fanfic: A Fish Out of Water

[bellaknoti]

An AU to Wings of the Storm Crow

Title: Squandered Time (Chapter Forty)
Rating: AO
Pairing: Alistair/Lily
Summary: 100 miles an hour down a dark highway, and I'm driving from the passenger seat. That's my life. Maybe it just feels that way because it seems like my stomach is bigger every day. Things are good. They make sense, and for just a little while, maybe I can breathe. Maybe I can be at peace.


scarylady is very awesome, and fixes all the injustices and horrible liberties I take with the language without even meaning to.

A/N: okay, here we go. one day early, just for you, because i love you guys. here's the last chapter... don't lose heart; there's an epilogue, and i'll post that next.




It’s still very early in the season, so time on the messenger boat to Antiva goes quickly, as we all have to work together, even the passengers, to keep the boat from capsizing on more than one occasion. We seem to hit every squall on the ocean.

“Just our bad luck,” the captain says. “Changed tack more than once to try to avoid them, but the sea does what she will.”

My morning sickness passes entirely as my belly develops a noticeable curve that Alistair practically worships, and my breasts have definitely got bigger, much to my surprise and his delight. Our last week on the ship, I begin to feel a tiny flutter from time to time, the stirring of the burgeoning life within me. It’s too small for Alistair to feel, but once he realises that the baby’s big enough for me to feel, he gets paranoid that sex will be a problem for it.

I am so glad I’ve got a good grasp of female anatomy, because at this stage, I’m frequently antsy with need, so if he cuts me off, we’ll have problems. Fortunately, once I’ve explained how it really works, and assured him that I know this because of the things I learnt on my own world, he relaxes, and the dust settles.

The world has been getting warmer as we travel north, and I’m glad to arrive in places not frozen. We port in Antiva City with the sea choppy and angry, looking like it’s thinking of thrashing about again, but the wind is blowing down from the north, and it’s unlikely to be much more than a shower.

Alistair sets our trunks on the dock and goes in search of a porter to help him carry them; Ponka and I sit down on their tops, while I munch on some dried apples. It doesn’t take him long to return, and the crisp scent in the air is unmistakable as we follow the street upward. This, this is home. And I’m back. A shadow that had silently grown over my heart, unbeknownst to me, evaporates in the bright Antivan sunlight, and I step through the gates of the Warden compound with light spirit.

Ponka tears off as soon as the door is open enough for him to do so, barrelling down the hallway and skidding out as he takes the corner too quickly, headed for Leliana’s room, if I’m not mistaken. I reach the turning of the hallway just in time to almost collide with Marco as he comes out of Alistair’s office. He stops at once, blinking at me in surprise, then grins.

“Lily!” he exclaims, grabbing my shoulders and kissing me on each cheek enthusiastically. “I am so glad you have returned. And Alistair as well, yes?” He looks up and his grin widens. “Excellent! I am no longer in charge!”

Alistair, hearing this as he turns away from the door, laughs with Marco, and they clap each other on the shoulder. “And none too soon, I take it?”

“Ah, another day, and I was likely to expire of boredom,” he complains, though he’s half-joking. A mournful howl splits the air, and Marco grimaces, even as I’m turning in alarm. “Ah, yes. Poor hound. I regret to say that Leliana and her dwarven pig have departed for Orlais. It is my understanding she has left a letter for you in your chamber. Alistair, I realise you have only just returned; there is nothing that cannot wait while you recover from travel. However, perhaps we might converse over dinner, yes?”

Alistair looks up at the sky. It’s just passing midday, so we’ve got time to settle ourselves, I’m thinking, but then he shakes his head ruefully. “I’ll never rest until I know what’s been going on,” he says. “You know that.”

Marco smirks. “Si, I had suspected as much. Come, then, and we will go over the events of the winter,” he says, opening the door to Alistair’s office again. Alistair hesitates, looking at me, and I shake my head, giving him a smile.

“Go on. You know you want to,” I say, and he grins, giving me a slightly longer than necessary kiss before turning away.

I snort as the door closes behind them. Doesn’t like leadership, my ass. He’s never happier than when he’s in charge of things and they’re going well. He just doesn’t like the pressure of the what-if’s that come when things don’t go well. I don’t blame him, but he’s better at it than he thinks.

I collar a couple of Wardens to help me move our trunks out of the hallway, since I know I’m not supposed to lift anything heavy. They make a show of grumbling, but both of them are smiling as they drop off the trunks and salute, welcoming me home, before they head out again. My room smells musty after having been shut up for months, and I fling open the windows, letting the sunlight in. When I turn, I notice a small scroll in the bowl on my washstand. It’s tied with a ribbon and sealed with wax, showing that it’s been undisturbed. Opening it confirms my suspicion: the letter from Lels.

Dearest Sweetling,
I have no way of knowing when this will reach you, nor how you fare, though I hope it is well. It saddens me to not be here to welcome you home, but I cannot stay. I received a summons from the Divine, and I mustn’t ignore such an invitation. Besides, who knows what exciting tales await, no? I do not know how long I will be gone, nor when our roads may meet again, but know that I hold you fondly in my heart, and I will look for you when I may. Maker watch over you, and your gods keep you safe.

Beneath that, just the swoop of a capital “L”.

There are so many things I wanted to speak with her about, so much I wanted her advice on, so many times I wished she was there, so I could cry on her shoulder, but she’s gone.

Ponka slinks into my room a few minutes later, completely dejected and forlorn, and I drop to my knees, holding out my arms. He comes and sits next to me, half-over my lap as he rests his chin on my shoulder, and I hug him tightly.

“I miss her, too,” I murmur, feeling very acutely the hollow that she’s left, but he harrumphs. Leaning back, I look at him, and he has the funniest look on his face, like he can’t believe I just said that. It takes me a moment, but then I understand. “Ohhh... you miss Schmooples,” I say, and he hangs his head. “Awww... Poor hound!” I croon, putting my arms around his neck again.

Ponka feels better after a few moments and trots off in search of food, and I unpack until I get tired. Seized then by a sudden craving for anything spicy, I abandon a trunk in disarray to head for the kitchen. I’m not half-way across the courtyard before a blur of motion down one of the hallways resolves itself into the shape of Anders, who dashes into the courtyard and scoops me up into a big hug, spinning me around.

I squeal and giggle, hugging him back, but the way he’s squashing me is decidedly uncomfortable. “The belly! Mind the belly!” I gasp.

He sets me down immediately, practically jumping back in surprise. “Already?” he blurts, staring at me, then reaches out a hand, glow flaring to life in his palm. He grins widely, eyes focusing on me again as the light is snuffed. “That’s so wonderful! Amazing! The odds were very much against it happening so quickly.”

I smile, oh, I know I’m beaming. “Well, funny you should mention that, because I met this amazing healer who completely fixed it so I could have children in the first place. Who knows what miracle might’ve been worked, hm?” I can feel the baby fluttering around in there, and it fills me with happiness. We’re home, and everything’s okay again. No more muddy, frozen Ferelden.

He laughs, turning a little pink, but I can see he takes the compliment to heart. I can feel it, the easiness, the free way we had with each other before the Incident, it’s back and it’s real and my friend is just my friend, standing there and laughing because he’s so glad to see me and Alistair have this little every-day miracle for ourselves. This is home. Ferelden might have smelled like it, but... somehow, Antiva is... well, it’s where my heart is.

Let’s just not look at that too closely.

“I’m so glad to be back,” I say, taking yet another deep breath, closing my eyes briefly. “You look well,” I observe, eying him up and down. Really, he had some sharp edges when I left, and a lot of grief. He seems to have left both behind. To my surprise, he actually colours a little, eyes darting off to the side for a second before he rallies, and I arch an eyebrow. “That’s an interesting reaction.”

He pauses a moment, then simply shakes his head. “It was an interesting winter,” is all he says, then shrugs, giving me an eye with a wicked sparkle in it. Somehow I suspect that his bed wasn’t cold, and I hope, whoever it is, that they’re good to him. They certainly seem to have been good for him.

“That sounds like good news,” I say, then bite my lip.

“Well, then we both have things to be thankful for,” he says, nodding decisively, and I laugh.

“Yeah, and something else, besides,” I say, and my cheeks heat. “In Redcliffe--” I start, but Alistair’s door opens suddenly, spilling out him and Marco as they elbow each other, laughing, then clasp forearms.

“Good evening,” Marco says, saluting lazily, casually. “I will see you after rounds.”

“Right,” Alistair says, waving, and Marco turns, headed for the barracks. When he turns back toward his office, he catches sight of us, and changes direction, coming to stand at my side.

“Alistair,” I say, taking his arm and swaying against him. “Anders and I were just talking about some of the changes that happened over the winter. A lot’s happened for all of us, I should think. I told him we’re going to have a baby,” I admit, looking up at him. “Had to. He smooshed me.”

He looks down at me, slightly disappointed that he wasn’t there to see Anders’ reaction, but then brightens in the next moment. “Hey... does that mean you didn’t tell him about... Redcliffe?” he asks, and I shake my head, no. He gets to be the one to do that. And I suddenly don’t want to see Anders’ reaction to it, my stomach inexplicably clenching and flipping as Alistair says it. “We were married, in the chantry,” he says, and I can practically feel the pride radiating off him.

“Hmm, can’t say I’m surprised,” Anders says, and when I glance up, he’s smiling, but there’s something in his eyes that says we’ll be talking about this later. Alistair doesn’t seem to notice it, animated and laughing as he is, and makes plans to meet with Anders later tonight for chess and talk.

“There are a few things I want to go over before I’ll be able to sit down,” he says, then pulls me against him tightly, though sideways, as he’s already learnt to accommodate The Bump. He kisses me softly, far more chaste than the press would have led me to believe, then turns me loose. “I’ll see you at dinner,” he says, then disappears back into his office.

When I look back at Anders, he’s looking at the sky, but he catches me looking at him. “You need more red meat,” he says bluntly, and I laugh.

“So noted. I also noticed-- Oh,” I pause, swallowing, and press a hand to my stomach. “Okay, you have to come with me, because if I don’t eat something spicy very soon, I think I might be sick.”

Anders laughs, following me willingly enough. I don’t want to face the Wardens as a whole, not yet. Finding the place empty between meals, I grab as much peppered food from the kitchen as I can get and retreat with Anders to the clinic, where I dump out everything that happened in Ferelden, holding nothing back.

In the silence that follows the end of my tale, while I drink a glass of water, I remember when Anders said to me that he only knew me, that he’d never met Mahariel at all, and so couldn’t be biased in that regard.

“Please... help me stay true to myself,” I implore, and he smirks, shrugging with one shoulder.

“But if, as you say, she’s your other half, then there won’t be anything to notice,” he says, and I bite my lip.

“I hope you’re right.”

I’m not so sure.

In any case, coming home is good for Alistair and me, and we settle back into familiar patterns, leaving behind the fear and uncertainty that Ferelden bred in us. Things are simple again, the questions predictable, the answers easy. Easy as breathing.

What’s a mixed blessing is that I’ve not had a single lucid dream since I reunited with Mahariel. Sometimes I remember something about my dreams, sometimes I don’t. They’re back to what I had before I ever came here. Sometimes I dream of Nolan or Tamlen, sometimes of Gran or Grandma, sometimes of fantastic things and strange places. Many times, it’s nightmares, but I’m used to that.

Brizio welcomes me back to the shop with an actual, honest-to-gods grin, the first time I come in, and proudly shows me the work he’s done over the winter. Bored with the usual fare, he began experimenting with my gouges, and came up with some amazing framing work that he used to decorate a chest of drawers. Our supplier from Seheron is expected back in a few months, so after the baby’s born, I’ll have more of that fantastic red to play with, and can begin my project of making the Wardens more money.

I start working on another cradle, using a different design than the ones I turned out for the Fates last year. When Brizio realises that this cradle is for me, his eyes light up and he claps his hands together as though he has a sudden plan, but refuses to say anything else, simply going to work. For my part, I become very absorbed in making baby things, turning out a rattle, a few hooded baby-sacks, and a soft little bear out of the last scraps of my old flannel, using its buttons for the bear’s eyes. I think Alistair will die of heart-melt when he catches me just tying the thread on the last button. It looks so small in his hand, and I suddenly want, more than anything, to see a tiny little head cradled in his palm.

Over and over again, despite the many things to distract me, I go back to the cradle, embellishing it, making it better, adding a mobile, polishing it, carving into the head- and footboards. Hopefully, this will be something that my grandchild will rest in. Maybe, if I’m lucky, my great-grandchild. I take my time, painting in the carvings with different stains.

I realised lately that I’ve begun eating like a hobbit: breakfast, second breakfast, elevenses, lunch, tea, supper, dinner, dessert, midnight snack. I feel like I’m always eating, and I’m always starving. It’s awful. But somehow, I’m still getting things done.

Best of all, the baby finally kicks hard enough that Alistair feels it. We’re trying to sleep, and he has his hand over my lower belly, where it’s been every night since I told him I was pregnant. I feel the baby kicking, and he suddenly jumps, sitting up half-way behind me and staring at my belly in surprise.

“Was that--”

The baby kicks his hand again, and he suddenly grins from ear to ear, the most goofy, besotted grin I’ve ever seen, hands reverently splaying across my stomach as he looks for and finds the little fluttering feet. I can’t help but smile back as he looks at me in awe, and then he spends the next hour or more trying to make me forget how to breathe, covering me in kisses and heated, stuttering breath.

The next afternoon, I’m on my way to the kitchens when a dozen Wardens stride through the courtyard and out toward the gate. I follow after them, catching Alistair still in his office, pulling his gauntlets on. “What’s going on?”

He smiles at me, shrugging. “Part of a wall collapsed in one of the mines. Standard protocol to inspect it for darkspawn sabotage, stand guard while they clear it out, and then seal the breach.” He sighs heavily, shoulders dropping. “It’s going to be long and boring, watching a bunch of miners move piles of dirt, and it’s going to take all day.”

I smile. “Awww... Well, I’ll make sure there’s food for you in my room,” I murmur, pulling him down for a lingering kiss. “And make all that waiting around worthwhile.”

His smile darkens as he kisses me again, heatedly, but so brief. “Right. I’ll remember you said that,” he says, voice holding as much promise as his eyes, and I shiver, blushing. I follow him out to the hallway, brow furrowing as I notice Anders standing amongst them. Alistair catches my look, responding to it. “I gather a few of the miners were hurt.”

“Hmmm, well, good thing Anders will be there, then.” I can’t help it; I need another. Wrapping my fingers over the top of his breastplate, I go up on my toes and pull him down toward me to sway against him as I kiss him passionately, totally aware of our audience and relishing it. “Hurry home, tiger,” I whisper, finally drawing back, and he runs a finger down my cheek.

Oh, that smile, I love that one, because he completely means it, no reservations or fear, his eyes crinkling at the corners.

“I love you too,” he murmurs, and then he’s turning and gone, out the door with the rest of the Wardens.

I head back to the dining hall to look for something with fruit or honey in it, craving sweetness, and also something with cow. Any beef will do. I always crave iron. I manage to find some heavy bread with dried fruit in it. The cook doesn’t bat an eyelash when I come in and ask for some liver. I know a lot of people dislike it, but it’s always been a personal favourite, which happens to come in handy right about now.

She’s been amazingly thrilled over my pregnancy, and delights in feeding me at every opportunity, particularly when I have cravings. Gods only know why, but I’m not going to complain. Maybe she’s a cook because she really likes it. After plying me with mushrooms and cream cheese with leeks and a sweet, lemony sangria, she finally lets me escape, stuffed to the maximum and contentedly so.

Back in the workshop, I set the cradle on its side and go back to work on painting it, nearly finished with the pattern of beading that goes all the way around it as a wide ribbon border around the base. I carved a pattern of swirling Art Nouveau ribbons and curls in another border above it; I’ve already finished the sun and moon on the footboard, and I’m quite pleased with the way the wavy rays of the sun,.the perfect arch of the moon, and their serene smiles turned out.

Switching out my pots, trading oak, ash, and walnut for cherry, honey, and ebony, I begin work on the lines and curves of the Nouveau pattern, something I’ve been looking forward to. I let my mind wander, daydreams of the look on Alistair’s face when I first hand him our child, the sound of baby laughter, the pride I’ll take in the happiness of our little family, for however long it lasts, musing on possible name choices.

I don’t realise how late it’s got, fully absorbed in my work, until Brizio distracts me by showing up at my elbow.

“Ehi, ragazza,” he says, calling me ‘girl’, just as he always has.

I look up, noticing that not only have the lamps in the shop been lit, but the sky outside is dark, and Brizio has brought me a plate of dinner that’s gone long cold. I suddenly feel an acute ache in my lower back, cramping in my hands, and a fierce need to pee. I set my tools down, stretching my hands, looking up at him. “Thank you. I didn’t even see it get dark.”

“Mm-hmph,” he grumps, but I can see the quirk at the corner of his mouth that tells me he’s not really upset. “I will let you lock up,” he says, resting a hand on my shoulder for a moment before shuffling out the door.

He’s been more familiar with me since learning of Alistair’s and my marriage and impending child, as have all the Wardens. Not that they were ever particularly unkind before or anything, but there’s definitely something different. They’re a little more careful not to crowd me, a little bit more respectful, a little more likely to smile at me. It’s not a bad thing, I think.

Standing up, I dust off my hands and grab the keys, lock all the cabinets in the room, then carry my plate out the door, locking it behind me. Now in a rush, I hustle across the courtyard to the nearest garderobe, hastily ditching my plate on a bench, relieved to make it there in time. Moving about gets the kinks out of my joints, and I pace back and forth a few times before reclaiming my plate and heading back to my room. I wash my hands in the pitcher, then sit down on the side of my bed to eat.

I’m pacing again by the time I finish; I decide to walk the plate back to the kitchens instead of waiting until morning, and request a plate sent ‘round to my room once Alistair is back in the building. I hear men’s voices at the gate, just as I’m crossing the courtyard again, and stop, waiting, because there are not enough feet for it to be Alistair and the men coming back. Three men come in, two in armour, one in robes. I see their silhouettes before they reach the moonlight, and they resolve themselves into Angelo, Raffaello, and Anders. Marco comes striding out of a side hall, just as I realise that all of them are covered in blood and look like hell. The bottom drops out of my stomach as the sulphurous stench of darkspawn reaches my nose.

Oh gods.

Not breaking stride, Anders separates from the others and heads toward me rather than meeting with Marco, but he doesn’t get to me before I see what Angelo does next.

All my hair stands up as Angelo pulls a shield off his back, handing it to Marco with the grimmest, most sombre look on his face that I have ever seen. Anders reaches my side just as I see it, just as the front of it becomes visible, before Marco reaches out to take it and hides it with his body.

The double gryphon.

The Warden Commander’s shield.

My shield.

My shield.

I reach out blindly, clutching at Anders’ sleeve as he steadies me when I sway, feeling my stomach turn, my blood turned to frozen glass in my veins. I look up into his eyes, feeling the helpless grimace pulling at my mouth. There is a question on my face, a pleading, I know it, I can feel it, and Anders looks so desolate and haggard. He looks at me for a long moment as the sick horror piles into my stomach, then slowly shakes his head.

“No,” I whisper brokenly, my voice not working, shaking my head in denial. “No, no, that’s not possible, we haven’t even had the baby yet. That’s not how it goes; we have years left. It was just routine, just a wall that gave way, we haven’t even been back a month,” I argue, as though that will do any good.

“I’m so sorry, Lily,” Anders says, sorrow etching deep lines in his face. “I tried-- I-- The lyrium was--” I look down at his shaking hands, then back up at his weary face, and wonder how much horror he’s just seen.

“No-no-no-no, no it’s not true, he’s too strong; it’s not true, it’s not true,” I beg, as though by repeating this, I can summon him back.

Everybody leaves things undone when they die. Everybody.

And now, there will be no more tomorrows for us, no look on his face when he meets his baby for the first time, no little family, not even one more night.

“Behind the wall, the collapse made a section of rock break through to the Deep Roads,” Anders says, voice harsh. I don’t want to hear this. I don’t. It’s too brutal. All of it gone in a second, how could it be-- “When we cleared the way, they came boiling out like a turned over ants’ nest. There were so many of them, Lily, and too few of us. It took everything I had just to keep them from getting past us, and we’re the only ones left. I tried to reach him, I tried, but there were so many of them in the way, and when the ogre gored him, there was no one near enough to stop it. He didn’t get up, and by the time I got there, it was too late for healing, and I didn’t have enough lyrium to bring him back before it was too late for that, as well. I’m so sorry. I should have taken more-- If I had known--”

I shake my head vehemently, even though the regret will haunt us both. Poisonous to blame on yourself the doings of the darkspawn, and I already know how dangerous lyrium is to Anders. He hasn’t touched it since the Incident; the fact that he had some on him at all is a surprise, and the fact that his hands are shaking shows how much he needed it just to stay alive. Especially if he ran out.

“Marco killed it, and I tried to bring him back, I poured everything I had into him, but it wasn’t enough, I couldn’t pull the spell together, I didn’t have any more lyrium, and he just... slipped through my fingers,” he says, staring at his hands like they’ve betrayed him.

Just breathe

“I can’t, I can’t,” I choke, shaking my head. “No-- No it’s not-- No--” I sink to the bench behind me, my knees giving way as I begin to make this mad little keening noise, and I can’t stop, curling around my rounded belly and the squirming little butterfly within. It’s all I have left of him, now.

It’s just the life of a Warden, love, and a lot I accepted a long time ago.

“No!” I shriek, scaring the hell out of Anders, screaming at the voice of him in my memory, as though by denying it now, long after the fact, I can somehow stop him.

Gonna catch me, soldier?

Just breathe.

Don’t let go!

Never, love. Not as long as I draw breath.

I break into helpless sobbing, and a moment later, I feel arms around me. Leaning into Anders, I’m grateful for his presence, and cling to him like my last rock on a stormy shore.

Dimly, I’m aware of a scramble of Wardens hastily leaving the compound, but I cannot pay them heed.

“We lost Alistair,” Anders murmurs, and I look up in time to see Ponka’s face fall with such sadness. He licks my cheek, nudging my legs with his head, trying to give me solace, but wanders off after a time. I hear him howling distantly, a heart-breaking wail of mourning, and I am grateful to him for giving public voice to the anguish.

I weep for hours, until a sort of dull horror washes over me, numbing me into staring silence, the artificial calm of shock. Anders stays with me through it all, mourning with me, and I realise I’ll never find a better friend. I am so glad he’s with me.

When I finally make it back to my room, I can’t bring myself to get into bed. It’s too big. The thought occurs to me, so naturally, that I could go to Alistair’s bed.

But no.

That thought nearly makes me cry again.

Taking up my cloak, I throw it around my shoulders and wander the keep aimlessly, until I get too tired to continue. Finding myself in the wing of spare rooms, I open a door at random, go inside, and pass out on the bed. How strange, when I wake in the morning, to find myself in the bed that I shared with Zevran.

Just another ache.

Nothing is the same.

All the light is sucked out of my days.

I keep making lists in my head, catching myself thinking, “I need to tell Alistair--”

But no.

There is a public funeral event that I must attend, as his widow. I wear grey, the Antivan colour of mourning, as is proper. I stand through the entire ceremony, as is proper, despite the aching in my back and legs. It’s the least I can do. I receive condolences, people touching my arms, my shoulders, “I’m sorry for your loss,” and behind their hands, whispers of, “Oh, their poor baby.”

I don’t care.

There is a sombre gathering of the Wardens in the courtyard, an acknowledgement of Marco’s assumption of command. To save me from having to do it, he boxes up everything that belonged to Alistair and puts it in my room. I can’t even look at it, not for weeks. “I want you to know that this is your home, for as long as you wish it, for as long as you live,” he says to me, hand on my shoulder. His eyes are sympathetic, but I just feel sick.

“Thank you,” I answer mechanically.

The little life within me is the only thing that gives me hope, for a time, the only thing that keeps me fighting to get out of bed every day. It needs me. The only way it’ll ever know Alistair, now, is through me. I determine to move out of my room, and back into the one I had before. There’s more space in it for a cradle, anyway. The smell of jasmine haunts me, but it’s more of a comfort now. That Night, at least, was a situation I had some influence over.

I go back to work, because wood is stable, and makes sense, and I know what to do with it. I don’t have to think. After a hellish day of trying to make myself relax and do nothing, I visit my room and go through what was deposited here from Lels’ until I find enough fabric to work with, then begin making the sorts of things babies need: blankets, swaddling, cradle sheets and a couple of pads, more sacks and bonnets - some for winter.

The day when I think to prepare the baby for winter, I cry for an hour, because I suddenly remember so vividly how it felt to have Alistair wrapped around me, all his fiery heat and massive strength, protecting me from the bitter Ferelden cold, shielding me from the world.

Spring softens into summer, and I grow big enough that there’s just not enough room in the shop for both me and my belly, and I have to give up. I can’t stop expecting Alistair to be around every corner.

But no.

There’s no more bite-tag, no more laughter, no more whispered conversations in the dark.

You’re so bad at chess.

I’m in the market, buying more thread at a small shop, when a group of four old ladies begin whispering amongst themselves and looking at me, giggling to each other. I’m used to people smiling at me because of my belly, so I pay them no mind, putting my purchase in my bag, until one of them speaks.

“You are so round, girl!” she says in Antivan, clearly excited about my impending birth. Moreso than me, that’s for sure - I’m terrified of it. “You won’t see another full moon,” she adds, laying a finger aside her nose and grinning toothlessly at me.

Her words haunt me, particularly when I hear the crier, three days later.

It’s the afternoon on the day after Funalis, a Thedasian Day of the Dead, where everyone spends the day being uncharacteristically quiet, the entire city having such a hush over it that it’s eerie, all the food is cold, and there are passion plays about the grisly death of Andraste in the market square.

The man’s words stop my heart: “Pyre in the square, fifteen slaughtered in midnight massacre, head of the Crows has retired, pyre in the square, fifteen slaughtered...” he repeats, heading down the street.

Retired? No.

The only way to leave the Crows is boots first, into the fire.

I carry my swollen belly in both arms as I hurry back to my room.

There’s got to be some trick.

I need to see for myself. I pull myself together hastily, Ponka trotting alongside me as we head for the centre of the city.

In my waddling, gravid state, it takes me a long while to get there, so when I arrive, the place is filled with people. I push my way through, but I’m on the wrong side of the square to see the procession that is headed toward the pile of wood, a stretcher held aloft above their heads. I slip through the crowd, people mostly politely making way for my gigantic belly and the mabari at my side. I need to see his face, find out who took the fall for him.

After all, it can’t be him, right? I’m still alive.

“--heard that he was caught unawares--” I hear, someone speaking Antivan nearby. The crowd is full of gossip. “--single-handedly took down fifteen men before--” Hmmm... that does sound like the man I know.

They stop on the other side of the pyre, just as I am able to win a position close enough as they lift him up, and I see him.

Him, and his caramel skin.

Him, and his hair like spun sunlight.

And a tattoo--

Oh gods, no

--a tattoo--

No...

--curving down his cheek toward the corner of his mouth.

No!

Nothing can describe the depth of horror, terror, and despair this moment brings. The bright sunny day is now grey as autumn to me, the shouting of the crowd dimming to white noise as I slowly turn to stone, staring in sickened silence, unable to move, to tear my eyes away from that profile, that motionless face. My world is ashes. I feel the tears burning my eyes as they set torch to the wood, and for one, crazy second I have the urge to dart forward, rip it from their hands, pull him down and make him wake up. But of course... that can’t happen.

He’s dead.

He’s dead.

Reeling, I know only that I have to get away from the square, and as quickly as possible. I can’t stand to see him burn. I push my way back through the crowds of people, making some of them angry, but I don’t care.

My sunlight

I dash out of the crush into a side-street, away from the press of people, trying not to hyperventilate. I don’t even know where I’m going, just stumbling down the alley, blinded by the tears I can’t stop. I can’t stop.

“Ponka,” I sob brokenly, gods, is this really my voice? He gives me a high-pitched warble in response, mourning again, as I am. “Lead me home, boy, lead me home,” I whisper, and he pushes his head up under my hand, letting me grab onto his collar. I don’t remember the trip back to the base by the time we get there; all the streets look the same.

I don’t have a right to this anguish. We’ve been over for a long time.

It doesn’t matter.

I recognise the gate because Ponka stops there while the guard opens it. I careen through the halls and up the stairs to my room, ignoring the questions of the few Wardens who encounter me, and slam the door behind me.

Collapsing sideways on the bed, I curl around the baby in my belly as it kicks and shifts irritably, somehow knowing my state of distress, and sob uncontrollably. There are no strong arms to shield me from this, no soft burr in the darkness to whisper to me, no scent of cedar or clove, no peace, no safety, no love. All gone, all of it; four months, and I’ve lost them both.

”Deny yourself nothing,” he said, and I took him at his word, but I did, I did deny myself, because he was all I ever truly wanted, despite my love for Alistair, and now I’m left with a fatherless child and an empty bed, mourning my squandered time and the loss of the man who brought me here.

The one I love beyond all reason.

The one I can’t seem to let go of, no matter how hard I try, no matter how bad he was for me... and I for him. Distantly, I hear Ponka howling, the same way he did when Anders came back without Alistair, a broken, inconsolable cry.

And me?

My wail echoes his. I can’t help it. I can’t.

He’s dead.

And with him... any chance I may have ever had to make things right. Somehow, I broke the chain and I never even knew it. Or... or maybe he did. I couldn’t let go, I never let go. I still love him so much that his loss is rending furrows in my heart, tearing it apart, killing me inside.

And I’m still alive, so he must have let go of me. He finally gave up. And if I’m being honest with myself, he was right to do it. He owed me nothing, and I owed him everything. I owed him my life, and I would’ve given it to him, if he would have let me.

Oh gods.

“I’m so sorry...” I whisper, wishing I could reach him, that it wasn’t too late, too late, too fucking late for everything.

As long as I live, there will never be another.

Lost, lost, lost. It's all lost, and so am I.

I can't stay here any longer. In a mad, blind panic, I hastily pack everything I own into my trunks, but I realise I can’t move them on my own, and I need someplace to go if I’m going to leave, so I head out of the compound. I don't even know where I'm going until I find myself outside Ferrilin's parlour. The curtain is tied aside to invite, so I step into the gloomy interior.

She turns, a professional smile on her face that fades away as soon as she lays eyes on me, and though I bite my lip, the tears come again. I clap my hands over my face, and in the next moment, I feel her arms around my shoulders, the smoky scent of amber and musk about her.

"Shhh... I know," she murmurs, and I hear the thickness in her voice, as well. “I had thought perhaps I would see you today.” There is no more to be said. We both mourn. After a moment, she pushes the door closed, and Ponka lays down in front of it, keeping it from opening again. I sit down heavily, back aching from all the walking, as she silently makes tea. She sits on the couch next to me, handing me a cup, knowing by now that I take it with honey.

I hold the cup in both hands, the heat warming my palms, and burst into tears again, shoulders shaking as I try to hold it all in and fail. I still wasn't over Alistair's death, and now this.

Oh, Apollo, is this because I forgot to make offering at Redcliffe? I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry, please, don't take any more from me, please, I couldn't bear it. The child is all I have left. Please...

I stay with Ferrilin until the sun begins to set, until the hardness of her couch sets my back to screaming. “Thank you,” I say, my voice broken and raw, the first words spoken in hours.

She nods, having shed tears herself. “No other would understand,” she says, and I nod. We are the only ones who truly mourn him. Ponka rises as I turn for the door, and we step out into the late evening, the sky beginning to turn orange with the first blush of sunset. I head toward the waterfront, taking a route I know well by now. Masochist that I am, I stop by the park and stand in the little grotto where I last laid eyes on him. My head hurts with the crying now, and I lean against the wall for a time, resting my back for a few, precious minutes.

Finding a soft piece of stone in the garden, I return to the cave and draw the swoops of the ring I once wore for him, as though I could call him back, if he could just see this, he would come back, impossible as that is. I hesitate, but what does it matter now? Above it, I write, “Sunlight,” because he’s taken all I had left, and beneath it, “El’lath uth suledin. Emma uth na’asha.” Our love will never die. I’ll always be your woman.

And then there’s nothing left to do. I drop the rock and turn away, my last message to him scratched into the wall, never to be read by eyes that would understand. The sky is fuchsia and indigo as I leave the cave, and darkened to blackness by the time I near the Warden base. My back is killing me, but I stand for a time, looking out at the waxing half moon.

...And when she covers him, he sets her aflame, whispers his voice in my memory, and I choke on it. We stood, just here, and for a moment, I can almost feel his arms around me again, feel the brush of his hair against my neck. I grimace as I turn away, trying to fight back another round of crying, at least long enough that I can return home.

I’ll find a new place to live tomorrow. The Warden base holds too many memories, too much pain.

The agony in my back has begun to roll in waves down my legs by the time I manage to make it through the doors, and I have to rest against the wall again before I can continue to my room. Halfway through the courtyard, there is a sudden flood between my legs, soaking my trews and splattering all over the ground.

Oh shit.

It’s not just a backache.

I suddenly feel as though I’ve taken a hammer blow to the pelvic bone, and my knees give out. I fall to all fours on the ground, crying out in pained surprise. I hear a man’s voice say, “Oh shit,” and the sound of running feet, as the spasm passes. Panting, I crawl over to the bench and try to lever myself up to my feet. Another pair of running feet precede hands at my elbow and my waist, helping me rise, turn out to be Anders as he wraps an arm around my waist and heads toward the clinic with me.

“Well, I’d like to say this was unexpected, but somehow I don’t think you’d believe me,” he murmurs, and I laugh, even though it’s strained. We’re almost there when another spasm rocks me, and I have to stop, my hands balling in Anders’ robe as I try to breathe through it. “Nearly there, now,” he murmurs as it passes and I can catch a full breath. He gets us moving again, leading me to the bed in the back of his office.

“I’ll be right back,” he says, and I stare at him in horrified terror.

“Don’t--” I start, but he takes my hand, shaking his head.

“I’ll only be gone a moment. I just want to send someone to fetch Benina. I’ll only be just outside the door, I promise,” he says, and I nod, a little too quickly. He squeezes my fingers before turning away, and while he’s gone, I have another contraction. He comes back in, just as it’s finished, and I’m panting and crying.

“Why, why does it have to be today, why?” I moan, as Anders settles himself behind me, straddling my hips and giving me something to lean back against as the contractions get stronger. Each one hurts more than the last, and I’m finding it harder and harder to breathe through them.

"Bad emotional upset," he murmurs, telling me without saying that he knows what’s happened. Extremely capable and knowing hands go to work at my lower back, easing some of the pain. "You're far enough along for that to trigger labour." I rock forward, crying out as another contraction rips through me, and he continues to rub my back. It’s more of a comfort than I would have expected

I moan brokenly as it passes, knowing that another will come, dreading it. They're closer and closer together, and if my hazy recollection is correct, this is progressing a lot faster than maybe it ought to. I'm not sure whether that's good news, because it'll be over soon, or bad news, because it's incredibly painful and what if it rips something that can't be fixed fast enough?

"Oh gods," I whimper as I feel another one coming on, and Anders laces his fingers between mine.

"I'm here," he says, and I sob, because it shouldn't be him behind me. It should be Alistair. And he's not even here to see his child born, to hold it for the first time, the one thing I wanted to give him more than anything else in all the world, just to see the look on his face, and he's not here for it.

This one hurts so much, I almost scream, bearing down on Anders' hands until my knuckles turn white, before it passes again. When I open my eyes, Benina is hustling in, and whomever the Warden is who brought her here closes the door and beats a hasty retreat.

Immediately, she rolls up her sleeves and washes her hands at the pitcher on the stand nearby, then crouches at the edge of the bed. "Scoot up," Anders says, putting his hands under my thighs to help me move, setting me so that my ass is at the very edge of the bed.

"I must check for the crowning," she says, and I have no idea what she means. She tugs off my boots, then deftly unties my trews and shucks me out of them. At this point, I'm in too much pain to care that I am now half-naked in front of Anders. He won't be able to see anything over my belly anyway. Benina gently pushes my thighs apart, looking up at me. "Do not be afraid. I must reach inside to feel for the baby's head."

Sudden understanding dawns, and I let Anders pull me backward, cradling me against his chest as Benina briefly slips a gentle finger inside me.

"It will not be long now," she says, nodding as she withdraws, and I immediately have another contraction. Quickly, Anders sits me up again, the pain amazingly lessening in my back and localising more against my pubic bone, but oh gods, it hurts so much, and this time I do scream, though I try to grit my teeth on it. “No, do not try to hold it in, that will hurt you,” she admonishes. “There is no shame in it; nearly all women scream in labour. Just breathe.”

Just breathe. Alistair’s voice whispers in my head, all those nights when I questioned myself, when I struggled with my guilt over us, and loving him. She didn’t mean to echo him, wouldn’t have had any idea what the phrase would mean to me, I know, but it makes me cry all the same, and fortunately, they have no idea. They just assume it’s the pain, and that’s okay.

No matter my intentions, I can’t help but scream my way through the final contractions while Benina patiently waits, checking the baby’s progress every so often. They are coming so close together that it’s almost continuous when she finally nods. “It is time. Now you must push,” she says, massaging my belly, and Anders rocks us forward as my hands tighten on his again. My voice is ragged as I bear down, and I can feel Benina’s fingers within me, coaxing the flesh to part and allow the baby passage. “No, no, do not relax,” she says, as I try to catch my breath in between, even as I feel the next one coming on. “Push and hold.” I try to follow her instruction as the next one rolls over me, and I feel something slip, just a little bit. “Good!”

It feels like it’s taking forever, but I’m sure it isn’t. I push several more times as the minutes tick by. “I can’t do it, I can’t,” I pant, shaking and sobbing as the pain becomes unbearable, feeling like I’m being rammed between the legs by an ox every time I contract.

“The baby does not know this, and so it will come anyway,” Benina says dryly.

“Oh gods, no, oh gods--” I whimper as the next one comes, then scream again, trying to push.

“There is the head,” Benina says. “Two more strong pushes. Come, you can do it, almost over now,” she murmurs in encouragement.

I feel Anders’ arms tighten around me as he rocks us forward again with the next wave, and I push hard, holding his hands tightly. I feel the baby’s shoulders compact as it tries to squeeze through. My hipbones flex apart from within in a decidedly horrible way as the cartilage in the centre of my pubic bone abruptly dislocates for a moment with a sickeningly disgusting crunching, fleshy sound. But then, in the next moment, I hear a tiny, thin wail.

"You have a daughter," Benina says, smiling. My hair is plastered to my face by sweat and I am completely breathless, but she pushes up my shirt and lays the baby across my breast. She stops squalling immediately, cooing softly, and I look down into my baby's face for the first time.

My heart swells to bursting as this tiny little girl who now is my entire world looks up at me in awe. My smile is a small, trembling thing, but I kiss her forehead softly. "Welcome to the world," I murmur, tears raining on her downy hair, the softest thing I have ever felt in all my life. Anders' hand rises beside me, one trembling finger stroking gently across her head.

"Andraste's eyes, Lily, she's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen," he murmurs, and I laugh and cry at the same time.

"Gods, Anders, I'm so glad you're here," I confess, and he hugs me tightly.

"So am I," he says, making my heart ache.

My stomach flexes and cramps unexpectedly, hurting like hell, and I cry out in surprise.

"It is only the afterbirth," Benina says, reassuring me, and within minutes, she has cleaned up the mess and washed away the blood. Anders rests a hand low on my belly, and the healing radiating out from it washes away the horrible ache. After a moment, it begins to feel a lot less like healing and a lot more like something else, and dimly I recall the day he made it so that I could bear this child in the first place.

"Wait, what--" I begin, but he shakes his head.

"Shh... It has to be done," he murmurs. My eyes are slipping closed of their own accord as the sweet sensation intensifies. "Stops the bleeding, takes away the pain, shrinks your belly," he explains, not letting up, and I moan, head tipping back against his shoulder. The baby shifts restlessly, face turning back and forth, and I feel Benina's hands there, helping her to latch onto my breast. I cry out as the combination catapults me over the edge, the strength of Anders' healing keeping me keening and writhing at that fiery height for what feels like a small eternity before it finally begins to ebb. leaving me breathless and exhausted.

By now, the baby has fallen off my tit, and Benina helps me get her turned around so she can latch onto the other, showing me how to get her to open her mouth wide enough, how to ensure that she’s attached properly so I don’t hurt myself. When the baby passes out, Benina puts a diaper on her, showing me how to wrap the cloth and giving me advice on how to keep her dry and comfortable. I’m beginning to pass out, myself, so I lay down with the baby after that, putting her on her back at my side, her tiny little head resting on my arm.

There is an incredibly awkward moment as Benina prepares to leave when she says, “It is a good night for a birth. You are blessed, Anders,” clearly thinking he’s the father. Strangely, perhaps tellingly, he doesn’t disabuse her of the notion, just smiling and bidding her farewell.

He brings me a glass of water as he returns to the bed, sitting next to me. I lean up long enough to accept it, drinking it all in one go, surprised at how thirsty I am, then collapse again.

"Tell me you're staying," he says, watching me carefully, and I blink.

"What?"

"I went to your room earlier, looking for you, and it was stripped bare."

I'm caught out, and I open my mouth, but nothing comes for a moment. "Uh-- I-- Honestly... I don't know. Things are... not good, in my head, in my heart. I'm very... lost."

He looks at me for a long moment before speaking, chewing over his response. "I'd like it if you stayed at least a few days, so I can keep an eye on you two. Will you do that?"

I nod, and he looks relieved. "I can't make any promises, but I can say that I really don't feel like moving right now."

He smiles and shakes his head. "No, you stay right there."

"Where will you sleep, since I've taken over your bed?"

His smile gets a little wider. "Not my bed, sweetheart. I sleep in there," he says, pointing at what I thought was a closet door. He pops it open and there’s an entire studio apartment in there.

I blink. “I thought that was a closet!”

He laughs, winking at me. “Helpful, isn’t it? Completely inconspicuous door.” He locks the main door to the clinic, then slips through the door to his own space. “I’ll leave the door open; just call out if you need me.”

The baby wakes every two hours, fussing over something, usually hunger or diaper, but sometimes just because she needs to hear my voice. She isn’t soothed completely until she falls asleep with my finger securely wrapped in her tiny fist, mouth latched firmly onto the end of it. After that, she doesn’t wake me until dawn. Benina bustles in shortly after that, bringing me a huge basket full of food. She spends a moment lecturing me on good eating, then takes the baby from me as soon as she’s done eating, so that I can feed myself next.

“Have you given thought to a name?” she asks, beaming down at the baby’s sweet little face, and I shake my head, mouth full.

“No...”

“She will need one very soon.”

“I know... I just... don’t know what to...” My throat constricts, and I can’t say anything else. Anders comes in from outside not a moment later; he must have slipped out while I was sleeping.

His mouth is full, and he catches my disconcerted look, waving a roll at me; I see the overloaded plate in his hand, and realise he couldn’t have left more than a handful of minutes before Benina came in.

“Ah, there you are. What say you, hm? Your daughter needs a name, yes?” she asks him, and he freezes, roll stuffed in his mouth to hold it as he shuts the clinic door.

He glances at me, then shakes his head, setting down his plate. “Not mine, Benina. Alistair’s.”

She pauses, surprised, staring at him, then looking between us, and then her face falls and she looks down at the baby sadly, though she still smiles, so as not to scare her. “Auck, I am sorry, I did not know. I should not have assumed. Forgive me.”

“It’s all right,” I say, waving a hand, tired already from just sitting up and having something to eat. The baby makes a curious little grunting sound, then noisily fills her diaper, and Benina sighs.

“I will see to this,” she says brusquely. “She needs sunlight. We will return.” In a moment, she has swept out of the clinic, and I sigh, feeling weird about letting her walk away with my child, but Anders wouldn’t trust her so much if she were going to do something bad.

He sits on a chair next to the bed, holding his glowing hand out over my stomach, and I have to close my eyes as a wave of warmth washes over me, the familiar ease of healing. “Looking good,” he says, taking another bite of the roll he’s got and sitting back. “Once you’re on your feet, you should be fine.”

I worry at my lower lip, looking at him as I bite into a piece of sliced peach. “What do you think I should name her?” I ask, and he shrugs.

“Never gave that sort of thing any thought. Never had to worry about it.”

I sigh. I wish Alistair was here to help me with this.

Fast on the heels of that thought is the sudden, crushing remembrance of what set off my labour yesterday, and I burst into tears, dropping the food and clapping my hands over my face. Anders’ muffled oath comes from the chair, and then his arms are around me, and I sob on him. He seems to be under the impression that I’m crying over Alistair, and it’s true, his loss with his baby in my arms is a very sharp, painful thing, but it’s not him that has gutted me in this moment.

When I can finally breathe again, Anders hands me a wet cloth, and I wipe my face. “Anders-- Yesterday--” I choke, and he sighs heavily.

“I heard.”

“But-- but I’m still alive,” I say, gagging on it, and he sighs again, running his hand over my hair and hugging me about the shoulders again.

“I know.”

“What does it mean?”

He just shakes his head. “I don’t know, Lily, I really don’t. I guess it’s just not your time yet. Maybe the child kept you tied here, instead.”

Alistair’s last act to shield me, though he didn’t know it.

I’m still crying when Benina brings the baby back in, fast asleep. She quietly sets about making tea, and I fall asleep within minutes of drinking it.

After three days, I can walk again without help, and within the week, I’m feeling strong enough that I start pacing the courtyard with her. I still can’t think of a name.

She’s nearly a month old before I finally decide to call her Cassie. It’s short for Cassiopeia, the constellation that always helped me find my bearings, on Earth. Cassie Theirin, and there you have it, Anora, no heir from Alistair, no threat to your rule.

We spend most of our time sleeping, those first three months. I end up having to keep her schedule just out of sheer self-preservation, at least for a little while.

We’re drowsing in the warmth of the late October early afternoon, Satinalia again, when I open my eyes. Cassie’s not awake yet, so I carefully slip from the bed and stretch. I’m facing the window, and after a moment, I realise there’s a stone on the sill. It’s placed directly in the centre, where it was sure to be noticed; smooth, white, flat and round, it looks like a river rock.

A simple thing, just a stone on the window sill, but I’m on the second floor. When I flip it over, there are the lines of my tattoo, swirling across the surface in black paint.

There are only three people in all the world who ever knew what it looks like. Two of them are dead, and only one them was the kind of person who could climb to a second story window, silent and unnoticed in broad daylight.

The stone falls from nerveless fingers as I swallow hard. What cruelty is this?

No.

I forget: my torturers saw it, too, and the mage, and Murdoch. How many others? My tattoo isn’t a complete secret anymore. All this means is that someone’s connected the tattoo to me, and likely me to Mahariel. This could be a warning. A sudden flood of alarm runs through me, and I turn quickly, but Cassie still lays innocently on the bed, mouth hanging open in contented sleep.

My life here isn’t safe, not by any stretch. Anything that felt to the contrary was an illusion. It’s time for me to suck it up, and protect myself, because there’s no-one who will do it for me. No-one’s going to love her as fiercely as I do, and there’s no-one in the world who’s going to want to protect her as much as I do. I’m all she’s got.

So I’m just going to have to be enough.

Things may have got a whole lot more dangerous, but I’m a whole new animal. I’m not going to take another second for granted, and I will fight fiercely to protect that which is mine. I’m done having things taken from me.

Cassie’s face screws up a moment before she wails upon waking, and I pick her up quickly.

“Shhh... Mama’s here, baby,” I croon, and she quiets, rooting on my neck. I tuck her under my tunic as I leave the room, and the stone at the base of the window.