vii.

Yours

GWYN

"All right. I guess I really don't know how to ask you this."

I put away the last of the dried bear from the attack at the old battlefield last week. Feeding eight bodies every day—eleven with the Feddics and the Circle liaison—was no joke. It was a good thing Shale didn't eat. I would have to go out with Leliana, Sten, and Morrigan soon to search for more food. See if we could forage some mushrooms, herbs, tree bark. Find some fish in the nearby lake. Take a deer, maybe, a hare or a wild goose. Winter was coming. Feeding everyone was just going to get harder and harder. I decided we should probably head to Orzammar next, after we had resolved the situation at Redcliffe one way or another. The dwarves would have more food readily available for purchase.

I tucked some hair behind my ear and stood to face Alistair. "Ask me what?"

Alistair opened his mouth and closed it again. He seemed flushed in the firelight, I noticed. His hands came up to rake through his hair, and he paced in a little circle. "Oh, how do I say this," he muttered. "You'd think it would be easier, but every time I'm around you, I feel as if my head's about to explode. I—I can't think straight."

I stared at him, starting to feel concerned. "Alistair, you can ask me anything. You know that," I told him.

"Here's the thing," he explained. "Being near you makes me crazy, but if you ask me what I want, you're there, every time. I can't imagine being without you. Not ever." He seemed to give up working his way up to it then, and confessed, "I don't know how to say this another way. I want to spend the night with you. Here, in the camp. Maybe this is too fast, I don't know, but . . . I know what I feel."

Oh. Oh. I looked around, all at once very aware that we were in camp. Who was still up? Nights came too soon now for me to tell who the figures were; they were all standing too far from the fire, in the shadows near their respective tents. Some seemed to have bedded down, at least. I tried to remember who had first watch. Sten?

My face flamed, and I twisted my hands together. "Alistair, are you sure?"

"I wanted to wait for the perfect time, the perfect place," Alistair explained. "But when will it ever be perfect? If things were, we wouldn't even have met. We sort of . . . stumbled into one another, and despite this being the least perfect time, I still found myself falling for you in between all the fighting and everything else. I really don't want to wait anymore. I've—I've never done this before."

"Neither have I!" I reminded him. I brought my hands up to my cheeks, trying to hide my blush. The walls of our tents were so thin. When the lanterns were on inside, everyone could see the shadows of the people within. Sound would carry. But what embarrassed me most was how little I cared.

"Is this too fast?" Alistair wanted to know. "I shouldn't have asked, should I?"

I shook my head. "It's fine. More than fine," I promised him. "It's just—Alistair, a hundred things could happen." But I was already doing the arithmetic in my head. Would tonight be safe? Could we lie together without fear of making a child I would have to carry in the middle of a Blight—Maker, did it matter? I just bet Morrigan knew a few spells or potions.

I laughed nervously. Andraste's teeth, my mother would have killed me! To take a man to bed like this, not my husband or betrothed or anyone that was ever likely to be. Maric's bastard, the probable heir to the throne, when the murders of Oren and Oriana had taken us far past the place where I could make a good queen, even discounting the taint in my blood that meant I'd be lucky to see fifty. Yet my heart raced, pounding an erratic tattoo against my ribs. "Is this really what you want?" I asked one more time.

Alistair nodded. "I want it to be with you." Now that he'd got it out at last, he was much more certain. "While we have the chance. In case . . ."

Once again, he felt as I. This night, whatever lay between us, was all the more precious because it might not last. If a darkspawn's blade or the Archdemon's breath took one or both of us, we would go into the void with no regrets. If we survived but the crown or my duty to my family tore us apart instead, we could face the years ahead knowing that in the time we had spent together we had given all the love we could. Given everything.

I smiled. "Don't say it," I told him. "There's no need." I reached out for both his hands and bought them to my lips. "Let us waste no more time, then," I suggested. "Take this night, and as many as it pleases the Maker to grant us." Alistair turned his hands in mine to cup my face. He stepped close, kissed me once, softly.

"Thank you," he murmured against my lips.

"This is yours," I told him quietly. "Whatever happens, this will always be yours, and so will a part of me." I smiled again, and laced my fingers through Alistair's to lead him to my tent.

Later, I lay in Alistair's arms, looking into the eyes of my lover. I was exhausted, but I did not want to sleep. Sore, but so full of warmth and contentment I had no words.

Alistair broke the silence. "You know, according to all the sisters at the monastery, I should have been struck by lightning by now." He caressed my arms, leaned forward, and kissed my cheek.

I laughed against his mouth. "It could still happen, you know."

"True, but if it happens afterward it's hardly an effective deterrent, is it?" Alistair punctuated his question with a tickle to my sides. I squealed and slapped at him, before leaning back into him again and closing my eyes.

"Bring on the lightning bolts, I say," I murmured. "I can die happy."

"The other members of our little group are going to talk, you know," Alistair informed me. "They do that." I looked lazily over at the tent flap. We'd kept the lantern on, neither of us so practiced at this that we didn't need to see what we were doing, or so accustomed to one another's bodies that we could stand not to see. What we had been doing had probably been perfectly visible to everyone else in the camp. We had taken care to be courteous to our friends, but we hadn't been completely silent, either.

I didn't give a damn. "If it doesn't bother you, it doesn't bother me. I'm not ashamed of us, Alistair."

I could feel his smile against my cheek, hear it in the warmth of his voice. He kissed me. "So. What happens now?"

Ah, there it was. The bitterness alongside our joy. I wondered if I would ever recognize us without that edge. "For all we feel, for all we've done here, nothing has changed," I answered, and it pierced my soul to have to say so. "There's still the Blight. You're still Maric's son. So many things could happen to you, to me. To us. But . . . if you wish, we can face those things side by side. Together . . . in all things."

"That's what I want," Alistair assured me. "I love you, you know. Did I tell you that? Well, it won't kill you to hear it again, will it?"

I feigned a frown. "As a matter of fact you hadn't told me that," I answered with mock sternness. Then I laughed and kissed his nose. "But I knew," I promised. "And do you know what?" I kissed his lips again, taking my time. "I love you, too," I breathed.