Tying Up Loose Ends

Part 1 – Mommie Dearest

The forced march to our destination took the better part of a day. I was every bit as cocky as Aiden said, but sheer stubbornness couldn't replace my former energy, now depleted. The last time I'd been in a battle, weeks earlier, I didn't experience this kind of fatigue. Though I hadn't gained more than five or six kilos, the internal, hormonal changes in my body wore me down. I had to swallow my pride and take a rest. That wasn't exactly how I worded it to my fellows, however.

"Lads and ladies, we've made good time, but it's getting dark," I said. "It would be foolhardy to walk into the Mother's lair after an all-day march, so we'll make camp here tonight and start first thing in the morning." There. It sounded like any other order. Not like I needed the rest, but like we all did.

"You must be near exhaustion, Commander," Mhairi said sympathetically.

"You really should get your rest," Teagan added.

"We can't have you overdoing it and going into labor in the middle of things, can we?" Aiden said. "Anders would have to shoot his lightning with one hand and catch the baby with the other. That would be quite the sight."

"Stop it, everyone. Just… make camp," I said, embarrassed at what I saw as my weakness. While they gathered kindling for a fire, I strolled a short distance from the group. Teagan followed me.

"You have nothing to prove," he remarked. "There are nine other warriors, including myself, who can handle the Mother. Maybe you ought to sit this one out, love."

"Don't coddle me, Teagan," I snapped.

His countenance darkened. "Let's be clear on one thing. Regarding the battle, I respect your authority and defer to your decisions. But don't get it into your hard head that I will let you tell me what to think and feel. Didn't you hear the others? Everyone can see you're pushing yourself too hard. That needs to stop."

"Hold on, Arl. Don't get it into your hard head that you can order me about like a servant."

"You're not a servant, and it's not an order. As your husband, I insist you slow down and take care of yourself before you and our baby come to harm. I'm well within my rights—"

"To the void with your rights! I have a duty, and I'll see it through to its completion. I've taken care of myself just fine before you came into my life. I can do so again."

We stood glaring at each other. Did he expect me never to talk back to him? Or that we'd always be like starry-eyed lovers on a perpetual honeymoon? Did he think I was so weak and helpless, even pregnant, that I was unable to handle myself in a fight or discern when I needed rest and when I could push on?

His eyes were narrowed and blazing blue fire. His jaw was set, his breathing heavy. I just knew there were angry words ready to burst from his lips.

His lips. Those soft, talented, deliciously kissable lips. I've not seen him angry before, but he looks incredibly… irresistibly… sexy…

I brought my hands up to his face, pulled it to mine, and kissed him. It was an "angry" kiss, full of forceful passion. Not our usual fare, but it had a knee-weakening quality. Teagan pulled me against him with one arm around my back, the other hand roaming to my bottom.

"Hey you two! There aren't any tents out here, you know!" Need I say who made the remark? He added, "I'd rather not have the image of Teagan's naked hairy arse burned into my retinas."

"Damn it all to oblivion," Teagan muttered. He leaned his brow against mine while he battled for control of himself. "Woman, you're going to owe me when we get home."

"It's a debt I look forward to paying," I said, calming my own raging desire with considerable effort.

We returned to camp, which consisted of a campfire and the hard ground. No sleeping bags, no blankets. When we were ready to sleep, Teagan stacked our packs one atop another, leaned against them (uncomfortably) and pulled me to him, much like he'd done when he sat with me at Eamon's Denerim estate after my coma. Before my eyes closed, I noted how cozily Garavel and Mhairi huddled together. She lay with her head on his shoulder and an arm draped over his torso. His arm was around her shoulders. They looked contented.

Aiden, Bryant, Sigrun, and Nathaniel took turns at watch. When Anders volunteered to take a shift, they all refused and told him to rest. Something odd was going on, but I was too tired to care. I'll sort it out later, was my last thought as I fell into a dreamless sleep.

Dragonbone Wastes was as desolate as its name implied. There were dragon bones strewn over the uneven terrain. A winding path, worn into a rut by foot traffic in centuries past, led through the wastes. I noted three high spots along the side of the path that would be perfect for archers to fire on us, and I kept a wary eye out for attackers. The place looked deserted, but it didn't feel empty. None of the wardens sensed darkspawn, but there was the sense of being watched that made my skin crawl. I wasn't the only one who felt it.

"The Mother couldn't have picked a better place, or a worse one," Aiden whispered to me. "A good spot for her because it can't be reached without being seen, and a great spot for her scouts to see us long before we see them. Like now, for example." The two teams had traveled to the site separately and arrived within minutes of each other. We'd encountered no opposition along the way. The Mother was expecting us.

"They're out here," I agreed. "In hiding, watching our progress."

Whether they'd received a signal from their leader or waited for us to reach a certain point, the attack started suddenly. Melee fighters appeared in front and behind us, and archers stepped out from the shadows and onto the high ground. There were at least as many cultists here as we'd found in Haven and the temple ruins.

Morrigan and Anders sent fireballs and lightning bolts at the archers while the rest of us took on battleaxe-wielding warriors on the ground. The mages quickly dispatched their targets, then turned their attention to the swordsmen and axemen. Sigrun used two daggers and I used my two swords, all enchanted with fire, frost and paralyze runes. We were quicker than the cultists' untrained fighters. Even with my less-than-perfect balance, I could outmaneuver them easily.

Bryant, Garavel, Teagan, and Mhairi handled the strongest enemy combatants. Because we were in such a tight group, Nathaniel and Aiden couldn't fire arrows without the chance of friendly fire. Instead, they pulled a dagger and jabbed the nearest cultist. In a few minutes, the ground was soaked with blood, every cultist lay dead, and none of us were injured.

The rest of the pathway was free of enemies and we moved unchallenged until we came to a large clearing. The silence was more ominous here than earlier, before the ambush.

"I sense a creature nearby," Morrigan said. "A varterral. Be cautious."

"What's a varterral?" I asked. Before she could explain, I had my answer.

A gigantic, insect-like creature descended from the top of a ruined building. It was somewhat like a cross between a praying mantis and a spider, with long multiple legs, but deadlier than the giant spiders we'd encountered in the Bracilian Forest and in the Deep Roads. Its attacks included stomping its thick forelegs, spewing some horrid-smelling slime, and snapping at us with its smallish but sharp beak. The creature was tall—its body loomed far above my head—ten feet or more when it held its torso horizontally. In its upright position, with its head raised and its torso at an oblique angle, it must have been over fifteen feet high.

"That's one big cockroach," Mhairi said. "I'm going to have nightmares for years after this."

Sigrun kept her eyes on the varterral when she whispered, "What's a cockroach?"

"You need a big strong man to keep those bad old bugs away," Anders taunted Mhairi.

Garavel shot him a dark look. "Are you referring to yourself, Warden?"

Anders answered, "No, Captain. I was referring to you. Or did you think nobody knew you'd taken a liking to the pretty warden with the impressive rack?"

Honestly, fellows. There's an enormous killer insect looming over us, and you want to pound your chests and play "let's-see-who's-manlier" now, of all times?

Before I could stop what was turning into a pissing contest, Aiden said, "You'll not address the seneschal as an equal, Anders. Your enemy is out there, not among your companions. Shut up and focus." He spoke with such authority that the mage blushed and went quiet. Garavel's ire subsided.

"To business, lads," I said, before my wardens found something else to bicker about. "Archers and mages, take position and fire on that bug. Let's take it down."

The plan was to have my ranged fighters weaken the varterral before the melee team moved in. When the creature showed signs of injury, we swordsmen moved in and hacked at its limbs. If nothing else, we'd make it bleed out or whittle its legs down.

When the varterral was losing strength and victory was just within our reach, two midsized dragons landed in the clearing to distract us. One of them breathed fire, the other exhaled ice.

"Archers, ground those two!" I called to Aiden and Nathaniel. They obliged by targeting the dragons' wings at the joint where they joined the body. A well-placed shot could damage the joint enough to prevent the creature from flying. They kept at the dragons, and the rest of us continued to fight the varterral. It was more resilient than I would have guessed. And it had the ability to regenerate health.

I swore under my breath. The dragons gave the varterral enough time to recover over half its strength, which was more than sufficient to wipe out my party if we grew careless. "Mages, take this bastard down!"

Morrigan warned us to step back so she could use crushing prison. Anders said he'd use his blizzard spell. The two mages cast their spells in tandem, with the crushing prison catching the frozen creature. Even those powerful attacks didn't kill it, but it was too weakened to heal itself. We melee fighters were able to finish it off with daggers and swords.

Turning our focus to the now-flightless dragons, we hit them from the sides, avoiding the lethal fire and ice breath that could roast the flesh off our bones or freeze us solid in seconds—not to mention their rows of dagger-like teeth that could sever a limb, a head, or any body part within reach. These weren't large enough to bite an adult in half like the high dragons could, but they were deadly in their own right.

Bryant slew one of them by driving his greatsword through the beast's side just below the wing joint, puncturing its lungs and heart. Teagan and Mhairi flanked the remaining dragon on either side and drove their battleaxes deeply into the flesh, severing both wings, penetrating into the creature's ribcage to its internal organs. Mhairi pulled her blade sideways toward the dragon's tail, ripping flesh and bone along the bloody route. The beast raised its head and let out a long, roaring blast of ice spotted with blood, then it collapsed to the ground.

Pools of blood surrounded the dragons, and I noted something I thought I'd seen when I killed the archdemon (but was blown back so quickly I might have imagined it). The blood was darker than human blood, with streaks of iridescent green-gold. As strange as this may sound, it was almost… well, pretty.

"Gather a few scales, and avoid that blood," I instructed my wardens. Pretty or not, who knew what affect the blood might have on human skin? No sense taking risks.

Bryant reminded me, "Commander, we have no armourer at the keep. Master Wade was killed."

"Andraste's curdled blood…" I muttered, annoyed by the increasing number of obstacles and unfortunate turns. "Take some scales anyway. There must be someone in Ferelden who can fashion dragonskin and dragonscale armor."

Beyond the varterral's corpse was a door leading to a structure known as Drake's Fall. As soon as the door was opened, my blood began to burn painfully, as intense a feeling as I had when I stood before the archdemon. There were darkspawn ahead. And the Mother.

"Do you fellows feel that?" Sigrun asked, massaging her arms. "It's like my insides are on fire."

"It's the presence of a darkspawn leader," I answered. "The Mother is here."

Nathaniel asked, "Did you feel it when we met the Architect? I sensed nothing in his lair. He was darkspawn, wasn't he?"

"I… No, I didn't sense him as darkspawn," I answered. "And yes, he was a kind of darkspawn, but he did something to… evolve himself."

I hadn't thought of it before. Whatever the Architect had done to himself, he wasn't detectable as darkspawn. It must have been the infusion of Grey Warden blood that altered his taint. He was an aberration, a darkspawn who'd retained his intellect rather than turning into a mindless beast. Was he undetectable because he wasn't evil? Or had he actually changed his blood? Whatever the case, he was dead and the point was moot. We could sense the disciples quite well, and those, along with the Mother, were his test subjects. They were detectable, and that was what mattered.

Drake's Fall was made up of three towers with descending spiral staircases. Each led deeper down into the lair. Between the towers were narrow walkways lined with childer egg sacs. They hatched as we passed by them, and the hungry grubs went straight for the warm-blooded meals walking through their nest. I had to wonder how the Mother—assuming she was a broodmother, and therefore immobile—was able to deposit eggs not only throughout her lair, but also in the Deep Roads, and as far away as Blackmarsh.

Parties of defenders led by an eerily chattering "disciple", as they called themselves, were positioned on each of the staircases. I sensed the Mother was waiting for us, but her survival instinct forced her to protect herself from us—the invaders.

The defensive bands consisted of a mix of every type of darkspawn we'd seen so far—genlocks, hurlocks, shrieks, an armored ogre, and childers, all directed by what Alistair referred to as the generals—the talkers. When we killed the general, only the childers continued with their single-minded purpose of feeding. The other darkspawn hesitated, awaiting orders from their leader. On the second set of defenders, we'd learned our lesson. Aiden and Nathaniel targeted the disciple, killing it first. The others faltered, looking for the general and listening for what Alistair had once called the "group mind", or the subconscious leading. While the archers and mages killed the childers, the rest of us plowed through the fumbling armies.

At the foot of the third and deepest staircase were two armored ogres and a ranking disciple. How could I tell it was higher ranked? Believe it or not, these creatures had developed fashion sense. The higher their rank, the nicer their armor. The one we'd met in Blackmarsh wore a hooded, fitted suit of black and red leather armor, enchanted with defense runes. This latest disciple had similar armor, differing in color, with both defense and poison runes.

"Don't touch it and don't get too close," I warned. "Its armor is venomous."

"Not for long," Nathaniel said, and attacked it with arrows dipped in a paralysis poison. "I was hoping I'd get a chance to use this stuff." The arrow hit home, penetrating the disciple's armor and flesh. It's body stiffened and fell to the floor. It wasn't dead but it was unable to move.

"Nice," Aiden said. "You'll have to tell me how you made that stuff."

"Sure, we can trade recipes like a couple of old housewives," Nathaniel answered dryly.

I walked toward the disciple to kill it but Teagan stepped in my path. "Allow me, Commander." He kept himself out of the creature's reach, should it regain its mobility, and he employed a long-handled battleaxe to behead it. The remaining creatures floundered, as had the others before them. We took them down, from the biggest threat—the armored ogres—to the least. There was a trail of destruction that marked our passing. Unless she had more childer hatchlings in her den, we had eliminated the Mother's entire fighting force.

We found her in a cave at the farthest reaches of Drakes Fall. She was both similar to the broodmothers we'd seen before, and quite unlike them. She had no legs, her lower abdomen was a big blob of flesh, she had multiple layers of breasts, and of course, no broodmother would be complete without tentacles shooting up from the ground. Unlike the others, she talked. Her upper body was more human in appearance, size, and shape, but her eyes and mouth oozed a dark red substance I assumed was blood. Her arms were stained to the elbow with the same dark red tint. The cave reeked of decay and waste.

"You must be the Mother we've heard so much about," I said, pacing back and forth (with a heavy dose of sarcasm and a pronounced swagger) well out of the creature's reach. "You knew we were coming, didn't you? You might have dressed for company, and you could have picked up the place a bit." I sniffed the fetid air. "It smells like dirty darkspawn diapers in here." She watched me without comment, but the madness in her eyes was unmissable. "Your childers and disciples are dead, in case you're waiting for them to rescue you. Sorry about that." I twirled my swords, sending darkspawn blood droplets flying toward her. "Wait… let me amend that. I'm not sorry."

Teagan and Aiden exchanged knowing looks.

Anders said, "I never thought I'd be repulsed by the sight of a pair of perky breasts."

Aiden said, "Same here. She's a real horror, that one."

Either she didn't comprehend my earlier comments or she was playing dumb. She spoke in a nerve-grating, screechy voice. "I've been expecting you, Warden-Commander. I trust my disciples made you feel welcome?" She cackled at her own joke, then continued in a more sober vein. Her countenance screwed up as if she were perplexed over a great mystery. "Where is the Father? Why did he not come to witness your end?"

"The Father? I presume you mean the Architect?"

"He is the Father. But he abandoned us before we could finish building our family." She took on a conspiratorial look. "I took his disciples and made them mine. The Father will come to me now."

Aiden said, "Oh, is that what all the fuss is about? Darkspawn mum and darkspawn dad had a lover's quarrel."

She paid him no mind. The terms he used were beyond her limited comprehension.

I said, "I have more bad news for you, Mother. The 'Father' is dead. He won't be making any more disciples, I'm afraid. You're on your own. Oh, and before he died, he asked me to tell you he won't be coming home for dinner."

My words finally got through to her. She may have only understood that the Architect was dead, but whatever I said provoked her to act. "You," she said in an accusing tone. "You must be eliminated. You killed the Father. You killed my children. I will do the same to you and your offspring."

Without further chatter, she whipped a tentacle toward me, missing me by a hair's breadth. My archers and the mages began to rain arrows and spells on her. The melee team worked on chopping down the tentacles—her only means of attack, but extremely efficient and lethal. If she managed to grab one of us, the chances of us forcing her to drop her captive were miniscule. She would crush her prey to death.

Fighting the archdemon was easy compared to this monster. She taunted and threatened as the tentacles lashed about, seeking a target. Her babble was unnerving, not only in its unpleasant pitch, but it was a distraction. She was utterly insane. And there was only one thing to do with a mad dog…

While the archers and mages kept her occupied, I rushed her and stabbed at her with both blades. I was so engrossed in trying to kill her that I grew careless and didn't watch out for the tentacles. Morrigan, of all people, pushed me out of the way, and she was caught instead.

The Mother didn't count on picking up a witch, the limit of whose powers we had yet to see. Morrigan's entire body began to glow golden, like sunlight. We were forced to squint and shade our eyes against the glow. She radiated enough heat to burn the tentacle to a black, shriveled mass. When the Mother dropped her, Morrigan landed gracefully on her feet. The glow and heat ceased as quickly as they'd appeared.

Maybe the crazy witch really is a dragon. I've never seen a mage with that kind of power.

"She's vulnerable to fire," Morrigan said casually, as if she hadn't just had what would have been a terrifying experience to the rest of us, and like she hadn't just transformed herself into a human fireball. "I'll enchant your weapons. Anders, use fireball on her."

"Stop giving orders, Morrigan," I said. "You saved my life but you didn't purchase it. Back off."

"Meee-ow," Aiden said with a snicker.

"As you wish," she complied.

Anders did use fireball and he enchanted any weapons that weren't equipped with flame runes. While he worked, he remarked to Morrigan, "Why don't you just turn into a glowing golden fireball yourself again and kill this monster? You could save us some time and we can get out of this stinking cave."

"I cannot, because none of you would survive it," she answered. "And for other reasons that I will not divulge."

Bryant dealt the killing blow. He drove his greatsword into the Mother's mouth and out the back of her head. Tentacles writhed and snapped like meaty whips. One of them struck me in the forearm with enough force to knock my sword from my hand and throw me to the ground. The pain in my arm was huge. When I looked at it, the bone was protruding through my flesh.

"Maker," Teagan exclaimed, kneeling by my side and pulling bandages from his pack.

"Don't waste your bandages," Anders said. "I'll heal her."

"No!" Morrigan interjected. "Leave her to me."

Those of us who knew her were puzzled by her unexpected protective streak, but protecting me wasn't what she had in mind. She grasped my arm right where it was broken, causing me pain so intense I almost fainted. Then the wound was completely healed, the pain gone.

"You refused my request," she said, "so you leave me no recourse. I'm taking you where you can heal and rest until the baby comes. Once the child is weaned, perhaps I will let you go free."

"You're not taking her anywhere," Teagan challenged her.

The others had moved closer, and now formed a wall between Morrigan and me. Aiden said, "It's over, witch. Leave now if you want to leave here alive."

She laughed at their threats. "What power do you think you have, that you can stop me?"

Mhairi circled behind Morrigan while the standoff continued. The men saw what she was planning and they kept the witch engaged, riling her with threats and ridicule. She didn't expect the sword that exploded through her back and out of her chest.

Before she died, she whirled round and cast an exploding fireball at Mhairi. It hit her full force, and the brave woman who'd just saved me was killed instantly.

As she'd done on the rooftop, Morrigan's eyes rolled back into blacks and she exhaled loudly. Again, the raven formed from her breath. Aiden was ready for it. He brought the bird down with a double-arrow shot through its body. It plopped at our feet.

"That takes care of her," Aiden said with grim satisfaction.

Mhairi's body shuddered violently, sat up, then stood. She was burned and her skin blackened, but she was somehow alive. Unnaturally alive, as it turned out. Morrigan's voice came from her charred lips. "I am not so easily destroyed, you fools."

"On the contrary," Garavel answered. He poised his sword and said to the face he loved, his Mhairi, "Forgive me, dearest." With a hard swing that whistled through the air, he decapitated Mhairi and her body slumped to the ground. With nowhere to go and no more warden bodies to possess, Morrigan's soul—visible to us as a gray mist—let out a bone-chilling shriek before it dissipated. She was gone. Finally, completely destroyed. Dark blood streaked with iridescent green-gold oozed from the corpse's neck.

It's dragon blood. She actually was a dragon.

"Let me look at your arm, Warden-Commander," Anders said. He surveyed Morrigan's work. It was perfect. The bone was mended and the flesh unmarked. "As good a job as I've ever seen, if not the best I've seen. Too bad she was so evil. She had amazing skill."

"Not skill," I corrected him. "Witchcraft. Old swamp magic."

Several months and too many losses after I arrived at Vigil's Keep, the threat was gone and the arling could begin the long process of healing and restoration. I said to my fellows, and my husband, "Let's get out of here." As an afterthought I said to Anders, "Burn the bodies. I want no trace left of the Mother or Morrigan."

Dragon blood was combustible, as it turned out, and made for a perfect accelerant. We left quickly after Anders' fire spell. The cave was engulfed in flames moments after our departure.

We spoke little on the way back to the Vigil. For my part, I was glad it was finally over. The following morning I would resign my post and pass the position to Aiden. I was done with the Grey Wardens. Only the taint would remain with me. That, and countless memories.

The next morning we held a memorial service for those we'd lost during my tenure: Varel, Mhairi, Oghren, Justice (and Kristof), Constable Aidan and Lieutenant Mayer, the Orlesian wardens who died before I came to the Vigil, Herren and Master Wade, and the citizens of Amaranthine city. My last official act as warden-commander and arlessa of Amaranthine was to commission a plaque to commemorate the fallen, listing each name with their rank or title. It was too little and too late, but if nothing else, they would be remembered. The plaque would be displayed in the keep's throne room until Amaranthine and its chantry were rebuilt.

Before I could leave, I needed to properly close out this part of my life. I had to talk with each of my friends. The first was Garavel, who'd lost so much, and so recently. "My friend, I have no words…" I began lamely.

"Commander, it's been an honor serving with you," he said, brushing my sympathies aside. "You've proven once more that you truly are a hero." I reminded him that it was he who had done the more heroic deeds, namely, saving my life from the Architect at the risk of his own.

I approached the painful topic carefully. "Garavel, about Mhairi…"

"Loss is part of life, and a major part of being a soldier," he answered. "It's best for me to remain single and focus on my duties. That is my life, and I'm content with it."

When we parted, I wasn't satisfied that I'd expressed myself as I'd intended, but he clearly didn't want to speak of Varel and Mhairi. Whether denial was his way of dealing with pain, or he had the ability to separate his emotions from his work, I was confident he would be as good a seneschal as Varel had been.

I stopped by to see Sigrun, Nathaniel, and Bryant, in turn. Parting was harder than I thought it would be. I hadn't grown as close to Sigrun and Nathaniel as I had Bryant. We spent a few extra minutes talking and wishing each other well.

When I stopped by Anders' suite, no one answered my knock. I went inside and found the room orderly. Too orderly. He was a bit of a clean freak, but even this was beyond his typical "spotless room" habit. On the desk was a note addressed to me.

"Winter,

"With the darkspawn eradicated, I feel my time with the Grey Wardens is over.

I appreciate you saving me from the templars, but life with the wardens has been as confining as in the Circle, in its own way. I refuse to be caged any longer, and I hope you will understand my decision, whether or not you agree with it. Please tell Garavel and Aiden that I'm leaving Ferelden, so they needn't bother sending Bryant after me.

Maker watch over you, my friend.

Anders"

This was inevitable, I realized. His disposition had changed the day we lost Amaranthine. His former cheerfulness and mildly biting humor was replaced by a brooding and often surly attitude. He'd always been touchy about confinement in the Circle, but of late his anger took the form of rants about injustices against mages. Perhaps it was the best thing for him. He'd spent most of his life in captivity of sorts, and his desire for freedom wasn't unreasonable. Inwardly I hoped he would find the peace he sought.

I saved the most emotional goodbye for last. Aiden, my dearest friend, the closest thing I had to a brother. Teagan, who'd formed a friendship with him, joined me in his suite. Before I could utter a complete sentence, I faltered and teared up.

"I know, and me too," Aiden said. He approached me, glanced at Teagan, and asked, "May I?" Teagan consented and Aiden grabbed me up in a big bear hug. "I'll miss you, little sis, but I'll come round to torment you from time to time. You'll send word when the baby is born, won't you? I'm anxious to meet Baby Arl."

Since I couldn't speak without choking up, Teagan answered that we would surely notify him. Aiden kissed me on the brow as he used to do when I was overwrought—a reassuring gesture that made it more difficult to part. Teagan and I left his suite without me being able to say the word "goodbye".

"If you're finished, my dear, I'm ready to go home," Teagan said. "We have to prepare for our son's arrival."

My work here was done and my time over. All told, I'd accomplished everything I had set out to do—everything the king expected of me and more—and I was ready to lay aside my swords and armor for good, and to begin my civilian life.

Part 2 – The Long-Awaited Birth and Two Surprise Weddings

Our son was born eight weeks after we returned from the Vigil. The midwife who attended the birth said it was the easiest one she'd seen (easy from her perspective maybe—not so easy from mine!). When the afterbirth was expelled, her eyes widened in horror.

"What is that?" she said. "The sac is… it's… I don't quite know what it could be."

I was alarmed. "Is something wrong with my baby?"

"No, my lady. The baby is healthy and strong. It's just… this sac is peculiar. Heavy, thick, and covered in tiny shards of… of bone or… or something."

Morrigan. Maker curse her; she layered my womb in a substance that resembled dragonskin, like my old armor.

"Could you please finish your work quickly so the arl can see his son?" I said, hurrying her along and hoping to distract her from examining the sac too closely. At my insistence, she disposed of it and went about cleaning the baby. She wrapped him in a blanket and handed him to me. He was perfect. Beautiful. He had a full head of black hair like mine, and dark blue eyes.

Teagan was waiting at the door and he practically fell into the room when the midwife left. He made sure I was alright before he reached for the baby. "Maker's breath…" he uttered as he cuddled our newborn. He was as awed as I was.

We hadn't discussed names, but one kept coming to my mind. Jaden. Jaden Guerrin. It had a nice ring. Teagan liked it too. It was settled.

News of the birth traveled around the country. Aiden lived closest and was the first to visit. He leaned over the crib and peered at my sleeping son. "A fine little fellow. What's his name?"

"Jaden," I answered.

"Jaden? Really?" Aiden laughed. "Sounds an awful like like 'Aiden' doesn't it?" He gave Teagan a mischievous smile. "I told you I'd give you competition, old boy. You see he has dark hair like mine. That should tell you something, eh?"

Teagan rejoined, "In your wildest dreams, perhaps."

He stayed a while, and during our chat he told us he was betrothed to Bann Alfstanna of Waking Sea. Teagen was well acquainted with her and heartily approved of Aiden's choice. I vaguely recalled seeing her in the landsmeet when we faced off against Loghain and Anora. We'd rescued her templar brother from Howe's dungeon, if memory served. Alfstanna was a kindhearted soul, intelligent and quite lovely. Aiden looked happier than I'd ever seen him. When he left, he was headed for Waking Sea where the wedding would take place shortly after his arrival. Because I was still not fully recovered from the birth, we wouldn't be able to attend.

"Not one for wasting time, are you?" Teagan teased.

"I'd like the chance to become a father before I'm old enough to be a grandfather," Aiden said, "unlike some fellows I know."

"Ouch," Teagan said. They newlyweds would live at Alfstanna's manor until Cousland Castle was completely restored, which would take another year or so. After that, Aiden said, they would decide where they wanted to make their permanent home.

"Your news caught me by surprise and I'm unable to arrange for a proper wedding gift," Teagan told Aiden as he made ready to leave, "so I'll send along a wagonload of my meadery's select mead and Rainesfere spiced wine to Bann Alftanna's home. It should arrive in time for your wedding." He handed Aiden a bottle of each for his trip back home, with a warning not to get too drunk to find his way.

Eamon came to spend a few days with us as soon as his duties allowed. He beamed with delight when he held his new nephew. Behind the joy, though, was pain. He'd recalled holding Connor when his son was an infant. The boy, now age eleven, had been moved to the Circle in Kirkwall while the Lake Calenhad tower was being rebuilt. It was just as well, because no matter where Conner lived, Eamon would never be allowed to see him again.

Soon after Eamon departed, Alistair stopped by. "I'm on my way to Orlais," he said, "but I couldn't pass by without greeting the newest member of the Guerrin family."

"I'll bring him downstairs," Teagan said.

When we were alone, Alistair confided, "I'm going to be married soon. In a few days, in fact."

"Really? To whom? I didn't know you were seeing anyone." I was happy for him. If he'd found someone who loved him as he deserved to be loved, I was all for it.

"Empress Celine of Orlais," he answered. "Eamon's idea, not mine. She's a lovely woman, a bit young for me but I guess I can't afford to be too picky."

"Oh," I said, mildly disappointed. A political marriage. Usually not love matches at the start, but with the potential to become one. I cheered myself with that thought. Alistair was a handsome man, with great wit, an easy charm, and a host of other fine qualities. Celine should count herself lucky. He would make a wonderful husband. "She'd better be good to you, or she'll have to deal with me," I joked.

"I'll make sure she's warned," he smiled. "Or maybe not. I ought to let her find out the hard way, like I did. Like Aiden did. Like Leliana did…"

"Alright, alright! Enough!" I laughed. "I get your point. I can be a little difficult at times."

"And mean," he added. "Don't leave that one out. When I met you, it was your most noticeable character trait."

Teagan came in with Jaden before I could defend myself. Alistair was all oohs and aahs when he saw my son. He wanted to hold the baby but didn't have any experience with kids (nor did I, but he also lacked instinct in that department), so Teagan had to instruct him on how to support Jaden's head and "for Andraste's sake, don't squeeze him against your iron-plated chest". Alistair was in awe, like we all were, holding the baby and talking to him in silly baby-talk, sounding nothing like a king-soon-to-be emperor.

"He's a beautiful child," Alistair said. "And see how alert he is? He's smart and good looking, just like his mother."

"Hey, he looks like me too," Teagan protested.

"Hmm… No, I don't see any resemblance to you, Uncle. He's not ugly in the least."

We had an enjoyable visit. The old wounds were healed. Teagan and Alistair were like family again, calling each other "Uncle" and "Nephew". Alistair referred to Jaden as his nephew—a strange relational twist, but if he wanted to be surrogate uncle, I had no objection.

Teagan insisted on putting Jaden back to bed rather than letting our nanny take care of it. He doted on our boy. While he was occupied, I walked out to the porch with Alistair. "I'd like to talk to you for a minute before you go," I said.

"Of course," he said. "What's on your mind?"

"We've had our differences in the past, and for my part in them, I'm sorry. And when we were… What I mean is, before I became involved with Teagan, I think I led you on. I didn't mean to, but I did. And I feel awful about it."

He gave me the familiar rascally look. "Well, you did lead me on, and you should feel awful. Oh come on now, don't go all pouty on me. I'm joking. I joke a lot, remember? Mostly lame jokes no one appreciates."

"I want you to be happy, Alistair," I said. "You're dear to me, you know."

"Am I?" His voice had a faraway quality. "Look at it this way. Orlais and Ferelden will be allied through marriage, and eventually through an heir. We'll be at peace. It's the best thing I can do for the country, though some might have to adjust to the idea of an Orlesian queen. No doubt the empress will have to convince some of her people that it's a good political move, too. But in the end, it will be well for both countries."

"I said I want you to be happy," I repeated. "Ferelden aside, Alistair. Be happy."

His smile was appreciative, and his manner was the one I remembered from those days at camp. Warm, caring, and kind. "That's sweet of you to say. I'll try to be happy. Good enough?"

"No," I smirked. "But if that's the best you can do…"

"I've got to get on the road or I'll miss my own wedding. Not that I'm not tempted to miss it." He chuckled at my startled look. "Joking again. Don't be so serious. You'll wrinkle early."

"Bastard," I hissed, suppressing a smile.

"That's me, the royal bastard." He leaned to me and kissed my brow—another familiar gesture from the past. "You be happy. That's an order from your king."

He walked down the steps to his waiting company of guards. Curiously, I had a lump in my throat and my eyes threatened to fill with tears.

It's post-pregnancy emotion, that's all.

Alistair mounted his horse and waved to me before he turned northward, toward Jader and on to his betrothed in Val Royeaux. The man who, not so many months earlier, was reluctant to be king, would return from Orlais an emperor.

"Don't think I missed that kiss between you two," Teagan joked from the doorway. "Should I be jealous?"

I made reference to Alistair's upcoming nuptials. "That's wonderful news!" he exclaimed. "Eamon has been hoping to forge a bond with Orlais since… Ah well, no matter. He'll be happy when the countries are bound by marriage. No more threat of invasion from our west. I wonder why Alistair didn't mention it."

"He did," I said. "You were too preoccupied with your son to follow the conversation."

"Well darling, you can't exactly fault me for that." He eyed me more closely. "Something's troubling you. What is it? Are you unwell?"

"I'm fine. I just feel… I think Alistair feels he's being pushed into this marriage. I'm concerned for him."

"Have you not been around nobility all your life, my dear? A king marrying an empress is a step up, I'd say. He's doing what's best for Ferelden. And from all reports, Empress Celine is a beauty. Whatever misgivings he may have now will be forgotten on his wedding night. Trust me."

His reference to their physical union as a means to placate Alistair into submission was tactless—unusual for my typically well-mannered spouse—but I didn't comment on it. "If you say so…"

He continued, "I expect disapproval from some survivors of the Orlesian occupation. But Alistair has earned the respect and affection of the populace in his short time as king. Their ill feelings will pass." He paused to consider the impact the marriage would have on the people of the arling. "I'll have some work ahead of me here and in Redcliffe. However, these are reasonable folk. They'll come around."

"Yes, you're right," I answered absently, still worried for Alistair. "I'm sure it will work out."

Teagan observed his wife and the king conversing. It was always evident to him that Alistair still loved Winter, but by now the king had accepted their marriage and kept his feelings to himself. What he hadn't noticed before was how much Winter admired Alistair.

He was being facetious, but not entirely joking when he asked Winter if he should be jealous of Alistair. The two were close; he understood this. They'd had their lives in each other's hands for a long time before he came into her life. But what he witnessed was more than simple friendship. Compared to how she was with Aiden, with whom she was as close as a sibling, her manner was different with Alistair. There was tenderness in the way they interacted.

Teagan wasn't a man given to bouts of jealousy and suspicion. He was secure in his marriage and hadn't a whit of doubt that Winter sincerely loved him. Nonetheless, he was convinced there was more to their story than he'd been told. Those two had a history of some sort. One day, when he thought the time was right, he would ask her about the true nature of her relationship with Alistair. For the time being, she was still emotional over the birth of their child and he didn't want to risk upsetting her.

Part 3 – Love on the Rocks

"…ain't no big surprise. Pour me a drink, and I'll tell you some lies…" ~ Neil Diamond

News of the king's marriage in Orlais hit Fereldans like a typhoon. A few nobles thought it was a brilliant political move. Others resented his choice of an Orlesian for his queen rather than a Fereldan noblewoman. The majority of Fereldans were angered or frightened by the union of their king and the empress. It hadn't been so long since they'd won their freedom—before Empress Celine's time, but only a generation earlier—and the memories of the harsh Orlesian occupation were still fresh.

Eamon met with the nobles during those days, persuading them that the marriage was best for Ferelden. He traveled about to the different arlings and bannorns, holding public meetings, reassuring the citizens that King Alistair had their interests at heart, and urging them to be calm. Orlais was their ally. A powerful ally, with a large army.

Stories of Empress Celine's beauty were not exaggerated. She was blonde, buxom, statuesque, and she emanated charm. Alistair was pleased with her at their first meeting, and she was quite taken with him. She complimented his looks and physique until he became uncomfortable with the praise and her too-frank comments. When she noted his discomfiture—with amusement—she dropped the subject and discussed the terms of their marriage contract. Alistair wouldn't immediately be named emperor (which suited him fine), but after the birth of their first child, the title would be granted him in a lavish coronation ceremony. Celine would be named queen of Ferelden, but she made it clear she had no intention of going to Denerim for her coronation—a declaration that gave Alistair the first niggling doubt about their marriage.

Worse, she repeated rumors she'd heard from old soldiers and those who had visited Ferelden. "Your country is brown and unslightly. And it smells of wet dog, as everyone knows. How you can bear to live there is beyond me."

A month after his wedding to Celine, Alistair returned to Denerim without his bride. She urged him to stay with her in her palace and rule Ferelden from Val Royeaux—a stupid suggestion. He refused, telling her it was important that he live among his own people until the unrest passed and his citizens saw Orlais no longer posed a threat to their freedom.

In truth, Alistair didn't want to live in Orlais. He felt out of place among the people. In Celine's court, he suspected her nobles resented his presence. He didn't speak the national language. Their customs were unfamiliar to him. Their foods were strange, their music alien, the names of towns and people difficult to pronounce. He'd had a hard enough time coming to terms with being king. To be an emperor—a preposterous title in his thinking—was an awful lot to take in. He was relieved Celine chose to wait a while before saddling him with that role.

On his wedding night, it occurred to Alistair that he had never, in his twenty-nine years, approached a woman for sex. Well, he did approach Winter once but she turned him down. The only experience he'd had with a woman was with Morrigan, and even then it was under duress and with lyrium, and his memory of it was still foggy to this day (thank the Maker!). Now he had to perform with a woman he didn't love but was obligated to sleep with. Alistair was a romantic at heart, and this wasn't his idea of romance. It was a duty. A job.

In spite of his reluctance, he was a virile male and his body responded to stimuli whether or not his heart was involved. Celine's clever touches and kisses made up for his lack of interest, and the deed was done with practically no effort on his part. Afterwards, when he was ready to sleep, she expressed her less-than-thrilled opinion. Talk about an ego-buster!

"You are inexperienced with women, yes? I understand this, although I cannot imagine how a handsome man like yourself, with such a beautiful body, would wish to live like a chantry brother." (She knew nothing of his past as a templar in the chantry, and he didn't feel inclined to share it with her.)

"I'm sorry, dear. I was… distracted," he answered. Her pouty scowl made him feel guilty. Like it or not, love her or not, she was his wife and she deserved better than what he'd given.

"Distracted by another lover?" He answered in the negative. "Then let's see if I can get your full attention." Her hands were all over him. He performed automatically again, but he tried to appear more interested.

When they were done, he felt…what was it? Degraded? Violated? His new bride, at only twenty-two years of age and never before married, was very experienced. Maybe the average man would have been happy to be pawed and prodded by a stunning woman, but he found her lasciviousness distasteful.

The scene repeated itself night after night, and his feelings for his bride didn't develop as he'd hoped they would. He told himself it was too much too soon, and that things would get better in time as they got to know each other.

When he wasn't entertaining his wife, whose carnal appetite appeared insatiable, he went out riding, walking the countryside and getting lost good and proper until he had to ask directions back to the palace; he discovered villages and sampled their mead and wines, gorging himself on delightful cheeses, and he sat for hours beside a lake that reminded him of Lake Calenhad. The lake made him homesick.

After the first few days he was ready to return to Denerim, but Orlesian custom dictated that he stay with his bride for thirty days. He made it through that month with mounting impatience. Thirty long, miserable days in an inhospitable country. Lying in bed at night with a wife who, in the heat of passion—her passion, not his—sometimes called him Cailan.

Celine had let it slip in conversation that she had not only met Cailan, but they'd been intimate. She compared the two half-brothers' performance in bed! When Alistair voiced his displeasure at her crude talk, she changed the topic and chattered about unrelated trivia, as if that would make the uncomfortable feeling of sleeping with Cailan's mistress go away. Since then he'd avoided her, sleeping with her only when she told him she was in her fertile days.

When the month was over he bid his wife a perfunctory goodbye, anxious to leave. "Do let me know if you're expecting," he said before he departed, making it sound more caring than it was calculating. "I wouldn't want to miss the birth of our child."

"Of course, my love." She blew him a kiss and cheerfully went back to her court of lickspittles and fools. He hoped she was pregnant, because if so, he would be spared another trip to Orlais for a good eight months. If she weren't, it would mean another taxing ride and another bout of forcing himself to have sex with a woman who was as unchaste as Morrigan.

Ugh, what a comparison! But that's how I'm beginning to feel about her. She's lovely, but I have to force myself to sleep with her. Maybe some lyrium would help… He ended the line of thought with a mirthless smile.

He felt free when he left Celine's palace. He was going home to his beloved Ferelden, where people were normal and everything was familiar. He didn't like change. The plainness of his country was more beautiful in his eyes than the finery (and snobbery) of Val Royeaux. Orlais was too gaudy for his liking.

Since Celine refused to come to Denerim for her coronation, Alistair was in no hurry to name her queen. He'd get around to it eventually. Probably. When he had no other choice.

As his mind wandered on different things, he thought about his last meeting with Winter, and the pleasant memories it invoked of their time at camp. He wondered why he still felt such a strong attachment to her, considering they had never been intimate.

Because we fought together, bled together, risked our lives and saved each other's lives many times, living in close quarters for over a year. It created a bond, even between soldiers of the same gender. Not romantic bonds, but a bond of brotherhood. That's probably why he still had such strong feelings for her. It was logical that he would feel close to her and protective of her. They were comrades in arms.

Turning his mind again to his marriage, he surrendered his wishful thinking and admitted the truth to himself. It wasn't only that he didn't like Orlais. He didn't like Celine either, and under no circumstances would he come to love her.

"Welcome home, Emperor!" Eamon boomed, proud of his accomplishment. Ferelden and Orlais were finally allied by marriage. "Congratulations!"

"Spare me," Alistair groaned. "And it's king, not emperor. I have to prove my worth to her lackeys before she'll grant me a throne beside hers. For that, she can keep it."

"I don't understand," Eamon said. "In our negotiations she agreed to make you emperor as soon as you were wed."

"Well, I guess she lied. I don't care about the title. It sounds too hoity-toity if you ask me."

"What about an heir? Is she with child?"

"Eamon, I just had a two-week ride after a miserable month in that sewer of a country. I don't know if she's with child or not. Right at this moment, I don't care about an heir. But to ease your mind, I tried until I wearied of trying. If she's with child, I'm sure I'll hear about it soon enough."

"That's excellent, Majesty," Eamon said. "An heir will guarantee the alliance for at least another generation. This bodes well for us, does it not?"

Alistair, who had sunk into a chair out of sheer fatigue, rose and walked to the door. He didn't want to be reminded of sleeping with Celine. The longer he was away from her, the more his disdain for her increased. "Believe whatever you wish, Eamon. I'm tired and I'm going to bed, and I don't want to be disturbed. You can brief me on all the news in a few days."

"But Sire, the country is in a state of unrest over your marriage. The people need to know you're not abandoning them and siding with the Orlesians."

Alistair turned to him, furious. "This marriage was your bloody plan, Chancellor. You sold me on the benefits of marrying the empress who, incidentally, slept with Cailan even though she knew he was married. Oh, that surprises you, does it? If there's unrest in Ferelden, you deal with it."

He snagged a manservant who happened by. "Have bath water fetched up to my chambers. A lot of it. Hot as you can make it." Curse Eamon and his political machinations. He'd get no rest until he washed the memory of Celine's touch from his body and mind. It might take more than water to accomplish that. "And bring me a bottle of wine," he called after the retreating servant. Two bottles would have been better, but he exercised restraint. He'd learned his lesson, and he wasn't going to let his dissatisfaction with his marriage push him into becoming a drunk again.

It took several weeks to tour the entire country and to restore his people's confidence. Alistair visited every settlement, village, city, bannorn, arling, and teyrnir, reassuring his citizens that by no means would he allow Orlesians free access to the country, Orlesian soldiers wouldn't be admitted into Ferelden, and there was no way under the heavens that the two countries would become one. As an act of good faith, he posted soldiers along the border to keep it secure.

Celine was even less politically-savvy than he was, though she'd been raised in a royal setting, groomed to be empress, and had been ruling for six years, as compared to his commoner's life and his one-year rule. She was too caught up in parties and pleasure to care about land-grabbing or invasions—at least, at this point in her life. Alistair expected no trouble from Orlais, particularly since the marriage treaty, but it wouldn't hurt to keep his borders guarded.

When he'd covered every settlement from Denerim westward, he took a break, spending a few days with Teagan and Winter in their Rainesfere home. He was enthralled with baby Jaden. The pure innocence of the newborn ignited something in his heart, and he looked forward to having a child of his own.

Alistair spent most of his time playing with the baby, fascinated by how quickly he was growing. Now five months old, Jaden had cut his first teeth and was trying to crawl, rocking back and forth on all fours, but he hadn't quite gotten the hang of forward motion. Alistair was determined to help him crawl before he left, supporting the baby's abdomen with his hands and inching him forward. Winter thought for a while he might actually succeed, but a messenger from Orlais arrived and cut his visit short.

Celine wanted him to return to the palace. She hadn't conceived and was ready to try again. He groaned inwardly, not looking forward to the process, but determined to impregnate her this time around even if it meant staying in Orlais until he was sure she was pregnant.

He picked up Jaden and held him high up, over his head, making the baby laugh. "Maker, what a marvelous sound," he remarked to Jaden, who grinned and cooed at the playful man and drooled a sizeable puddle on his own clothing. "Are you saying something to me? Can you say 'Alistair'? Al-is-tar. Try it." He cradled the wriggling, giggling boy and repeated his name several times, in drawn-out syllables. "Al-is-tair. Aaaaallll-liiiiiissss-taaaaiiirr."

Winter laughed so hard at the ludicrous scene that her sides ached. Jaden hadn't started talking, but when he did, she doubted he'd be able to pronounce 'Alistair'. The best he could hope for would be a garbled soundalike non-word.

"Give him a little more time," Teagan said. "He hasn't said any actual words yet, but I expect his first word will be 'dada' or something close to it."

Alistair was reluctant to let the boy go, but he had to head on to Val Royeaux right away. He wasn't familiar with all the particulars of a woman's fertile time, but he knew if he missed it, he'd be stuck there for another month until it came round again.

"Time to say goodbye, little man," he said to Jaden. He'd hardly spoken to Winter and Teagan since he'd arrived. His attention was all for Jaden. "I'll try to stop in on my way back. Take care of your parents until I return, alright?" He held the baby close, and he thought his heart might burst when he felt Jaden's little arms go about his neck. "Yeah, I love you too."

He handed the child back to his mother. "If he were my son…" He stopped himself and tried to cover the mess, making a worse one in the process. "I meant, if I had a son like him. Not that I wanted to take Teagan's place. Wait, that's not what I mean either."

"Alistair, it's okay," Winter said. "I get it. You'll have one of your own soon enough."

"I hope," he said, and his good humor faded. "Well, I'm off. Take care."

When he'd gone, Winter said to her husband, "He's miserable. I was afraid of it and I hoped for the best, but his marriage isn't a happy one."

"It's none of our concern," Teagan said. "It is, as you said, his marriage. His life. Let him handle it as best he can. You can't be there to save him from every little problem any more." It came out more harshly than he intended.

"Something on your mind, love?"

"Actually, there is. I've been meaning to ask you about Alistair."