extra hour to name him? She cudgeled her brain for a name, but every male moniker she'd ever heard flitted out of her head, mocking her from just out of reach.

"...Ah." The corner of Baltan's mouth twitched. Clearly, he didn't believe her. "I am gratified to know you wasted no time in this task. And what have you decided?"

Fiona gulped, working her lip between her teeth. Her frantic thoughts were disrupted when Maric had the audacity to snicker. Fine… Let him be the one to pull them out of this mess. "Go ahead, Maric. Tell him." She glared at him, crossing her arms.

"Well..." Maric shifted off the bed with an unconcerned stretch. "It's a great name. Fiona chose it herself." He gave Fiona a cheeky grin as he turned to Baltan. "And as such - I really think you should be the one to tell him, sweetheart. You put such thought into it."

"Sweetheart..." Baltan drawled, his dark eyes dancing as he pinned Fiona with a meaningful look. "What a beautiful endearment."

Fiona glowered. She'd had every intention of telling Baltan about Maric's proposal, but with him puffing up like the cat that ate the pigeon, she wasn't about to give him the satisfaction. The mage had been coaxing her toward Denerim for months, probably with this very outcome in mind. Void, take the nosy bastard.

Stalking to the bookshelf, Fiona yanked out a volume bound in blue cloth. Nimble fingers opened it at random, flipping purposefully. "Maric, you've got to get us something more to read," she complained, turning her back on the men as she scanned the pages for a name. Any name would do, as long as it got her out of this mess.

"What's his name, Fiona?" Baltan's slow, pointed voice demanded. "You say you have one. Do you, or not? Don't keep me in suspense. Of course, if you need more time..."

Snapping the book shut, she shoved it back onto the shelf with a put-upon sigh. "Seriously, this is drivel. You can't expect me to do nothing but sleep and care for little Alistair."

"...Alistair. Really." Baltan blinked at her, his mouth curving. "Unique. Just where did you get that? From a book?"

"No," she shot back. "I had a friend named that."

"Mmm." Baltan strolled to the shelf, plucking the book from where she'd shoved it. "A Hero's Legacy: The Sword of Starkhaven."

Fiona shrugged, her eyes on her feet. "Looks boring."

A full-out grin had broken over Maric's face. "Alistair. I love it. It's wonderful. Protector of the people - appropriate for a prince."

"What?!" Eyes wide, Fiona snatched the book from Baltan's hands. The title of the book splashed across the cover in fancy block print. A Hero's Legacy? With shaking hands, she opened to the first page, reading the opening paragraph.

Heroes are not made... they are born. And for Alistair of the Righteous Sword and Shield, the story begins no differently.

Disgusted with herself, she closed the book again. "I lied. There's no way I'm naming him that."

"Why?" Baltan laughed. "Tis a fine name, even if you did pluck it off the page. I agree with Maric. An excellent name for a young prince."

"It is not," she snapped. "My son doesn't have to be a hero. He can be anything he wants. I'm not burdening him with a name like that!"

"Alistair of Starkhaven is a legend... the man was holy, a white knight who saved a princess from a dragon. It's a name worthy of royalty." The pleased smile on Maric's face only soured her stomach all the more. "I love it. Cailan and Alistair Theirin..."

"You're a twit," Fiona snarked. Just when had she lost control of the situation? "It's a legend. I was scrambling. What boy wants to grow up with a name like that? It's... old fashioned. Arrogant sounding. His name can be... uh-"

"Alistair." Baltan lifted the baby from the bed, his voice soft as he adjusted the blanket around the infant. "It's a name with destiny attached to it. Just like him. It suits him."

Frustration darkened Fiona's brow. There was no more destiny attached to her son than there was to the ridiculous mustache Baltan groomed with such precision. What kind of a name was Alistair? What had she been thinking? And now with Baltan cooing over the boy and Maric looking fit to burst... No. She couldn't just be stuck for it.

"I'm not calling him Alistair," she announced to no one in particular.

"Baltan, could you watch Alistair for a little bit? I want to get something from my room. Need anything?" Maric headed for the door.

"No, thank you Maric. I'll just hold Alistair until you get back."

"His name is NOT Alistair," Fiona said, louder.

Maric shot her a last grin as he opened the door. "Kiss Alistair for me, Fiona," he said, then ducked out before the pillow she threw could smack him in the face.

.oOo.

Still chuckling to himself, Maric sauntered off down the hall. Alistair. It was perfect. Fiona's choice couldn't have worked out more beautifully, as far as he was concerned.

Just why she didn't want little Alistair to have his birthright, though, that remained a mystery. Terrible things? Torment, just for being Fiona's son? It made no sense. Once Ferelden got to know Fiona, they would love her as much as he did. All that was needed was to introduce her, show them who his choice was. Though she would never be queen, there was no reason why she couldn't be his consort. Such things had been done in the past, marriages between kings and commoners. Why not now?

Though it couldn't be denied that no monarch had ever taken an elven consort before. The thought clouded him over momentarily, but he cheered up soon enough. There was always a first time, right?

Whistling to himself, Maric strode through the corridors. His sketchbook was just the thing he needed to while away the afternoon. By the time night fell, he planned on having his sketchbook filled with drawings of Fiona and Alistair to add to the ones of Rowan and Cailan. Memories were precious, and you never realized just how much until they were gone forever.

Happy in his rose-colored cloud, he took no notice of Loghain lurking in the upper hallway.