Ten years ago today I created my FF profile. It's been a great decade. Thank you for reading!

Thora hadn't intended to be in this particular hallway right now. Alistair was reading to Anawyn, and she tried to give the two of them their space, not to get in the way of the all-too-precious father-daughter bonding time. She told herself that was why she walked especially softly rather than with her usual firm tread, designed to be heard.

But then, why did she slow as she came near the little girl's room? Why did she stop just shy of the door, holding her breath, listening to that familiar well-loved voice reading the tattered storybook aloud, the story she and everyone else in the keep had memorized long ago?

For that matter, she could have asked herself why the door was still open, but she didn't. That line of questioning was guaranteed to go nowhere good.

Still, it wouldn't hurt to stand here and listen, just for a moment. Alistair was so good at doing the voices of all the characters—the high bray of the donkey, the nasal sound of the pig, the insistence of the rooster. The sound of Anawyn's giggle brought an answering smile to Thora's face. She leaned back against the stone wall, closing her eyes as she listened.

"'And then the pig said, 'Ser Rooster, if you don't mind— Oink! Oink!'' Oh, dear. He can't talk! What will they do?"

"Read!"

Thora pictured the imperious little finger stabbing the page as Anawyn did anytime anyone deviated from the words on the page.

She slid down the wall to sit on the floor, bringing her knees up to her chest, drinking in the sound of her love and their child together.

"That's what it says. 'Oh, dear. What will they do?'"

"No! Says 'Ee-aw, ee-aw'. Donkey!"

"Oh, does it? Where does it say 'Ee-aw'? Show me."

He really was so good with her. It was hard not to imagine what it would be like if they all lived here together, the family that they should be. But that decision had been made long ago, Thora reminded herself, and rehashing it did no one any good. She should be glad he was as devoted to Anawyn and his regular weekends as he was, with Dorothea back in Denerim and the cares of state weighing heavily on him. He always arrived exhausted and looking older than Thora remembered, but by the time the weekend was over he was her Alistair again, light and untroubled … as long as they remembered to keep certain topics off-limits, that was.

"Again!"

"But we haven't finished."

"Again."

Thora could picture the little girl's frown.

"I tell you what. I'll start from the beginning and do all the words and voices just the way you want them, if you'll snuggle down here under your blanket and go to sleep. Do you promise?"

There was a pause, then a reluctant "Okay."

"Okay. Here we go. 'Once upon a time there was a farmer …'"

The familiar story washed over her, that voice she loved so well, and Thora relaxed against the wall. Much as she loved having Alistair come to the keep, and his determination to be a regular and important part of his daughter's life, his visits were so filled with temptations and memories that she had to push aside. For just this one moment, when no one could see her, maybe she could close her eyes and just pretend …

Alistair stood looking down at the sweet face of his sleeping daughter for a long time before he could convince himself to move. It was so hard to leave her. She was just starting to remember him when he was gone, which made for delightful arrivals as the tiny little arms wound around his neck and hung on so tight … but such heart-wrenching departures that Thora had resorted to tricking her with forbidden snacks in the kitchen so that she wouldn't notice Alistair leaving.

His little love had her mother's spirit—stubborn, determined, hard to say no to. He hoped that would stand her in good stead in the years to come, as it had Thora.

Finally he managed to tiptoe out of the room, very slowly, holding his breath in case Anawyn awakened when he was halfway out the door. It took hours to calm her when that happened.

And then he nearly ruined it all when he practically stepped on the person asleep in the hall.

Like mother, like daughter, he thought affectionately, looking down at Thora's red head, which rested on her drawn-up knees. He wanted—he wanted to touch her, to smooth the tousled hair, to cup her face in his hand, to get down on his knees and kiss her soft mouth, to breathe in the scent of her hair. But he didn't dare.

Or did he? Without stopping to think, he knelt next to her, one arm under her knees and the other around her back, and he lifted her into his arms, marveling as he had so often before at how light she was, how easily she fit against his chest. Her head fell against his shoulder, and he froze, waiting to see if she would wake. But she didn't. The cares of the keep, and administration—never her favorite thing—and caring for a very active small child kept her busy at all hours. He rarely saw her take a moment for anything other than Anawyn. If she had fallen asleep listening to his voice … the idea made his heart flutter, proving that she still cared, that what they had shared was still buried, like a seed in the winter, but not gone.

Carefully, keeping an eye and an ear out for anyone who might see them—a compromising position for king and commander alike—Alistair carried her the short distance from Anawyn's room to her own, hesitating before he nudged the door open with his foot. He carried her to the bed and laid her down gently, giving some thought to tugging off her boots but deciding that would wake her up, and he very much did not want her to wake to find herself in bed and him in her bedroom. Except for the part of him that did want her to wake that way and to find out what the consequences might be, and he hushed that part sternly. He owed both Thora and Dorothea better than that.

Alistair gently pulled the blanket up over Thora's shoulders, allowing himself a very brief gentle touch on her hair, and slowly, slowly, backed out of the room, glad to have escaped without anyone seeing him there.

He loved these visits to the keep, watching his Anawyn grow and spending time with her mother, but they were so hard on his heart.