CHAPTER 20

..x..

The frigid rain cleared the next morning, giving way to warm sunlight that bathed the battle-scarred city of Denerim. Volunteers from all races helped take the injured soldiers and civilians to the chantry, where mages and the remaining clergy worked together to treat and feed them despite their differences. Others picked up the corpses, wrapping them in sheets and laying them in the market's square in preparation for their funeral ceremony—a grim sight in spite of their victory.

It was midday and Alistair stood beside Eamon and three of his escorts near where the bodies lay, clad in a layered brown gambeson, and with a brown cloak flowing down his back. His arms crossed over his chest as one of his men gave a status report of the cleanup efforts. Taking the details with a heavy heart, he listened to him speak of the many dead and the significant property damage they faced.

Part of him still wished he hadn't had to leave Everil's side as she recovered back at the palace. But although he could have sent someone else to do the work for him, he needed to witness his people's loss with his own eyes and let them see him outside with them as he worked to bring some normalcy back into their lives. Even if it meant waiting a few more hours to check up on her condition.

"We should be able to clear this area and begin reconstruction in two days time," he heard the guard say.

Alistair nodded. "Good. Thank you. Let Ser Donnall know if we need to send more men this way. The city's economy needs to be reinstated so the survivors can recover their livelihoods."

"Yes, your Majesty." The man bowed and left them to continue assisting the others.

They saw him go and a soft breath escaped him.

"Worried about her?" Eamon muttered beside him, giving him a knowing look. He was no longer wearing his steel armor, replacing it with a brown coat lined in furs.

Alistair let a corner of his lips go up. "Is it that obvious?"

"I'm afraid it is, son." The arl patted his shoulder. "What did your healer say?"

"That one of her ribs punctured a lung during the battle…" he replied uncomfortably. "Which means things could have turned out much worse if it hadn't been for Wynne."

"She will be fine. She defeated an archdemon, which was quite an impressive feat. I'm certain she will be up and moving in no time," Eamon said with a proud tilt of his chin. The young woman's strength and resilience were above anything he'd seen since his own sister, the late Queen Rowan.

"Yeah… Wynne said she just needs rest now. And I happen to think she's earned plenty of it." Alistair moved to walk as both Eamon and his escorts shadowed him, their boots crunching over the splinters and debris still covering the ground.

"Indeed," Eamon agreed.

They headed toward the chantry, located in a corner of the market district. It was largely spared of damage thanks to the templars who protected it, but a few fires had burned part of its gardens outside and broken a few windows. Still, it was a sanctuary the citizens found comforting as they healed.

Alistair huffed. "I still can't believe it's over."

"It's not truly, your Majesty. The Blight may have ended, but it's just the beginning for you. There is much work ahead."

"Heh… I guess you're right..." he said sullenly, observing the dreary scenery along the way.

The blazes were out, leaving the charred skeletons of the structures they once were, all still oozing strings of smoke. The scent of blood intertwined with the smell of burnt wood, lingering in the air despite the rain washing much of the red away. The rest of the city looked much the same, but rebuilding Denerim was nothing when compared to the rest of Ferelden, especially the southern parts. The recovery of the farmlands, lost livestock, and homesteads would likely take years, and he questioned if it would even be possible to heal the scars within his lifetime. At least he could find comfort in knowing that after a year of struggle after struggle, they had managed to save what remained, no matter how little.

At least she survived… take the wins as they come, he told himself, weariness settling over him.

Some commotion by the gates to the district drew their attention away from the surrounding ruins to several guards ahead. A cloaked man in worn, brown leathers was struggling against them, two guards holding his arms behind his back while a third aimed his weapon at him.

"Unhand me!" the stranger barked angrily. "I have to speak to the king!"

"We don't believe your story, fiend!" said the armed guard.

"I swear to you I'm him!"

"More excitement? And here I thought we were all done with the danger and the violence..." Alistair jested wryly as he and Eamon came near them, interrupting the scuffle. "What's going on here?"

The armed guard glanced his way. "Stand back, sire. He has a sword."

"I mean you no harm, your Majesty." The cloaked man calmed himself the moment he saw him, standing tall and meeting his gaze. "I… I only came to see my sister."

Alistair arched an eyebrow. "Your sister?"

"All hogwash, sire." The guard sent the hooded figure a suspicious scowl. "He claims to be the late Teyrn Cousland's eldest son, Fergus Cousland."

"Once again, I'm not lying!" the man protested in exasperation. "Just take me to her and you will see. Please!"

"I think not—" the guard was about to order his imprisonment when Alistair's hand gripped his sword arm. He froze and his head snapped towards his king's profile, seeing surprise etched over it.

"Wait…" Alistair ordered and stepped closer, causing the stranger to stiffen under his stare. He reached for his hood, uncovering his head to see his face. Dirt and grime soiled his rugged features, short, brown hair unkempt, but his face was the same as the one he saw at the tourney all those months ago. The striking resemblance to the deceased teyrn helped confirm it.

"Maker's breath…" he breathed, then addressed the guards. "Release him. He speaks the truth."

"Y-Yes, your Majesty." The guard lowered his weapon while the others did as they were told. "Our apologies, my lord," he uttered with a fist to his chest.

Slightly irritated, Fergus rubbed his sore wrist, where their armored fingers had dug into his skin. "It's... quite all right."

"I can't believe you survived!" Alistair exclaimed with a grin. "We thought you died in Ostagar."

"Have we… met before, your Majesty?" Fergus asked hesitantly, eyebrows knitted in puzzlement. He had found out days ago that a new king ruled over Ferelden, but had never seen him before. He could only recognize who he was by the knights escorting him everywhere he went. Though, now that he was in front of him he could see he looked much like a younger Cailan.

"No, we haven't met." Alistair offered him a friendly smile and placed a hand on his shoulder. "But that's not important right now. Everil will want to know you're still alive." He glanced at Eamon. "Can you please visit the chantry ahead of me? I'll be there shortly."

"Of course, sire," Eamon responded with a nod.

"Come on." Motioning for Fergus to follow, Alistair spun about and went in the direction of his carriage, which waited for him just outside the market. They crossed the distance to it as its white horses stood regally before it, marked by the royal seal on a golden plate over their chests.

"So she really is here…" Fergus sighed in relief as he trekked beside him.

"Yes. She was injured in the battle and is recovering," Alistair said as one of his men opened the carriage door for them. He reached for the frame and set a foot on the step, glancing at him. "Hopefully she's awake... She's been asleep since last night."

"Was it that bad…?" Fergus wrinkled his forehead worriedly.

"Nothing that could keep her down…" Alistair replied with a lopsided smirk and climbed in.

A slight chuckle escaped the other man. "Yes… that sounds like her."

After Fergus boarded the carriage, the king's escorts mounted their own steeds behind it and the coachman snapped the reins, commanding the horses into motion.

.x.x.x.x.

Sighing tiredly, Everil set a cup on her lap, gazing at the blue liquid inside before admiring her surroundings. She was in the king's bed-chamber, sitting in a grand four-poster bed with a red canopy and drapes while leaning against several pillows Wynne kindly placed behind her back. Bjorn laid near the foot, resting his head on her leg.

The rest of the room was lavishly decorated, with matching crimson curtains on towering arched windows through which daylight filtered and illuminated everything therein. Two intricately carved wooden chairs sat by one of them, while a robust wardrobe stood in a corner, next to a dresser with a mirror. Priced furs covered the stone floors, while paintings of Fereldan landscapes hung over the walls.

She pressed a hand to her chest and winced a little. It still ached from the injuries the Archdemon caused and breathing was still a bit difficult, but she felt far better now than she did the day before. It was hard to tell if it was due to the Blight ending or her own exhaustion, but for the first time in what felt like ages, she could sleep without the nightmares.

Defeating the darkspawn and their tainted god lifted a massive weight from her shoulders, setting her free from the constant dread of death and the fear of losing the country to the monsters and their corruption. Still, there was much to do, and she itched to go outside.

If only a certain old mage would let her leave the room.

Wynne looked her way as if hearing her musings, shaking her head. "All of it, child," she scolded gently while mashing something over a tray. She was standing by a table a distance away, preparing more of the concoction she was drinking.

"But it tastes awful…" Everil protested pitifully. "And I'm well enough. I don't understand why you're not letting me out yet."

"It's only been hours since I mended your ribs. Your bones are still bruised, and your body is still weak. I may not be as good with herbs as Morrigan was, but I'm certain that elfroot tea will help you recover faster," Wynne said and sent her a warm smile. "So drink it."

"Very well..." she sighed, the mention of that name bringing a slight sting to her heart. The witch she once considered a close friend had disappeared from her life as if she were never there, without saying goodbye to anyone. I suppose that means she's keeping her promise… for now...

A knock made them gaze at the door, Bjorn's ears perking up. It cracked open, and Alistair walked in, smiling in relief upon seeing her awake. "Hey, sleepyhead…"

"Hi..." she greeted with a smile of her own. "How are things outside? Are they as bad as they looked yesterday?"

"More or less…" He shut the door and sauntered up to her. "But we can talk about that later, my love. How are you feeling?"

"I'm all right. Just a little tired."

Alistair sighed shakily and sat at the edge of the mattress, clasping her hand between both of his. "Maker... when you ran to the dragon… I thought I lost you forever."

"I'm sorry I worried you…" She put on an apologetic look, watching him bring her fingers up to his lips for a kiss.

"You're forgiven…" He smiled lovingly. "Just… no more archdemon slaying, all right?"

"Yes…" she chuckled weakly. "You have my word."

"Good... Well I'm glad you're up. There's someone who wants to see you." He stood and returned to the door as Everil's curious stare followed him. He opened it, then spoke to someone outside, "You can come in now."

A man stepped in, his gaze meeting hers from across the wide chamber. Her eyes went wide, and she blinked a few times, her mouth agape and her heart racing as if not quite believing what she was seeing. Bjorn was the first to move, quickly hopping off her bed and speeding towards him with an excited whine.

"Bjorn!" Fergus laughed, falling on a knee and happily petting the canine as the dog's stubby tail wagged uncontrollably. "It's good to see you again, boy!"

Bjorn barked happily, licking his face.

After scratching behind his ear, he slowly rose and came to her, Alistair walking close behind him as their steps became the only sound in the silence that stretched between them.

"Little sister…" Fergus finally said in almost a whisper, his lips spreading into a warm, relieved grin. She still looked as beautiful as before, even with that scar, slightly more mature after all she'd gone through. "It's… been a while."

"F-Fergus..." she gasped, realizing it wasn't a dream. She set her cup on the nightstand and reached for him. "Andraste's mercy, it's you! It's really you!"

He sat on the bed and gently embraced her as she gripped handfuls of his cloak. A sob escaped her, drawing a chuckle out of him as tears also stung his eyes. "The oh-so-tough sister of mine isn't about to cry now, is she?"

"Shut up, you oaf…" she whimpered into his chest, holding him tighter. "I thought I lost you too…"

"I know…" He gently stroked her hair. "I'm glad to see you're all right… I've traveled all over Ferelden looking for you."

Alistair folded his arms as he and Wynne watched the two, a smile on their faces.

"How did you find me?" Everil wiped her tears as her brother withdrew from their hug.

"I heard that the youngest Cousland was the Grey Warden leading the king's armies against the darkspawn in Denerim. I wasn't far from here… so I came to help. Though, it looks like you already took care of things." He laughed lightly, gently patting her shoulder before glancing at their new monarch. "I figured His Majesty could tell me where you were, considering you were working with him."

Everil smiled a little. "Is that all you heard? About the king and me?"

"Yes… I took off as soon as I learned you were here, so I didn't ask any questions." Fergus gazed at her, eyebrows pinched. "Is there something else I should know?"

"Well… yes…" Everil quietly said and gestured towards Alistair. "Fergus, this is Alistair. He's my betrothed."

He paused. "He's your what?"

"Her betrothed," Alistair repeated and came closer, reaching for a handshake. "A pleasure to meet you at last."

"Uh, yes…! The pleasure is mine," Fergus said numbly, accepting the greeting while also rising to his feet.

"I imagine the Howes are still occupying your lands, even with Rendon Howe dead," said the young king, arms crossed once more. "You'll have them back as soon as we're done picking up the mess in Denerim."

"I…" Pain crossed Fergus's features at the mention of their home and he dipped his head. "Thank you, your Majesty..."

"Of course." He gave his arm a warm pat. "Well, now that we've been acquainted, Wynne and I should probably leave you two to catch up."

"Yes," Wynne replied, picking up her tray. "I have to check on the others, as well."

As the mage made her way out, Alistair approached Everil and took her hand, bending at the waist to kiss her knuckles. "Rest as much as you need, my dear. I'll come to see you later."

Her cheeks tinted pink at the gesture. "All right."

They watched him head to the door, petting her hound along the way before he and Wynne left them. A brief silence followed and her brother moved to sit on the chair by the bed. "So… the one who refused to wed is now engaged," he jested a bit, kindness in his stare. "He seems to be a good man… How did you meet him?"

"He's a Grey Warden like me." She licked her lips and tugged a strand of hair behind one ear, sharing his hesitation toward discussing the loss of their family. "We went through Ostagar… and everything else together."

"I see… I wasn't aware Cailan had a brother in the Grey Wardens."

"It's a long story… One he will tell you about one day."

A single, dry chuckle escaped him. "To think Duncan would ultimately recruit you into their ranks… I bet he was the one who saved you when our castle fell." He drew in a deep, shuddering breath, placing his hand on hers. His gaze fell as he gripped it, fighting the turmoil going on inside him. And he spoke again, his words heavy with grief. "I wish… I wish I would have been there that night… I'm sorry you went through it alone…"

"Me too, Brother…" she murmured guiltily, hanging her head. "I'm sorry I… I couldn't save Oren and Orianna…"

"It wasn't your fault… None of it was…" He gulped down the knot in his throat, shaking his head. "I'm just… glad we have each other again."

Everil gripped his fingers just as tightly, deep sadness painting her features. There was no doubt that moving on with their lives would be a difficult task, but at the very least they could now do so together.

.x.x.x.x.

The image of a woman wearing an exquisite wedding dress stared back at Everil as she looked at herself in the mirror. It hugged her bare shoulders delicately, the pure white silk embroidered in golden, floral patterns with sparkling pearls. The sleeves hung low, nearly touching the floor while a golden rope wrapped around her narrow waist.

Behind her, Leliana fixed her brunette locks into an elaborate bun, attaching pearls to the silky strands at odd intervals while exposing her long, slender neck. Despite the servants' insistence at helping her, the former-nun took over the task, having claimed that only she was qualified for the job.

After the suffering Ferelden endured, the people needed something to lift their spirits, so Eamon arranged for their wedding to take place along with the formal coronation. Only a month had passed since the end of the Fifth Blight. And after seeing the state of affairs across the land, she too needed something to celebrate as much as everyone else. She was happy to marry the man she loved, however, she was also about to rise to the throne with him. Which meant she would rule an entire country, something that even she wasn't all too confident about.

Everil let out a breath as a subtle wave of nausea washed over her.

"Nervous?" Leliana asked quietly, smiling at her through their reflection in the mirror.

She smiled slightly through rose-painted lips. "Yes…"

"You will be just fine…" Leliana assured her with a chuckle. "I am glad things worked out between the two of you."

"So am I… though I admit I didn't expect we would end up ruling Ferelden together. Which is what has me the most anxious," Everil admitted, gazing down at the white roses in her hands.

"You got us through a Blight in one piece. I'm certain you can handle the crown and anything else thrown your way."

Sighing softly, Everil faced her, and wrapped her arms around her, giving her a hug. "Thank you, Leliana."

She hugged her back just as tightly. "You are welcome." Leliana withdrew, placing her hands on her shoulders as her eyes filled with tears. "You look gorgeous."

Everil chuckled. "Aw... don't cry."

"I-It's not only about the wedding…" She licked her lips and swallowed. "I'll be leaving Ferelden for some time… shortly after."

A frown creased Everil's brow. "Where will you be going?"

"Orlais… I have some unfinished business there."

The strange shadow that crossed over the redhead's stare only made Everil's concern for her increase. She had spoken little about her past to her, so she knew nothing about what drove her to come to Ferelden aside from her love of songs and tales. Orlesian politics were part of their culture, and bards were known to be active pawns in the game. If Leliana was enthralled in them once, then it may explain why she fled.

"Is it dangerous?" Everil asked quietly.

Leliana averted her gaze. "Maybe… But it's nothing you should be worried about."

"You're my friend… Of course I will worry." Everil placed a hand on her arm. "Do you need my help?"

"No, silly. You have much on your shoulders right now… with the wedding and Ferelden. I'll be fine. Perhaps I will visit sometime once I'm finished." Leliana grinned through tears before reaching up to fix a loose strand of hair. "I promise."

"All right…" Everil's brow remained tense as she spun back to the mirror, her assurances doing little to make her feel better. The nun continued her work on her hair, the shadow from before settling over her blue eyes again.

.x.x.x.x.

White roses and flowing white ribbons adorned the chantry as bright light filtered through the newly repaired mosaic windows. The colors from the stained glass lit up the nave, making the golden candlesticks and chandeliers glimmer. A nun played the harp in a corner, filling the grand building with its sweet, heavenly melody.

The doors to the chantry slowly opened as the nobles waiting within directed their full attention to the bride. Her white shoes stepped over the red carpet while everyone inside followed her and Fergus, who carefully led her down the aisle. She walked evenly despite her racing heart, holding her head up with pride. Those gathered around her dipped their heads to her as she passed, a reverence reserved only for their future queen.

A slight smile spread on Everil's lips when her gaze landed on him, his regal appearance nearly taking her breath away.

Alistair stood expectantly at the end of the aisle, clad in the ceremonial garments of a king. Fine, dark brown leathers hugged his body, trimmed in tan fur as his brown mantle flowed elegantly over his shoulders and down his back. And he stared back at her with a smile of his own, his loving stare only on her.

When they reached the altar, Fergus bowed to the king and passed her on to him. Alistair gave him a curt nod and gently took her hand in his.

Everil gazed up at him, barely able to hold back tears.

He stared at her for a moment, taking in her beautiful features, his own pulse pounding as his words failed him. "You…" He cleared his throat, a little color on his cheeks as he leaned over to whisper into her ear. "You look beautiful…"

"Thank you…" she murmured, blushing herself. At least she wasn't the only one who was nervous.

They stepped before the altar, facing the Revered Mother standing over them before she raised a hand up above them. Her chant flowed to all in the room, speaking what some said to be the words of their Maker. And as she spoke she cast His blessing upon them, uniting them in a bond only death could break.

The old priestess turned to the first of two chantry sisters standing beside her, each holding intricately embroidered, crimson pillows over which the crowns sat. She first reached for the king's crown, the golden metal shining brightly under the light. "And as the Maker is my witness, I hereby crown ye King—" She lowered the crown upon his head, then reached for the thin golden tiara, gently setting it over hers. "—and Queen of Ferelden. To rule over these blessed lands with virtue and righteousness."

With a smile, the Revered Mother clasped her hands over her skirts. "You may now rise and seal this oath with a kiss."

They turned to face each other, Everil's gaze meeting his as her heart fluttered in her chest, a happiness she never felt before overtaking her. He smiled tenderly at her, taking her hand. And then her eyes slid shut as he leaned down, pressing his lips to hers in a gentle kiss.

All in the room cheered, clapping with glee as Alistair pulled away and cast his gaze upon them. He offered her his arm, and she placed her hand on it before he led her down the aisle, their subjects bowing to them as they went. Knights opened the doors for them and they walked out, boarding an open carriage with white horses and adorned with more flowers.

The people gathered throughout the city brightened Denerim's damaged streets with their joy as they watched them pass. Some waved their hands excitedly, while others tossed flower petals over the carriage as their saviors and new monarchs traveled through. The king and queen waved at them with gentle smiles, listening to their gleeful claps and cheers.

Seeing the hope on the faces of their people reminded Alistair just how much was riding on his shoulders now. Yet, when he looked at her and saw that beautiful smile she sent everyone, he found the weight much easier to carry.

.x.x.x.x.

Just hours into their wedding banquet and Alistair could probably claim to have met every single noble in Ferelden. Only he couldn't remember half their names, which added to his present anxiety. He sighed inwardly, arms crossing as he feebly attempted to grasp every detail of his ongoing conversation with the elderly couple before him. Eamon stood next to him, obviously more accustomed to the formalities than he.

They'd separated Everil from him somehow, whisked away from his side by some ladies who were once her late mother's acquaintances.

Past the old nobleman's shoulder, he could see a few of their friends scattered throughout the grand ballroom, each enjoying food and drinking wine passed around by the servants. Zevran leaned against a pillar, well dressed in a blue silk tunic and black breeches while flirting openly with some of the younger women. While Oghren laughed loudly in his shining steel armor, talking with a prestigious dwarven merchant with ties to Orzammar. A distance away, Leliana was chatting with some other ladies, dressed in her lilac dress, apparently showing them her blue shoes.

Alistair searched for his new wife, his eyebrows knitting when he couldn't find her.

"What say you, your Majesty?"

"Huh?" His head snapped in the old man's direction, brows shooting up. "About wha—!"

A hard pat on the back cut him off and Eamon withdrew his arm, chuckling to hide his irritation. "I must apologize. As you can imagine, His Majesty has much in his mind due to the country's present condition."

"It's understandable. I suppose there is not much we can do to improve the state of my trade until the southern lands have recovered." The lord sighed worriedly, clasping his hands behind his back. He was a balding man, well into his sixties, with a tan tunic and brown trousers.

"Now, darling. We're celebrating the king's wedding. This can wait," the man's wife scolded gently. Her snow-white hair was up in an elaborate braid, her ruby red gown touching the ground. She turned warm brown eyes to him. "Our apologies, sire."

"Uhm... No, uh… It's fine," Alistair stammered, attempting to regain his composure. He cleared his throat. "I uh… I understand you're losing coin at the moment, but we'll need your help a little longer. Your lands are helping feed the refugees until they can move back to their homes and work the farms again. After that happens, I'll arrange for the Bannorn to give your goods priority in trade negotiations and temporarily halt your taxes to repay your generosity during these arduous times."

Eamon nodded proudly beside him.

"That is most generous…" The lord dipped his head respectfully. "Thank you, your Majesty."

An elven servant hurrying towards them drew their attention. She went straight to Alistair, bowing to him. "your Majesty, the queen sends for you."

He blinked. "Where is she?"

The girl warily glanced at his company, hesitating. "I'm afraid she only asked me to fetch you, sire. She has something important to tell you in private."

Still not understanding what was happening, Alistair turned to Eamon and the two guests. "Excuse me for a moment while I tend to my wife."

Eamon nodded, smiling knowingly. "Go on, your Majesty."

The elf spun about, moving to the nearest door as he followed her.

"I wonder what happened..." said the old woman, placing a hand on her chest.

"Oh, I think I have an idea…" Her husband snickered, chuckling in amusement. "Young love is all."

Now a little concerned, Alistair followed the maid as their steps echoed in the mostly empty hallways leading to the gardens. The elf had said nothing else, only walked with purpose to their destination. It was unlike Everil to just disappear from a formal social gathering without telling him, especially during their wedding day. Whatever made her walk off must have been important, and that she sent someone else to get him made it even more worrisome.

They soon reached a set of double doors and the maid quietly knocked. He heard footsteps approaching from within, then one of them opened, revealing a smiling Wynne. "There you are," she said calmly, gazing up at him before addressing the elf. "Thank you for going to get him, dear."

"Of course," the elf bent at the waist again. "I hope Her Majesty feels better soon. Please call for us if anything else is needed."

"We will." Wynne dipped her head, and the elf returned the way they came.

"'Feels better?' What does she mean? Is Everil feeling ill?" Alistair questioned in alarm.

"She's fine. Just queasy and in need of a little fresh air." She took a step outside, closing the door. "I gave her some tea to help ease her stomach. I will leave the recipe with the kitchen staff for when it happens again."

His frown deepened at her casual tone, unsure of what to make of it. "Wait… Why would it happen again? What happened?"

Wynne chuckled and gave him her trademark motherly grin, resting a hand on his arm. "Don't worry, son. She's not sick. But it is not my place to tell you more. Go talk to her. She wants to see you."

"Very well…" he sighed, a little relieved by her words. "Thank you, Wynne."

The mage stepped aside for him, allowing him to enter the room and shutting the door behind him. It was a sitting area that overlooked the gardens, illuminated by a single oil lamp on a small table and by the silver moonlight shining through the balcony to the outside. He found her sitting on one of the ornate chairs as a soft breeze picked up the crimson curtains, gently tousling the stray strands of hair framing her face as her gaze shifted to him.

Everil brought the teacup down from her lips, drawing a deep breath before smiling weakly with flushed cheeks. "Hi dear."

"My love?" Alistair sauntered towards her, still puzzled by what was happening. He went on a knee before her, taking one of her hands in his. "Are you all right? Wynne said you were feeling unwell?"

"I'm fine… I started feeling nauseated at the banquet, so I came here with Wynne to try and take a breather." She released another breath, turning guilt-ridden eyes to the garden. "Ugh… We almost didn't make it in time. I feel terrible for what I did to that poor rose bush."

"Oh… so that's what it was." He gave her a sympathetic look. "Was it the food? Or was it too crowded out there? I can kick everyone out if you need me to."

She laughed, setting her cup on the tiny table next to her. "You know you can't do that…"

"Who says?" A playful grin spread over his face. "I'm the king. I can do whatever I want."

"Riiight… keep telling yourself that," Everil chuckled, gently patting his hand. "At any rate… It wasn't the crowd that made me sick. It was something else."

He tilted his head. "What was it?"

There was a brief pause as she smiled lovingly at him, the pink tint on her cheeks turning a shade darker. "Uhm… Wynne found something in me… that you need to know about."

"Something in you?" he echoed, concern again settling upon his brow. "What could possibly—"

"A child."

His brows shot up in sheer surprise. "Huh…?"

Everil's smile broadened as she tenderly cupped his cheek, gazing into his amber pools. "I'm with child, Alistair."

The words took a moment to sink in as he remained still, wide eyes staring at her in bafflement. Everil waited patiently for him, gently stroking his cheek with her thumb. "We?" he finally breathed. "O-Ours?"

"Yes, darling…" she replied, tears of joy forming over her azure orbs.

"Maker…" Alistair murmured, still unable to believe his ears. He deliberately reached for her stomach, lying his palm over her womb. "I… I thought we…"

A single tear escaped as she chuckled, tilting her head. "I've been a Grey Warden for less time than you have... I think perhaps that helped. Or perhaps neither of us was too far gone... We've only lived with the taint for a year or so, while other Wardens have endured it for years longer."

"Perhaps…" Alistair rose to his feet, then gently helped her stand. "But honestly, it doesn't matter to me how it happened..." he murmured, carefully drawing her into his arms. "I'm just… I'm just so happy it did..."

"So am I…" She pressed her cheek to his sturdy chest, drawing in his scent as he held her tighter. Oh, how she'd ached over the news of their inability to bear children. How she'd craved to have a family with him ever since. And now that the Maker had granted them this miracle, she couldn't help the tears that kept pouring out of her.

"Everil…" He gently withdrew to gaze at her features, his hazel-browns glimmering under the lamp's flame as he tenderly caressed her jaw with his thumb. "I love you..."

She leaned into his touch, warmth spreading through her chest. "I love you too..."

And he leaned over to press his lips to hers in soft, feather-like pecks. Her heart soared as she wrapped her arms around his neck, returning his kisses with a blissful sigh. After all the suffering they endured. After all the death they'd witnessed, and all they'd lost. They could finally live the life they yearned for, however brief it may be.

Author's Notes:

Thank you all for reading and thank you to those who left me reviews along the way! I really hope you enjoyed it :). Drop me a review if you want. My intention is to continue the story all the way up to DA Inquisition, so you might see from me in the near future. Cheers!

-LadyS