Alistair woke in the middle of the night, and automatically reached for the other side of the bed. When his hand fell on smooth sheets instead of a curving hip, he turned his head sharply. The space besides him was empty.
Sitting up, he glanced around the room. The rug near the fireplace was vacant, as well. The tightness in his chest eased. With the dog gone, too, everything was likely fine. Still...
Pulling a shirt over his head, Alistair got up and left the bedroom. The stone floor was cold, and he winced as he made his way down the hall. He belatedly wished he'd put something on his feet, but it would be counterproductive to go back now. He had a wife to locate.
Where would she have gone at this hour?
Closing his eyes, he let the Grey reach out, seeking the presence of the only other in the palace like it. He followed it blindly, keeping one hand on the wall to avoid looking too suspicious. If some guard on night watch saw him walking about with his eyes closed, they'd probably think the King was sleep-walking.
Alistair smiled ruefully. The last thing he needed was a rumor like that. They'd have the guards doubled in no time. After all this time, he still hadn't gotten used to being trailed and protected like a prized pigeon. He chafed against their insistent hovering.
A snort blew out his nose. Like he wasn't capable of protecting himself...or others, for that matter. Didn't they remember that not so long ago (some days, longer ago than he liked), he'd been traipsing across the countryside, fighting against horrible odds and uncountable foes? That not so long ago, he'd been defender, not leader?
He snorted again. He still wasn't leader. Couldn't let the masses of Ferelden know that, though. Maker forbid they knew their King still considered himself defender. Still the shield to protect the true leader, still the sword to strike down those who came too near to her.
Ah, he missed those days. Sometimes.
The Grey in him tingled sharply, and his feet shuffled to a stop. Opening his eyes, he saw a large wooden door before him. He inhaled deeply, and smiled. His nose told him where he was. Pushing the door ever so gently, he peeked inside the kitchen.
She was bent over a large preparation table, the sleeves of her nightgown rolled up in an attempt to spare the garment from getting soiled. It wasn't working very well. The entire workspace looked like a disaster area. Bowls half-full of ingredients were spread in a half moon in front of her. Flour had splashed across the front of her night dress, crawled up to her elbows, painted one of her cheeks, and liberally dusted her hair.
If there was any indication of the passage of time, it was the length of her hair. Just falling past her eyes when he'd met her, it now flowed like a chocolate river, tickling her spine in the middle of her back. She still kept the little banded sections in it, though. Maker only knew how she kept it from just forming a massive, tangled mess.
Andraste's sword, she still stole his breath like a thief in the treasury.
The dough under her hands shifted and bulged from the onslaught she heaped on it. Behind her, in front of one of the many fireplaces the kitchen boasted, Jacob snuffled in his sleep, rubbing a paw absently against closed eyes.
"What did that dough ever do to you?" he teased quietly, opening the door all the way and stepping inside.
She spun quickly, hand flying to her chest. "Alistair!" she gasped, dropping her hand when she saw him. It left a perfect flour hand print between her breasts. "You scared me half to death!"
Jacob opened one eye, gave a grunt of greeting, then rolled over to go back to sleep.
"Some watchdog you are," she muttered at him.
Alistair came around the table. "Why are you," he poked the dough, "making bread at this hour?"
"The Tevinter ambassador leaves in the morning. He likes my mother's bread, and I wanted him to be able to take a loaf with him," she explained.
"That's nice of you, Lorelai, but did you have to make it?" He paused, reaching up to wipe some flour off her face. "You could've asked one of the kitchen girls to make it, I'm sure they wouldn't have have minded."
Her mouth dropped open, and she placed her hands on her hips playfully. "Are you suggesting I reveal the top-secret recipe to my mother's bread?" She narrowed her eyes. "You're not a spy for the Tevinter ambassador, are you? Has he paid off one of the kitchen girls, and then bribed you to have me tell her so-"
Alistair raised his hands in surrender, laughing. "I yield, I yield! I'm no match for your interrogation! I come with no evil, bread-recipe-stealing intentions."
She nodded dubiously, before giving him a half-smile. "I suppose you are innocent...for now." She went back to kneading the dough, folding it in on itself again and again and again.
"Seriously, though, love." He placed a casual hand on her hip. The nightgown did nothing to hide the feel of her skin from him, and he felt his heart step up the pace a bit. "Isn't it a bit...late to remember bread? I'm sure the ambassador would've forgiven you."
"Don't you mean early?" she quibbled, not looking up from the table. "I'm sure it's morning by now."
"Yes," he agreed, eyes sharper now. He knew he wasn't the brightest man in the world, but he also knew that he couldn't have lived with Lorelai for this long and not picked up a few tricks.
She was upset about something.
"Were you having trouble sleeping?" he tried, bending his head a little in an attempt to catch her gaze.
She made a noncommittal gesture with her head and shoulders. "Not particularly."
That was a yes. "There's been a lot going on lately. We've been a bit...ragged." It always seemed like everything happened all at once. Alistair constantly felt like he was making it up as he went along, hiding that fact from everyone around him. Only Lorelai seemed to know what she was doing, even though she insisted to him that she felt just as much a fish out of water as he did.
"Let's run off," he said, grabbing her hands. "We'll let Mistress DeWitt run the place; she practically does already. Arl Eamon can come and-"
"Don't be mad," she abruptly said, looking up at him with guilt in her eyes.
"What?" he asked, eyebrows knotting together in confusion. "What have you done, hmm?"
"I... I may need to go on a trip." Lorelai bit her lip.
The air rushed out of his lungs all at once. Trip? She'd just gotten back from Vigil's Keep. Well, maybe not just. It sure felt like just to him. Balancing her time between Vigil's Keep and Denerim was a constant battle...one that Alistair always felt like he was losing. That was just because he wanted her near all the time, regardless of how impossible that was at the moment.
"You just got here," he managed to say, trying to look as pathetic as possible.
"I know!" She squirmed a bit at his expression. "The thing is...now that Vigil's Keep is finally rebuilt, there's nothing to occupy certain Wardens anymore."
"Go on."
Pulling her hands out of his grasp, she started pacing, her night dress making a soft swish sound with every step. "Sigrun's got this look in her eye all the time, like she's looking for an exit. It's been like that ever since all the initial insanity was over. Rebuilding the Keep seemed to distract her, but now it's back. It's like she wants to go, but something is keeping her here...and I don't know how much longer than something will work.
"And Nathaniel is acting strange, as well. Like he's looking for an out, too. He'd never say it but-" She broke off, wringing her hands.
"It's been five years, Lorelai," Alistair said patiently. "You'd think if they were going to leave, they would've done it already."
Turning to face him, she whispered with a hint of desperation, "What if I was wrong? What if I condemned them to the life of Grey Wardens...and it was the wrong choice?"
"Oh, honey." The guilt, the confusion in her eyes broke his heart. Holding out his arms, he beckoned her by wiggling his fingers.
With a contented sigh, she came to him and nestled against his chest, wrapping her arms around his torso tightly.
Ah, he hoped he never got used to that. The same shiver ran through him now that had jolted his skin the first time she'd embraced him.
"You didn't make the wrong choice, I'm sure," he murmured, pressing his lips against the top of her head.
"How do you know?"
"Well, first of all, because you're always right." That earned him a giggle. Good. "Secondly," he continued, tilting her chin up so he could see her brilliant eyes, "because they knew what they were getting into. You told them, they accepted it. They passed their Joinings-"
"Mhairi didn't," she pointed out, bitterness creeping into her voice.
"Mhairi wanted to be a Grey Warden period. You didn't Conscript her, you didn't ask her. She wanted it." Alistair gave a shrug that tried to make light of the event. In truth, it bothered him just as much as it bothered her. For the obvious reasons, of course.
But it bothered him on a completely different level, too.
The image of Daveth crumpling to the ground as he choked on the tainted blood came to mind unbidden, unwanted.
It so easily could've been her. Lorelai collapsing, Lorelai gagging and gasping...Lorelai dying.
Where would he be then? Would he have even made it out of Ostagar without her? She'd been the one to pull everyone together to take back the tower, to fight their way to the top floor. What would he have done if it had just been him?
"Love?"
Her questioning tone brought him away from his morbid mental wanderings. "Mhairi is not your fault. None of them are your fault. They accepted, they knew."
"I guess," she replied, lips twisting in reluctant agreement.
"So," he said, bending his head to kiss the tip of her nose, "now that we've established that you were not wrong in making them Grey Wardens, where is this 'trip' coming from?"
"Well, I thought I could take them on a little 'tour' of the Fifth Blight. Show them where we started, what we had to do. Show them that whatever they're looking for, they don't have to leave the Wardens to find it. It's perfect timing, with Anders having just returned from his impromptu leaving..." Her forehead wrinkled in concern, waiting for his response. "What do you think?"
Alistair internally winced. Her idea was...pretty brilliant. Like all of her ideas. Except for the part where she had to leave him. That part wasn't brilliant, at all.
He said as much to her.
"Oh, love," she said with a sigh and a smile. Reaching up, she wrapped her arms around his neck, and her smile turned mischievous. "You could come with us," she suggested in a sing-song voice. "Like you said, we'll run off. Eamon can take over for a little while."
"As tempting as that is, they're your Wardens. If you bring me along, they'll get all stiff and proper. They'll probably have a difficult time absorbing any life lessons you try to impart."
Her glower was comical. "Bah, what better way to get used to you than to be forced to troop across Ferelden with you?"
"Since when am I the responsible one?" he laughed. "I'm supposed to be the bad influence. It's your job to keep me in line,"
"You always get to be the bad influence!" she complained, stamping her foot. "I want a turn."
He knew what she was doing: distracting him from the fact that she was going to leave. They both knew she'd never been asking for his permission in the first place. The idea was laughable. Alistair sighed inside his head. Well, he supposed he could survive without her for a little while...again.
No sense whining about it. Time to play along. "OK," he stepped back a bit, crossing his arms, "your turn."
"You sure about that?"
"Oh, I'm sure. And I'm an expert, madam, so I doubt you'll manage to impress me," he said loftily.
Lorelai gave him a slow, wicked grin. She took the few paces to stand in front of him again, and trailed her fingertips up his arms to his shoulders. "So, you're positive you won't come with us?"
Maker blast her womanly wiles! he thought, for lines of heat already burned where her touch had been. "Absolutely positive," he managed with false bravado. "I have to stay here and do very...Kingly things."
"But," she hesitated childishly, biting her lip for good measure, "if you don't come with us, who will be my champion?" Taking delicate steps, she made her way behind him, always keeping one or two fingers dragging across his flimsy shirt. "Who will be my warrior?" Her fingers trailed up his spine swiftly with the last word, and he could barely conceal the jolt that made his fingers twitch.
"Oghren's a good warrior," he pointed out, though his voice had a whole lot less confidence in it now. Letting her be the bad influence was horrible idea. She was entirely too good at it. He barely noticing he'd uncrossed his arms, dropping them to his sides like she was dropping his mental defenses.
She made a dismissive noise at his suggestion as she came around to face him again. Sliding her hands up his chest, Lorelai stood on her toes, bringing her lips to his earlobe to whisper, "Who will be my...shield?"
"Maker's breath, woman!" He yanked his head back to stare at the ceiling as the muscles in his gut jerked. If he looked at her now, so help him, he'd take her right on the kitchen preparation table; bread dough and scattered ingredients be damned. "Please explain to me how it is you make everyday words sound so...so..."
"Dirty?" she supplied, her voice still a slick whisper in his ear.
Oh, that helped his self control. "Lorelai," he growled, still watching the ceiling.
"Yes?" she purred.
That was even more unhelpful.
"You're going to need to back up, love," he said, gritting his teeth. Back to the bedroom, that's all he needed to do. Get her back the bedroom before his pulse pounded right out of his throat. To think he'd waited as long as he did to ask her to his tent the first time. Chock it up to virgin nerves. Well, virgin was over five years long gone, replaced with barely controlled lust that she could awaken with a single touch...or, apparently, seductively-spoken weapons. "If you don't, I'll-"
She cut him off by pressing the full length of herself against him roughly.
Wrenching his head down, Alistair looked at his wife. The fabric of her nightdress hid nothing from him, nor anything from her. She ground her hips against his slowly as her eyes issued a demand he'd be a fool to ignore.
"Right," he said shortly. Sliding his hands around her waist quickly, he very nearly threw her onto table. Bowls and utensils clattered loudly at her sudden presence, and they protested even louder as he took her lips, pushing her backwards in his enthusiasm.
She moaned into his mouth, and it almost undid him.
As if they didn't belong to him, Alistair's hands started gathering up fistfuls of her nightgown, hoisting it in ragged yanks-
From the doorway, someone cleared their throat sternly.
They both whipped their heads at the sound, frozen in their over-the-table, half-of-Lorelai's-gown-up indiscretion.
"Mistress DeWitt-!" Alistair jumped away from his wife like she'd turned into an insect.
"Adelle!" Lorelai forced her nightdress down frantically as she flushed scarlet.
Nothing like getting caught by the head of the household to make one feel like a teenager discovered in the armory with a maid. Not that that had ever happened to him before...
Jacob raised his head and gave a friendly woof at the austere woman in the doorway.
"Is there something wrong with your bedroom, Your Majesties?" The woman arched a thin eyebrow as her penetrating gaze ran over them.
"No, Adelle, of course not." Lorelai hopped off the table quickly, hands smoothing down her nightgown compulsively. "And I'm so sorry about the mess. I'll clean it up-"
"That's not necessary, Your Majesty," she interrupted with a small smile. "I can take care of it."
"But the bread-"
"While I don't know the ingredients to your mother's bread, I certainly know how long it takes to bake." She made a shooing motion. "I'll be sure it's ready for the Tevinter ambassador."
"Um, thank you." She pulled at her hair uncomfortably.
"You're welcome, Your Majesty. Now, get yourselves to bed."
"Yes, Mistress DeWitt," Alistair said obediently, bowing his head as he swung an arm around Lorelai's waist to herd her out before she kept talking.
"Goodnight, Adelle," Lorelai said, inclining her head as they headed for the door. She snapped her fingers, and Jacob leaped to his feet to follow them, ears folded and head lowered.
Alistair had to bite the inside of his cheek to control the laughter. Even the mabari showed deference to the mighty Mistress DeWitt.
Once out in the corridor, with the kitchen door closed firmly behind them, he leaned against the wall and took a huge breath. "Oh, Maker."
Lorelai buried her face in her hands, shoulders shaking with repressed giggles. "Haven't...been caught like that...for a while," she managed in between laughter.
Grinning, he wrapped an arm around her shoulders to pull her into his chest. "Almost as bad as being walked in on by Wynne."
"That would've been awful!" She jabbed a fist into his side. "Don't even joke about that!"
"Yes, I'll send an extra prayer to Andraste tonight for delivering us from that embarrassment."
"So..." she grabbed a couple handfuls of his shirt tightly and looked up at him through her eyelashes, "have you completely lost your, ah, motivation?"
He stole a kiss in the semi-darkness as lightning danced across his nerves. "Never, my lady."
"Good," she murmured. Taking his hand, she took off down the corridor at a run, dragging him with her.
As they reached their chambers, she threw the door open and shoved him inside. Banishing Jacob to an adjoining room (he huffed loudly at the dismissal), she spun to face him in a flurry of silk and flowing hair. Starlight slid over her skin like water, and he felt more than saw her smile.
His heart lurched in his chest. His wife. His Queen.
It took him only a few steps to make the space between them vanish. Fingers buried in her glorious hair, he craned her head back gently.
"You'll be careful?" he asked quietly.
"Of course, darling."
"Are you going to insist on going to Amaranthine alone?"
"I am."
An irritated snort pushed past his lips. "You know I hate when you travel alone."
"For Andraste's sake, love-!"
He gave her a mild shake. "You're an archer."
"Nathaniel and I have been practicing duel-wielding weapons," she countered. "I'm good, Alistair. Promise."
Narrowing his eyes, he pressed, "Take Jacob."
She shook her head as much as his grip would allow. "No, Jacob always keeps you company when I go away."
"I'll live," he assured her.
"Fine. Now, if you're quite finished being demanding..."
"I love you."
Lorelai blinked at him, and he could tell he'd surprised her a bit with the sudden declaration amidst husbandly conditions and restrictions. "I love you, too."
"Now I'm done."
"Good. Then get on your knees and show me how much you love me."
The laughter that rolled out of his throat was deep and indulgent. "Of course, my lady."
As he sank to his knees, he slid his hands down her silk-covered legs. Dawn would come sooner than he wanted. Better make what was left of this night one for the record books.