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A Proposal

GWYN

It was well into the second watch of the night when I finally went to him. I opened the door to Alistair's room slowly, careful not to make a noise that might wake someone down the hall or alert the servants. Alistair was sitting in a chair by the hearth reading with his back to me. He spoke without turning around. "Little late tonight, aren't you?"

I shut the door behind me before I answered. "Hard for everyone to sleep tonight."

"I guess the prospect of ending a civil war or being executed for treason could be an impediment to a restful night," Alistair mused. He closed his book and laid it down on the chest by the chair. I noted the title. He'd been reading Arl Edarn's famous treatise on a ruler's responsibilities to the people. It was a book my father had loved well and ensured I was familiar with growing up. Edarn's work had done much to codify the Ferelden monarchy's answerability to the Landsmeet, the nobles, and the people at large. I had not suggested Alistair read it, nor had Eamon, to my knowledge. I smiled with some pride. Alistair was determined to be a good king.

"People in the halls?" he asked me.

"Many," I confirmed. "Or up talking and drinking in their rooms, anyway. Better to be discreet."

I saw the edge of his mouth twist into a self-mocking smile. "Because even if it's hardly a deep, dark secret that Teyrn Cousland's little girl has taken Maric's bastard as her lover, it's not exactly the thing to advertise it. We don't want to embarrass Eamon, Isolde, and their guests. Noble code: 'Do whatever you want, so long as it stays behind closed doors.'"

As it so very often did, Alistair's levity had a bite to it. The self-deprecating strain was nothing new, but it wasn't often he sharpened his wit on me. I swallowed. Unsurprising, really, both that he was on edge about what we faced tomorrow and that he'd chosen to vent his nervousness as anger over something that must have hurt him before, both here and at Redcliffe. But just because I understood did not mean that it did not hurt, and Alistair's anger was really the last thing I needed tonight. "We don't want to embarrass Eamon, Isolde, and their guests," I repeated, softly and without sarcasm. "I'm not ashamed of us, Alistair, but if our friends may have a problem with something we do, it's discourteous to make them uncomfortable. If this were camp, or our home, it would be a different matter. But it's not."

Alistair sighed. "Of course you're right. I just hate all this sneaking around—"he turned and saw me for the first time, and stopped mid-sentence. His mouth fell open.

Of course he was already dressed to retire. He had removed his armor, taken off his boots, and untied the top half of his shirt already. I smoothed my dress. I could feel my face aflame.

I didn't care for Lady Isolde Guerrin, but I could say at least two good things for Eamon's wife: she wasn't stingy, and she knew how to dress. When I had told her that I wanted a formal gown made up, she had gotten me one in the very latest style. I knew the rich, patterned, gold, blue, and brown brocade suited me, and Isolde had had it expertly fitted. She had also offered me the services of her personal hairdresser to wash and restyle my hair. It had been cleaned and brushed, and now it was glossy and soft, held back from my face with a wooden headband, carved into flowers and vines with tiny owls peeping out from among the foliage. For the first time since the fall of Castle Cousland, I was dressed like Teyrn Cousland's little girl.

Alistair didn't know how to take it. At least his blush mirrored my own, I thought. His hand wandered up to his hair of its own accord. "I—uh—"

"Eloquent," I said, then ducked my head. My embarrassment had made me curt. I sounded like Morrigan. I took a breath and tried again. "Do you like it?"

He found his tongue, then. "I—Gwyn—Maker's breath, you look fantastic. Amazing. You are a goddess, and Andraste knows why you've given your favor to me, a mere mortal—"

I smiled, and shook my head. "No need to blaspheme. There is such a thing as overdoing it."

"Is it something like wearing a ball gown as a nightdress?" Alistair wanted to know. "I mean, you're beautiful, but I don't understand. If I'd known we were dressing up tonight—how's my hair?" He kept fidgeting with it.

I walked up to him, plucked his wrist away, released it, and smoothed his hair back down again. "Better before you started messing with it," I told him. "It's fine, Alistair." I chuckled, gazing at the firelight shining on his toned, golden skin and catching light in his hazel eyes, quite satisfied he was mine. "You're the better looking of the pair of us eight days out of ten, anyway." A true statement. I knew that no one would ever call me an ugly or plain woman—far from it—but Alistair's beauty was something above and beyond the everyday.

He smirked. "Well, I didn't want to come right out and say it—"I gasped in mock outrage and slapped his arm. Alistair grinned at me. "I jest, love. In all seriousness, though: why?"

Now that it came to it, though, I hesitated. "I just wanted to dress up a bit for you tonight."

Alistair's face fell. "Ah. I see. I suppose it is tomorrow, isn't it? The Landsmeet. This time tomorrow, I'll be king prospective of Ferelden. Or dead."

I decided there was as good a place to start as any. "That's what I wanted to talk about," I said, though it wasn't, not entirely. "Can we sit? We should sit."

Alistair gestured to the pair of chairs by the hearth. "Please. May as well hear all the grim details sitting down as standing up."

I brushed by him and took the seat he indicated, and he sat opposite me. "Are you ready?" I asked him.

Alistair made a face. "As ready as any bastard ever is to wade into the middle of a civil war, denounce a national hero, and declare himself king, I suppose." His face straightened then, as he realized we couldn't joke about it anymore. He nodded. "That is, yes. I'm ready."

"We've discussed how things will go," I reminded him. "Eamon will present your claim to the Landsmeet, then we denounce Loghain's rule. Many people have already agreed to bear witness of his crimes and support your claim. I believe our case is strong enough the Landsmeet will rule in your favor. They'll confirm your claim."

"Then I announce I'm upholding the actions of the Grey Wardens against the Blight, order the remaining Ferelden armies to join their forces with ours, and we pass sentence on Loghain, I know," Alistair finished. "We've gone over this, Gwyn. I can do it. I can bring Loghain to justice, unite the people. Get our soldiers refocused on the Blight. I mean, if we don't do that, nothing else really matters, does it? As for the rest of it—the actual ruling bit—I'll have to learn that, after we defeat the Blight, but we can cross that bridge when we come to it. What worries me about tomorrow is Anora."

I looked down. "She might be a problem," I conceded. "I've asked her to step down graciously and support us, but she may not. She may even speak against us. Eamon believes she might. There may be a fight tomorrow, if the queen comes out against us or if Loghain refuses to step down quietly. Even if the Landsmeet does rule in your favor, the Mac Tirs are still powerful enemies, with many allies."

Alistair sighed. "I don't want to have to kill Anora," he admitted. "She was a good queen while Cailan was alive. The only reason she's not now is because she loves her father. I can't fault her for that. Nor for not wanting to give up the throne to me."

I raised an eyebrow. "You don't have to kill her," I told him. "You'll be king. It'll be your decision."

Of course, it was almost certain that Anora would not extend Alistair the same courtesy if she won the day tomorrow. He was too much of a threat, and we had carried our movement for the throne too far now. Even if the Landsmeet decided in Anora or Loghain's favor, if Alistair was not executed, the civil war would continue. He was Maric's son, and there were Theirin loyalists enough to give the Mac Tirs trouble for a long time. Still, I was pleased that Alistair's instinct was to spare the queen. We had no proof that Anora had had any part in her father's wrongdoings, and she might have her uses. But I would not tell him I thought he was right. I wanted him to own his decisions, unswayed by my approval or disapproval.

"Oh, thanks," Alistair drawled. "Because that makes me feel so much better."

"Always happy to help," I answered. A silence stretched between us, taut as a bowstring.

Alistair broke it. He gestured to my gown. "You said there might be fighting. It'd be a shame to get blood all over your pretty dress."

Back to that again. I twisted my hands in my lap, but could not untwist the knots in my stomach, nor could I meet Alistair's gaze. "I'm not wearing this tomorrow," I admitted.

"You could vote in the Landsmeet, on behalf of Highever."

I shook my head. "Conflict of interest. I can't attend the Landsmeet as both a representative of the Grey Wardens and a representative of Highever. You'll need me there as a Grey Warden. In addition, I'm one of the people putting your claim forward. Eamon will have to recuse himself from the vote as well."

"That makes sense," Alistair agreed. "Then—"

"Why the dress?" I finished. I blushed again. "I needed it," I murmured. "Fancy feathers—I've found that sometimes they give me the courage to say what needs to be said, when I can't say it any other way. Armor provides one sort of strength; the dress provides another. Tonight, you needed to see me like this—Lady Gwyn Cousland, the daughter of Bryce and Eleanor Cousland, teyrn and teyrna of Highever."

Alistair's gaze sharpened. "Why?" he asked. "I know who you are, Gwyn. I've always known. Why is it important that I see it? What do you want to say?" I scrunched the fabric of my dress in my fingers, still hesitating. It felt so wrong, speaking of it like this, but it had to be said all the same. Alistair, sensing my anxiety, softened. "You know you can tell me anything," he added.

"I can help you," I said finally. I was still clenching and unclenching my fingers in my dress. I was wrinkling it, but I couldn't seem to stop. "The ruling bit. I can help. I won't rule for you, but my whole life, I've been taught the things you'll need to know. I was practically raised to—"

"Marry a nice young arling," Alistair recalled. He sat very still. I felt his gaze like a heat on my face. "Or a bastard prince. Gwyn, is this a proposal?"

I took in a shaky breath, blushing all the harder. "It should be my father saying this. Or Fergus, or a family friend. Well, actually, usually the man would come to us, if he was anyone else in Ferelden and most anyone out of it. You're about the only one in Thedas where we would come to you, or your family, unless the prospective alliance was with the Orlesian empress's nephew, or Antivan royalty or something . . ." I was babbling. He didn't need to know about the etiquette of noble marriage alliances. I stopped. "But there's nothing usual about this," I said. "My family and yours are all dead and gone, so there's just me, in a dress I begged off a woman I detest, looking like a brazen idiot as I tell you I'm not actually a bad choice, if you were looking for—for a wife."

There, I'd got through it. There was a long silence, or it felt so to me, before Alistair reached over and took my hands from where they still worked and clenched in the fabric of my dress. His hands were big and warm and comforting, and I stilled. "Gwyn. Look at me," he said. "You're not an idiot. And if you are a bit brazen, I've always admired your wayward ways. Listen: I never thought you were a bad choice. I've said it, over and over. I love you. I can't imagine being without you. I've been dreading it, these last few weeks, how I'd possibly manage when we had to end it. But I thought that was what you wanted. If we marry—things will get complicated."

I sighed. He knew was that I was as sad and desperate as he was about ending it, and he thought it had gotten the better of me. He didn't believe I meant my proposal, or didn't think that I would in the end, so he was trying to save us by returning me the arguments I'd given him ending it, even if it broke his heart. My stomach twisted miserably. He was wrong to think I didn't mean it, but he was right, too. If we married, it would get complicated. "I know," I said. "Nothing's changed. We still don't know if Fergus is alive or dead. Both of us need to have children, and it will likely be difficult enough with other people, unaffected by the taint. But just—I started thinking. I love you, Alistair. I want to help you any way I can. I don't just want you to be king. I want you to be happy, too. And I thought, maybe we handle the complications, share this burden, like we've shared all the rest, because we'll handle it better together." I spread her hands, shrugged.

"If I'm wrong, if you don't think it's worth it to try, then we don't have to say another word about it,"

I looked down, and Alistair squeezed my hand until I did look up and meet his eyes, and saw an expression of such relief there that my heart ached in response. "You're not wrong," he said simply. He moved over in his chair and pulled me over. Unresisting, I sat with him, half in his lap, half on the seat, and he put his arm around me. I leaned into him, grateful for his warmth and support. "Let's talk," he said. "What will we do about the heir difficulty?"

I couldn't help but laugh. "Yours or mine?"

"Both," Alistair answered, unfazed. "We're going to run into the same issue either way."

It was a question I'd spent some time considering lately, and I had my answer ready. "If Fergus is alive, it might not even be an issue for me," I told Alistair. "But our first order of business after the Blight was always going to be to find him, to settle matters in Highever. If he's dead—"I inhaled sharply. I still was not resigned to it, still not prepared, even after all this time, to truly be the last. "If he's dead, I'll make sure our people are taken care of. If he's alive, but chooses not to marry again or have any children, he will." That would be a pain all its own, I knew. The succession would have passed to Oren after my brother. My brother had been lucky—although he had married Oriana for the alliance and not for love, they had found themselves well-suited in the end, and Fergus had developed a deep esteem and fondness for my gentle, sensible sister-in-law. Their son had been his pride and joy. Carrying on the line would be a hard and bitter duty for him now, I knew, if he lived.

If he lived. I did not relish the pain I would bring him, but Maker have mercy on me, in my selfishness, I hoped he lived.

Alistair caught my mood, and his arms tightened around me. "I promise: I'll help you any way I can," he said again. "And—I'm sorry."

"It's nothing."

Alistair shook his head, eyes full of compassion and understanding. "It's not nothing," he insisted. "I know how much your family, your responsibilities mean to you. You're willing to give it all up—your teyrnir, possibly the future of the Cousland family name, to marry me, and I want you to know I know that that's everything. I want you to know I know," he repeated, suddenly smiling slightly, "so you can never tell me I wasn't grateful when you're cross and want to pick a fight in the future."

I smiled, too, though it was weak, and rested my cheek against his chest. "Would I do that?" I whispered.

"You never know," Alistair teased.

"As for you, that's harder," I admitted, returning to the matter at hand. "But we're young yet, both of us. Not too far from the Joining. We might have a little bit of time, maybe, right?"

Alistair went still, hesitated. "Gwyn—"

I swallowed. "I know it's a long shot," I went on, "But I figure we'll have all the help we need addressing any problems, and researching ways to circumvent them. Physicians, mages. There's Avernus, too. He knows more about the taint than anyone. If he can find another way to lessen its power, an ethical way, that won't turn us into monsters and doesn't require any blood sacrifice—"

That got his attention. His hands tightened on my waist, and he looked sharply at me, hopeful for the first time. "Do you think he could?" he asked.

"I don't know," I conceded. "But it's worth a shot, right?" When we had wintered at Warden's Peak, I had floated the idea of combating the taint's effect on fertility with the mage with this very purpose in mind. Avernus had been interested in the possibilities—he had admitted that adapting the taint without resorting to blood magic would be a challenge, but he also had a scholar's mind. He enjoyed a challenge.

Alistair looked thoughtful. "If he could come up with something, or someone else could—I suppose there are fringe benefits to being royalty after all, aren't there?" He was getting it now, how we could use the crown's resources to help us with this, and it wouldn't even be an abuse of power. Still, doubt clouded his eyes. "But what if we can't, Gwyn?" he asked again. "What if no one ever finds a way for us, and we never have a child? Perhaps you could, you know, with someone else."

I cupped his face in my hands. How I loved him. It hurt, of course, like he was wringing my heart with his bare hands, dragging the maybe I'd begun to hope against hope for the last few weeks into the light like this and revealing it for the feeble thing that it was. But I reflected that I would not love him so well if he did not do so: if he was any less thoughtful, any less dedicated to what his duty would be as king, any less respecting of my strength, my ability to handle the weight of this decision. I could be giving up any chance to have children at all tonight, only for a feeble, nigh-impossible maybe that I could be Alistair's wife and have his.

He was worried about me, but his situation would not be so desperate. "You might be able to have a child with someone else as well," I pointed out. "If we can't, or don't right away, they'll pressure you to—"

He hugged me so tight for a moment I could not breathe. He had read the letter Eamon had written to Cailan, too. "Never," he said fiercely. "You don't have to worry about that." His grip relaxed, and his mouth quirked. "At any rate, by the time they started worrying about you, it'd be much less likely I could have a child with anyone else, either."

I laughed. "Well. That's comforting." I was quiet for a space, but his question still hung in the air. I bowed my head, and told him my thoughts. "If we never have children, it might be a good thing if you do spare Anora. Thirty isn't too old, whatever Eamon thinks. She could marry again, provide a future for the kingdom—"Alistair frowned, but I was already moving on. "And if not her—well. Even if we don't have children, we will have time. We can make sure Ferelden doesn't fall into chaos after we're gone."

Alistair searched my face for a moment. I had the sense he was weighing me, judging my sincerity. He had been playing my role all this time, but now he knew I was with him at last, I saw his face clear. I had known the future weighed upon him, but only now did I realize just how much. He smiled at me with such joy and relief that my heart throbbed once in reflexive response. "I agree," he said. "That's all I needed to hear, Gwyn. You're sure this is what you want?'

I ran my fingers through the short thatch of his hair and smiled back at him. Now that it was done, I was. More than anything. "I asked, didn't I?"

"Then do you accept my troth, Gwyn Cousland?" He asked, gently teasing and sweetly sincere at the same time. "To be my queen and my wife and my partner in every sense of the word?"

He'd remembered. And indeed, that was why I had chosen him—Alistair was already my partner. I was his strength and joy as he was mine. We had faced every foe, every obstacle, side by side. I was confident no other could do it so well, nor would they. The crown, the taint, the Archdemon itself—we would meet them as we had met everything else. Together. "I do," I said. "If it pleases you, we'll take our chances, the bitterness with the joy."

Alistair sealed our betrothal with a kiss. "I am well pleased, my lady," he told me, and I heard in his voice and felt in his body how he meant it. "You know, this is usually where I wake up in my dreams," he remarked. "Or where everyone starts pointing and laughing, because I'm not wearing any pants."

"No dream, darling," I said. "This is real life, and alas, you are still wearing your pants, though your shirt is somewhat wrinkled."

Alistair looked down at my dress. "So is your pretty dress," he said, genuinely remorseful. "I'm sorry, Gwyn. I don't think court gowns are really conducive to sitting two-to-an-armchair."

"That's not generally within the parameters of their use, no." I kissed him. "Don't worry. No regrets."

"Good," Alistair murmured against my lips. "We'll announce our betrothal at the Landsmeet tomorrow. Ought to calm some of the stuffier nobles down, Maric's bastard marrying Teyrn Cousland's daughter."

"One of the many benefits of getting married," I agreed. "Another is we won't have to sneak around anymore. The Landsmeet is a proper forum to announce such things, and even if it wasn't me, nobles like their kings married. For some reason, single kings make them nervous."

"Probably because behind any good king at all is an excellent wife," Alistair mused.

I grinned. "Oh, you'll do just fine," I told him, and kissed him again.