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Chapter Four

Breonna felt the bottom drop out of her stomach and for one horrifying moment she thought she was going to be sick. "You're going to die?"

Again that sad, bitter smile. "We're all going to die, Breonna. I just get to do it a bit sooner than most." She pulled her hand out of his and stood up shakily. His expression immediately became one of concern. "Bre?" She shook her head in helpless denial as he got to his feet.

"No," she whispered, trying to fight the burning in her eyes. When he took a step towards her, she backed up. He reached for her and she fled, turning from him and bolting for the door. She clawed it open and burst into the hallway, slamming the door behind her.

She ran down the hallway, not caring where her steps led her. Her vision shimmered as he eyes filled with tears and she dashed at them with a desperate hand. Turning around one corner and then another before finally collapsing against a wall, shaking.

Resting against the cold stone walls, her face buried in her hands, she let the sobs come. She knew this was going to happen, she knew it. Wasn't that why she tried to keep her distance from Alistair? Wasn't that why she fought so hard to keep her heart safe? After everything that happened with Cailan, she knew if she dared to love again it would just be taken from her.

How had it happened? She tried so hard not to let him in. But the man was so damn hard to resist. He was funny, caring, sweet and…and good. It was a battle she'd been fighting for months. And what a fool she was. She knew she'd lost the night the messenger came from Vigil's Keep and she'd felt that same awful fear as when Loghain had come back from Ostagar alone. She pounded her fist lightly on the wall and cried. After everything else, this was too much.

When there were no tears left in her, and she had calmed down, her breathing almost normal, she dragged her sleeve across her eyes and nose. What was she to do now? She loved Alistair. She was honest with herself about that now. Should she push him away again, try to save what little of her heart as she could? Or should she embrace what she had and take every moment the Maker gave her with Alistair, no matter how long that was?

Regaining her feet and walking slowly back to their room, she tried to envision what her life would be like with both choices. They were both going to end in heartache, one way or another. And a life where she let herself care, only to have everything torn away, seemed too painful to be borne. But if there was a chance for happiness, if there were something to mitigate the eventual pain….

She returned to find Alistair standing before the fire, hands on the mantle, head and shoulders bowed. As she entered he looked at her, his face so full of misery and hurt that it made her heart ache with sorrow. And she knew, then, that her choice was made, that there had only ever been one choice to begin with.

As she crossed the room, he straightened, turning away from the hearth to face her, his expression wary. Closing the distance between them, she stepped right up to wrap her arms around him, and he hesitated only a moment before returning the embrace. She tugged his head down so she could kiss him, her tongue tracing along his lower lip before seeking deeper in his mouth.

When they finally broke apart to breathe, she didn't let him go far, whispering against his lips, "I love you."

In her arms, Alistair stiffened and then pulled away. "Don't," he said harshly. "Don't say that, not if you don't mean it. I don't want your pity, Breonna."

Her fingers on his lips stilled him. She pressed closer to him, holding his gaze, wanting desperately to make him understand. "It's not pity. It's not!" she said fiercely when he shook his head. "Listen to me, please. I've been such a fool, such a stubborn fool."

She drew a shaky breath and rested her head on his shoulder, finding it easier to admit this to his muscled chest than his face. "I've loved you for months now, I think. For so long I tried to fight it, tried not to let you into my heart, and it happened without me knowing. And then Vigil's Keep happened and I was afraid. I was so scared that I might lose you. When you came back, whole and alive, I wanted nothing more than to hold you and never let you go, and that's when I knew the truth. I told myself that I would stop pulling away, that I could love you without fear—that you weren't going to leave me."

The slight tremor that passed through him made her ball her hands into fists, clutching the fabric of his tunic. "Except I was wrong. You're going to leave me and it's not fair! I want you, I want a life with you. I want what my mother said—to grow old with you and we can't have it." She turned her head so she could look at him, her hand coming up to cup his cheek, her thumb tracing over his cheekbone.

"It would be easier not to love you, now that I know what's going to happen. But I can't do that. It would be like trying to make my heart stop beating. So we only have twenty-five years? Fine. I'll take it. However long we have, I'll take it. And I promise to stop trying to keep you out. For every moment that you have, I want to spend it with you."

He was looking down at her, watching her with dark, unreadable eyes and she faltered. Was she asking more than he was willing to give? Uncertainty made her look away. "If…if that's what you want, I mean. If it's not, I…I understand."

Alistair let out a shuddering breath and she felt his hand close over the one she still held to his face. When he spoke, his voice was low, raw. She felt it rumble from his chest through her. "You have no idea, Bre, how badly I want that." Still holding her, he took a few steps back so he could sit, and he pulled her down onto his lap.

Sitting, their heads were level and he reached up to brush away a tear that slid down her cheek. "You're not angry, then? About the issue with a child?"

She shook her head. "No. If it happens, it happens. And I would love to have your child, but if it's not meant to be, it's all right. This—you—are enough." She turned in his lap, pressing against him as she straddled him and pressed her lips to his. Beneath her, she felt him respond, and pressed against him more fully, laughing huskily as he groaned.

Kissing him again, she nibbled his lower lip before moving to trail kisses along his jaw. Her hands worked at his waist as she kissed and licked her way down his neck, pulling his tunic free of his pants. At her urging, he lifted his arms and she tugged the tunic off, throwing it somewhere out of the way.

Sitting back, she just looked at him for a minute, admiring the hard, flat planes of his torso. She reached out, running her hands over him, enjoying the feel of him beneath her fingers. Warm and strong and alive. She no longer thought of the scars he bore as imperfections. Instead, they were simply a part of him, marks of all that he had done and endured. And to her they were beautiful and, most importantly, like the rest of him, they were completely hers.

Alistair's hands came up while she looked at him, slipping her robe from her shoulders. She wiggled her arms slightly, letting it fall to the floor and then reached down and pulled her chemise off, leaving her bare before him. His eyes darkened, lids lowering slightly and she felt that same surge of desire she had first felt on their wedding night. The want, the hunger in the way he looked at and touched her was thrilling. It made her feel needed in a way she'd never known before him.

Breonna leaned forward again, pressing her lips to the base of his throat and working her way down from where she had left off. Her nails scraped over his flat nipples before her mouth found them, her tongue laving over them. There was a slight hiss and his hands settled on her thighs, massaging, when she used her teeth gently. With a slightly wicked smile, she suddenly rose, moving off of Alistair to stand and then kneel before him.

She worked quickly at the laces of his trousers, and at her murmured command, he braced himself and lifted his hips so she could tug them and his smallclothes down off his hips. Pausing momentarily to tug his boots off, she finished peeling them off, leaving him just as bare as she.

She sat back for a moment, admiring, before running gentle fingers over his length. He shifted, started to move off the sofa and join her on the floor, but she stopped him, fingers digging in to his muscled thighs to keep him seated. Using her hands on his thighs, she moved his knees apart and slid closer, between them, licking her lips.

"Bre?" She heard the cautious curiosity in his voice and knew why. This wasn't something she did very often. It wasn't that she hated or even disliked it, but something about it always pricked at her pride. And now, she suddenly found herself not caring about that. In light of everything, it seemed rather silly now.

"Alistair?" she replied.

"What are you doing?"

Looking up at him, meeting his eyes, she leaned closer, letting her breath ghost over him. "What does it look like I'm doing?" And then she leaned forward and her tongue darted out in a single delicate lick over his tip.

His reaction was immediate, his answer dying on his lips and muscles tensing beneath her hands. A small smile playing on her lips, she did it again, this time sliding down further until she could place a soft kiss on the skin of his stomach. Below her lips she felt the muscles there quiver slightly before she moved back up along the other side of his length.

She brought her head down again, her lips closing over him this time, tongue swirling and laving around him. Adjusting her angle slightly, she wrapped one hand around the base of his arousal and moved it in time with her mouth, meeting were her mouth could not reach.

Unlike what she normally did, she kept her eyes on his face this time, watching him, using his reactions to guide her. She discovered that when she pressed her tongue to the underside of his shaft just so, his eyes nearly rolled back in his head. She forced herself to go slow, not to hurry it, to enjoy the pleasure she was giving him. It was different doing it this way, and surprisingly, she felt herself growing damp, aching even though he had yet to touch her.

His hand came up to her head almost hesitantly, giving her every opportunity to stop him, but she only hummed in pleasure when he slid his fingers into her hair and cupped the back of her skull. He groaned when she did that, feeling the vibrations in her throat, his hand tightening slightly, but not enough to hurt. She let him guide her, trusting him not to force anything, to help show her what felt best for him.

Breonna felt him massaging the back of her head. The combination of sensations—the feel of him in her mouth and hand, hard muscled thigh tense under her other hand as he tried not to thrust into her mouth, the scrape of his fingernails along her scalp, his ragged breaths and groans, the two of them watching each other as she pleasured him—was incredibly erotic and a shudder rippled down her spine.

She felt him tense. "Bre," he groaned urgently and she understood, pulling back and releasing him with a slight slurping sound. The hand stroking him grasped more firmly, gliding in almost lazy strokes until he came in her hand with a cry.

Alistair's eyes were closed now, his breathing ragged and his body leaning forward, covered with a sheen of sweat, hand still fisted in her hair. She felt a surge of triumph at seeing him so undone, his control gone, and couldn't help the low laugh of pleasure that came from her.

When she laughed, he cracked an eye at her and released her hair. "Something funny?" he asked, resting his arms on his knees.

"Not really," she replied, reaching for something to clean her hand with and finding Alistair's tunic closest at hand. He frowned slightly as he watched her.

"I liked that shirt."

"We can wash it."

He flushed slightly. "I…no. Let's just not."

"Hmm, then maybe I'll keep it." She shot him a sly look out of the corner of her eye. "I could…wear it to bed or something.

His flush darkened. "You are a wicked, wicked woman."

"Ah, but I'm your wicked, wicked woman."

Even though she was deliberately teasing him, she was unprepared when he growled and slid off the sofa, grabbing her and pinning her beneath him. She sighed when he kissed her, his mouth rough and urgent against hers, pressing her down into the rug underneath them. Arching beneath him, she started to wrap her arms around him, but he caught her wrists, holding them above her head in one hand.

"Oh, no, you don't," he whispered as he nipped at her ear. "Who knows what a temptress such as you could do if she had use of her hands? I think," another nip, "just to be safe," a kiss against her neck, "I should hold on to them." His tongue traced the line of her collarbone from throat to shoulder. "Although I fear it may already be too late for me."

She couldn't help the giggle. "Do I have you under my spell then?"

"Most definitely."

"And is there no way to break it?"

"Alas, no. I think…punishment…might be the only answer to this."

Breonna's breath caught in her throat. The look in Alistair's eye was blatantly challenging as he grinned at her. He expected her to back out, she realized. Well, two could play this game.

"Punishment?" she whispered breathlessly. "Do your worst."

Something flared in his eyes as he growled again and kissed her. He squeezed her wrists gently. "Keep them there." She nodded and twisted her hands together, anticipation making her squirm and whimper.

His hands traced along her ribs, over her stomach and around her breasts, brushing lightly. He cupped her breasts gently, kneading and stroking, peppering them with little kisses and licks, but deliberately avoiding her nipples. They were hard, aching for him, begging to be touched and she whined slightly in frustration. He laughed, his breath puffing over one taut peak. "Tell me again that you love me."

"I love you," she said without hesitation, and arched up off the floor with a gasp when his mouth closed around the nipple, rolling it between tongue and teeth. He sucked hard, applying gentle scrapes of his teeth before finally releasing it. He blew across the shiny, red tip and, if it were possible, it hardened even further.

Alistair moved slightly, hovering over her other breast and looking at her, waiting. "I love you," she offered eagerly, and his mouth descended to offer the same ministrations. She sighed happily and started to bring her arms down, but he caught them and tsked, bringing them back over her head.

"Ah, ah, I said keep them there." She pouted and he sucked on her lower lip. Kissing her again, he returned his hands on her breasts, tweaking and teasing. She moaned, shifted against him, trying to press up with her hips where his legs kept her pinned. "So eager."

"Yes…."

"Do you want me to touch you, Bre?"

"Maker's breath, yes! Please, Alistair!"

"Since you asked so nicely…."

He moved back, sliding along her body, hands and mouth tracing a path down. He eased off of her, stroking her legs as she opened them. Once he settled between her thighs, he paused for a moment, looking up along her body at her.

"What you did tonight was unbelievably hot. Now I want you to do the same thing." She quivered at the feel of his breath across her damp curls, and started to bring her arms down to prop herself up. But then she stopped, remembering his earlier admonishment not to move then, and looked at him in consternation.

His eyes crinkled in amusement and he nodded his consent to her silent question. "I hate you," she muttered, levering herself up slightly on her elbows so she could watch him.

"No, you don't."

Her breath caught as he lowered his face towards her sex…and stopped the barest fraction of an inch away. She tried to arch up and close the distance, but his hands on her hips held her firmly. Catching her gaze, he waited once more. Breonna was beginning to realize how desperately he needed to hear those three little words—wondered if anyone had ever said them to him before—and cursed that she had denied them to him for so long.

Vowing to correct that every chance she got, she whispered raggedly, "I love you," and cried out, shuddering, as he touched her. He teased her, starting with gentle licks and caresses, stroking his tongue along her folds. He increased his tempo slightly, loosening his grip to allow her to move as he delved into her. Her hips lifted to meet him and she panted, trying to get him to touch that sensitive little spot he seemed determined to avoid.

Her hands clutched at the rug beneath her. "Please," she moaned, "please, please…." She felt his hand rubbing and stroking her along with his mouth. The ache between her legs we unbearable and when he slid a finger into her, she pushed forward eagerly, desperate for any sort of friction.

She could still see him watching her, choking back a cry as he pushed a second finger into her and at the same time touched his tongue to her nub. It was a struggle to keep her eyes open and focused on him. Within her, she felt his fingers flex and curl as his tongue licked and pressed harder. The tension coiled and finally broke, carrying her over the edge in a wave of ecstasy.

Her back arched as she cried out, throwing her head back and breaking their eye contact. Her inner muscles clenched against his fingers, trying to draw them deeper in. He kept stroking her as she came and it was too much, too much and not enough. She slumped back against the rug, her arms too boneless to hold her up, panting.

When she had her breath back and her vision wasn't flashing white, she reached for him. He let her pull him up beside her and when he withdrew his hand, she felt empty. Leaning next to her, resting on one arm, he looked at the hand still covered with her juices. Deliberately holding her gaze, he sucked his fingers clean, licking his lips when he was done and smiling at the mewling sound she made.

He gathered her close, rolling a nipple lazily between his fingers as he licked a droplet of sweat off her neck. She could feel him, hard and insistent against her hip. "You're insatiable," she breathed.

"Another side effect of the Joining."

"Truly?" There had been times she wondered about his endurance, wondered at how any man could keep up that level of intensity.

"Yup. I mean, you've seen the way I eat. For a Warden, all appetites are increased. We have increased stamina, and well, it affects everything." He frowned slightly. "I don't push you too much, do I? I don't always think when I…you know…."

She kissed him. "No, you don't. I'm not made of glass, Alistair. You're not going to break me."

The sound he made as an answer was unintelligible, but she understood it perfectly. "Do you think," she asked as he started to nudge her knees apart with his leg, "that we could move to the bed?"

A grin pulled up the corner of his mouth. "What was that about you not being made of glass?"

"I'm not, but you're not going to be the one with rug burns in the morning."

"Point." He stood gracefully, extending his hands to help her up and then swinging her into his arms. She nestled against his chest as he carried her to the bed and laid her down.

They went slow this time, caressing and exploring. Love-making had always been good between them, but there was something different to it now after their confessions. From the first, Alistair had been a considerate lover, but this time he stroked her to readiness, until she writhed beneath him and his name fell from her lips like a chant.

And he watched her, his hazel eyes intent, as if he were fixing her image in his mind. It sent a slight thread of fear through her and drove her to press against him, determined that tonight—and whenever they were together—his revelations wouldn't come between them and steal time from them.

She reached between them and grasped his length, stroking, guiding him to her. And when he finally thrust into her, she wrapped her legs around his hips, holding him fast to her. And bringing her lips near his ear, she told him again, "I love you."

He stayed buried in her for a long moment, neck bent slightly as he rested his forehead against hers. And then he withdrew, leaving her with that empty feeling again before thrusting back in completely.

The pace he set was torturously slow, and she could feel every inch of him as he entered her repeatedly. She urged him on, tightening her thighs and grinding her hips against his. Her hands played over his body, grasping at the corded muscle of his arms and back.

Soon his thrusts became harder, deeper and faster. She heard him saying something, but in between their gasps and cries she could only make out her name. She felt him tense, his hips jerking in an unsteady rhythm and reached down between them to where his body joined hers.

She stroked herself as she felt him release inside her, his face inches from hers, crying out her name. As sensitized as she was, it took only the barest brush of her fingers to send her into her own ecstasy. The briefest thought that her parents and brother were just down the hall caused her to muffle her cries against his shoulder.

Alistair held himself over her, chest heaving, before finally collapsing next to her. He pulled her against him, their legs still tangled. They were covered with sweat, and she knew that soon it would dry and leave them chilled, but she couldn't be bothered to care. She wanted to curl up and sleep, but there was something she needed to tell him first.

"Alistair?"

"Hmm?" He pulled back to look at her, brushing damp strands of hair off her face.

"Do you remember before we left, when you asked me if I missed my home? Missed Highever?"

"I think so. Why?"

"I lied, you know. I missed Highever, but I don't consider it home anymore. I used to wish I could come back to Highever to live sometimes, but not anymore. Home is Denerim, now, with the life we're making there."

His sigh was ragged as he held her. She laid her head against his chest, feeling as much as hearing his words. "I never really had a home, you know, at least not in the way people mean when they say 'home.' Having a roof over your head isn't just the same thing. For a little while, the Wardens were kind of like home, but…."

"Don't you have a home now?" she asked hopefully.

"I do. But it's not Denerim."

Her heart dropped into her stomach. That was…not what she had been expecting to hear. "It's not?"

"Nope. It's you. You're home for me, Bre, no matter where we are." She blinked away sudden tears and found her throat closed against any response. Alistair didn't seem to need one, though, simply holding her and nuzzling against her hair.

They lay like that for a long time. Neither moved until the fire finally started to die, and the heat from their passion had cooled. Then, Alistair tugged the blankets up and over them, tucking her against him, pressing her back against his chest.

The room was quiet—the only sounds those of the storm outside, the occasional pop from the fire, and their breathing. In the darkness, Breonna's eyes grew heavy and sleep started to take her. But before she drifted off, she heard the murmured whisper against her ear.

"Love you, Bre."