Tissues, ladies! Moved to 'M' for tasteful sex scene.
Chapter 13
They went to a small dining room where Eamon was waiting for them. Alistair suddenly found himself ravenously hungry as soon as he smelled the food. He hadn't had a meal this good since he left. The others let him get at least one helping in before starting to ask questions. Eamon knew Alistair had been summoned to Weisshaupt to answer some questions about the Blight and the Archdemon, but not about the specific reason. Alistair stepped carefully around that by simply calling them 'Grey Warden secrets' and the man was tactful enough not to press.
He told the story as completely as he could. He told them about his impressions of the different Wardens, about how regular Wardens viewed Lya and himself. He talked about the feel of Weisshaupt, and when he described the tomb of Garahel and the others, Lya's hand gently squeezed his knee under the table; her eyes solemn. They were the only two who could truly understand what the final moments of those Wardens' lives must have been like. "I would have liked to see it," she murmured.
But Alistair shook his head. "It is a sad place, Lya. There is honor and glory there, but no real love, no real sense of loss. If you must mourn them, mourn them here," he said tapping his chest above his heart.
When he got to his last meeting with Osric, Eamon and Lya both choked. "You assaulted the First Warden?!" Lya managed to get out. Eamon sat there looking pole-axed. Zevran meanwhile made a satisfied sound and looked at Alistair approvingly. Alistair raised an eyebrow at his beloved.
"And what exactly would you have done, my dear?"
She opened her mouth and then shut it. "I would have done the same damn thing," she muttered. "Well, at least you didn't stab him. I probably wouldn't ever be able to get the smell off the blade." He grinned at her.
They finished dinner slowly, asking idle questions which Alistair did his best to answer. The decision was made that any of the Wardens who escorted Alistair wanted to stay in Ferelden, they should rotate between Denerim and Amaranthine. Alistair wasn't sure Osric wouldn't recall them, but as he had allowed them to leave in the first place, he probably wanted them gone.
Conversation slowed and Eamon and Zevran, seeing that they were losing the attention of the king and queen, stood up. "We can talk more in the morning," Eamon said. "You've had a hard trip, lad. Best you get some rest." Zevran gave a wicked chuckle and the other man looked at him in annoyance.
"Of course, Eamon," Lya assured him. "We'll have plenty of time to talk later." Alistair took her arm and led her out of the dining room. They were quiet as they walked back to their rooms and he wanted to ask if everything was all right. Lya had become increasingly distracted throughout dinner and she seemed oddly nervous as she walked beside him now.
"Lya," he began, but she stopped him with a shake of her head.
"Wait, Alistair. Wait till we're back in our rooms." She looked at him, an odd plea in her eyes and he nodded. Was this what Zevran had been talking about when he said Lya wasn't back to her old self? What was wrong? He knew something was wrong. Maker, he had just gotten back and already things were going wrong again?
When they reached their rooms, he opened the door and ushered Lya inside. She entered silently and when he would have put his arms around her, she ducked out of the way and went to stand before the window. Frowning, he followed her. She was nervous, wiping her hands on her thighs and biting her lip. He took her gently by the shoulders and turned her to look at him. "Lya, what is it? What's wrong?" he asked, concern clearly evident in his voice.
Lya wondered what in Andraste's name was wrong with her. She had been waiting a month to tell him this and all her carefully prepared words seemed all wrong now. She shook her head. "No, it's…. Nothing's wrong. It's just that I have to tell you something and I don't know how."
He tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. "It's fine. Take your time." She opened her mouth several times, and shut it just as many. The words wouldn't come. Finally she reached up and took Alistair's hands in her own, looking down at their fingers laced together. Unable to find the words, she settled for simply placing his hands on her abdomen.
For a moment Alistair didn't understand what she was doing. Then his brain kicked in and he understood what he was feeling under his hands. He looked down at them, at the way his hands molded her loose shirt over the roundness of her belly. Maker's breath! His eyes flew back up to hers, to the deep green eyes that seemed so huge in that perfect face. "Lya!" he managed to gasp out. "A-Are you…? Is this…? Y-You're-!" And she nodded at him, a brilliant smile lighting up her face. He stood there, his fingers stroking her stomach softly as his mind reeled.
He hadn't thought this possible. It seemed such an impossible thing that he never dared to let himself hope. He knew they were unlikely to ever have children and he didn't care. It had never changed how he felt about Lya. He knew in the back of his mind that it bothered her, but it had never really mattered to him. But now…. His mind suddenly filled with images of a family for them. What if it was a girl? A little girl with Lya's eyes and her laugh. Or a boy? A small dark haired boy running through the palace with a mabari puppy at his heels.
Lya's hands gently closed over his and he could see the tears hovering in her eyes. "I haven't told anyone," she whispered huskily. "I wanted you to be the first to know. Well, Shaye knows, but she's different. I wanted this to just be ours for a little while." Her breath hitched and a single tear tracked down her cheek. "I was so scared you weren't going to come back. That I was never going to get to tell you. That you would never know you were going to get to be a father."
Alistair understood what she meant. He had sired a child with Morrigan, but he would never be a father to it. He would likely never even see it. But now, with the woman he loved more than he ever thought it possible to love someone, he was going to get that chance.
Very carefully, oh so carefully, as if she were made of spun glass, he took her in his arms and carried her to the bed. He kissed her with infinite tenderness, his hands sliding under her shirt to caress her breasts. She responded with a sigh, lacing her hands behind his neck to pull his mouth tighter to hers and arching into his hands. He suddenly froze and she pulled back to look at him in confusion.
"Uh, Lya, can we…? I mean, I don't want to hurt…anything. A-Are you sure…?" She laughed throatily.
"Oh, yes. I asked Shaye. She says we can as much as we like as long as I'm comfortable."
A wicked gleam entered his eyes. "Oh, good. Because you and I have spent far too much time apart lately and I think we might just stay in this bed for the next week."
"I think I would like that."
Gently, he removed her clothes piece by piece until she lay pale and perfect in the moonlight. She went to help him with his, but he leaned back out of reach and did it himself. And when she reached for him, to begin running her hands over him, he caught her wrists. "No," he murmured, restraining her gently. "Not yet. First, let me…." And he didn't finish because his mouth was on hers again, tongue sliding in and out, teasing her.
His hands wandered her body, stroking and exploring. His mouth left hers to travel down her body, making her gasp. Slowly and carefully, using hands and teeth and tongue, he loved her. "Alistair," she moaned, and he chuckled wickedly, his breath hot against her skin. Her hands balled into the sheets below her as her back arched and her hips twitched. He brought her so close to the brink before moving away to start all over again.
A low moaning sound came from her throat and she thought she would go mad. Just when she thought she couldn't stand anymore, he would move, turning his teasing to another part of her body throbbing for attention. Finally unable to stand it any longer, she reached for him, hands grasping and tugging him over her. He knelt carefully between her legs and she wrapped them around him. Slowly, with all his concentration focused on being gentle, he entered her. And stopped. She moaned again, moving against him.
He began to move slowly, still reaching down to kiss her and caress her. She would get as much pleasure from him tonight as he could possibly give her if it killed him. He felt her legs tighten around him, heard her cry his name as her climax came. He held still as she moved beneath him, waiting until she came back down before beginning to move yet again. It took all of his control to bring her back to the edge and he was literally shaking with the effort.
Her hands wandered over his sweat slicked arms and back, cupped the back of his head, fluttered over the muscles of his chest and abdomen, wrapping around and tugging on his hips. And when she moaned again, "Alistair…Alistair, please!" he was unable to wait any longer. He gave one last thrust, burying himself in her as deeply as he could. Her name was a hoarse cry into her shoulder.
How long they lay like that, they didn't know. Slowly the shudders that shook them both slowed and sweat dried, cooling them off. Eventually, Alistair opened his eyes again to look at Lya. Their arms and legs were entangled as they lay in each other's arms. Her lips were puffy and her eyes were soft with pleasure.
Lya stretched slightly, every nerve still tingling and even the feel of the sheets rubbing against her skin was enough to make her shudder. She reached out to lightly trace his cheekbone. And then her hand moved lower, gently dragging her nails across his nipple and his arms closed around her. "Had I known," she whispered raggedly, "that getting pregnant would do that to you, Alistair, I would have done it a long time ago."
He couldn't help the laugh that burst from him. He nestled her against his chest, brushing his lips across her temple. "I love you," he whispered softly. "I will always love you, Lya." Another brush of his lips. "I love the idea that we're going to have a child, but it has nothing to do with how I feel about you." He pulled back to look at her. "It has never mattered to me, you know that. Whether we have one child or one dozen or none, I will always love you. I don't want you to forget that. You are the best thing that has ever happened to me. And this," his fingers stroked her stomach gently, "is just more joy, but I would love you just as much without it. You are the only family I have ever needed, ever wanted, Lya."
His throat suddenly felt thick. He had never had a family, never had someone who just loved him for being Alistair, who accepted him, faults and all. And then Lya came, and that lonely little boy inside of him who only ever wanted to be loved finally wasn't alone anymore. If it was the last thing he ever did, he would make sure that Lya knew how much he loved her and that the child growing within her would never know the loneliness he had known.
His arms tightened around her again, and she cradled him against her as he cried. She knew he cried for all the things he never had. All the goodnight kisses, all the hugs from loving arms, the gentle words that made hurts go away, soft hands tucking him into a warm bed or soothing a fevered brow. Her heart ached for him. He was a man grown, a hero and a king, and all he had ever wanted was for someone to love him. His birth caused his mother's death, his father never acknowledged his existence, his guardian sent him into exile. At every turn, Alistair had been rejected, and he was still the most loving man she had ever known.
It staggered her. How did someone with his life turn out so good? And how was she lucky enough to have found him? Her own eyes burned with unshed moisture and she stroked his head and arms, wanting to give him everything he never had. Slowly, his shaking stopped and his breathing deepened. The moonlight shone upon the damp skin of his cheeks as he slept.
Softly, she stroked his face and hair and arms as she had that terrible night three months ago when she feared she would lose him forever. And just as she had that night, she whispered into the darkness again.
"Thank you."