Love's Blush

by Sabrina Zbasnik

  "How?"

  He should have told her. Not just about the grey warden curse, but how hard he fell for her. Alistair was scared of telling her the truth and having her laugh it off or worse, but also of him being that far gone. There were few in his life he'd ever truly let into his heart, and... He glanced over at Lanny and his tongue ran dry. So many of them kept disappearing from his life.

  "By being an idiot," he muttered to himself. It didn't matter, none of it did. He failed, again. Maker, damn it all!

  "I'm sorry," Lanny whispered, her hands folded together. She'd often said it to him before, after every one of his affairs had gone belly up and the news reached her one way or the other. It was usually spoken with varying degrees of sarcasm, but this time she radiated sincerity.

  At his look of shock, she added, "I'd had hopes that...you two seemed to fit well."

  "Really?" Alistair snorted, the full hilarity of the situation landing upon him. "What about King and elf guard seems to work together? Sounds more like trying to stick two pieces together from separate puzzles."

  Lanny sighed at his obstinance, her fingers tugging off the sack in her hair. Sure enough, those eternal spirals bounded free, most of them reaching nearly to her back. He hadn't seen it this long in years. Not since...

  Alistair closed his eyes as a memory washed over him, "Do you remember what you told me after Marta?"

  She pursed her lips in thought, and some bitterness, "Was that the tall redhead?"

  "No, she was short," he paused and readjusted for the tiny woman before him, "shorter than me and with olive skin. It doesn't matter. You were in Denerim on Warden business and happened to be in the blast range of an argument." A chuckle rumbled in his chest at the memory of so many servants scattering whenever Marta took a deep breath before her impressive string of curses launched free. She was a very disciplined mage with the mouth of a pirate.

  "I," Lanny tapped her foot at the toe, a clear sign she wasn't happy tripping this far down memory lane with him, "you had a lot of paramours."

  "Not that many," Alistair shot back with.

  That earned him an eye roll, "Enough for the days of the week, forgive me for not remembering each moment with them."

  "It, I was thinking about how after that screaming match you walked past, demanded whatever it was the Wardens needed and were about to walk out. You were so not you back then, short hair, spine of steel, when you wore that metal armor overtop the robes to seem more Commandery."

  "Ugh," Lanny rubbed a hand on the top of her chest, "that stuff pinched terribly. I do not miss it."

  "Anyway, at the door you say in a soft voice, 'She's trying to get you to hate her. Give her what she wants and cut it free before everyone goes deaf.' Which I did, took me a few more days to work up the courage but you were right, as always. Marta practically skipped the entire way back to Kinloch."

  Lanny winced either at her unkind words or at how accurate they were. "Ali, why are you telling me this?"

  "It was easy for me to go along with things, to nod when I was supposed to, smile when ordered, love what," he grimaced at how he'd put up and even encouraged that damn betting pool about him, "everyone expected of me. I stopped fighting for anything because nothing mattered, life was easiest without rocking the boat."

  "Maker's breath," Lanny gasped, a hand covering her lips, "you love her."

  "That..." he wanted to deny it, afraid that letting such a fragile thing out into the world would destroy it even more, but he couldn't lie to Lanny. "Can't be love, right? It'd be love-d, past tense and all."

  "Ali," she reached forward, her hands reaching over his shoulders to tug him to her for a hug. He didn't lift his, too scared of what to do, but he was grateful to her for trying. His head thudded against her shoulder, Alistair's knees bent to close the distance.

  It'd been so long since she'd hugged him this tight, the phantom of their past always crowding him out until now. But even as he picked up one limp hand to grip onto her upper back, he wished it was someone else clinging to him. Someone taller, with eyes the color of the forest by summer's height and a crinkled nose with a bump on the top. A gasp rattled in his throat as he dug his fingers in tighter, trying to bury another round of tears into her shoulder.

  Lanny rocked back and forth on her toes and whispered, "You don't stop loving someone just because you can't be together."

  He chuckled at her statement of fact, "Ten years and you'd think I'd remember that. I didn't hide any of my life. I know it's a lot; kids, a wife, an entire country breathing down my neck but..." Alistair added his other hand to fully close off the hug and blubbered against the strap of her dress, "Blessed Andraste I really thought it would work, that she'd want me in spite of...no, of course not. Never. I'm so bad at this."

  She didn't say anything, just let him whimper against her while cupping her hands against the back of his neck. Somehow the woman whose heart he crushed was probably the only person in thedas to know what he was going through. He'd turned his back on her, on what future they'd hoped for because he was too afraid of what his life would be like with her. Every day having to defend it, to disappoint so many people because he dared to love a mage. And Reiss, she didn't want to fight either. Saw her chance to run from the politics, the drain he'd be on her life and took it. He almost couldn't blame her.

  A dog's deep bwoof echoed through the trees, scattering a flock of birds to the air. Alistair lifted his head off Lanny's shoulder as a mabari came barreling through the underbrush. It was on a collision course with their legs, but dug front feet into the ground to stop before striking Lanny. Chuckling, she released her hold on Alistair and reached down to pet the dog's head. Before he even had time to wipe off his nose, the last person Alistair wanted to see him in this condition waltzed through the trees.

  "Lana, here you are. That horse girl told me you were out picking elfroot. I said I would do it, you didn't have to go it alone. There simply hadn't been time to..." the templar's admonishing of his wife faded away as he finally glanced over at Alistair doing his best to skulk away into the shadows.

  Her eyes darted from Alistair back to the reddening man. "I didn't expect you to be here with her," Cullen said, his words pointed at Alistair but he honed in on Lanny.

  She shook her head and despite the limp, dashed over to Cullen. Her words dipped down as she no doubt explained that Alistair had his heart gutted from him and she was trying to provide some comfort the way a normal human being does. Of course, the templar wasn't a real human, but some kind of golem formed not from stone but duty and a superiority complex that set Alistair's teeth on edge. The blood pounded in his ears, mushing the words they exchanged, but he couldn't stop watching them.

  Lanny's hand instinctively cupped across the templar's chest, and he wrapped his around hers -- always holding her close and protecting her. She leaned into him, not for the sake of whispering but to be near. The aching pit widened even more in Alistair's gut but he was unable to turn away from the two people so damn much in love it was almost sickening. He wasn't jealous of Cullen, Maker's sake the last thing he wanted was a stick that big wedged up his own ass to match, but...a brick thudded in his gut as he realized he'd never again hold Reiss' fingers in his hands. Never thumb the points of her ears, or press a kiss to her stomach. She was gone and he found himself once again alone and unloved.

  "I am," Cullen lifted his head, speaking loud enough the leaves on the trees rattled. He looked about to apologize but Lanny's quick shake of her head stopped him. "I came to tell my wife that dinner is prepared."

  Alistair snickered at his making certain to mention that Lanny was his wife. Though in his mind, he always thought of the templar as her husband not the other way around, and he was damn lucky to be given that position. Most people in thedas would kill for it. Staggering up from his lean against a fallen tree, Alistair began to shake the dust off his trousers. He knew what the dinner bell meant, he wasn't wanted much more around these parts and it was time he headed
home, wherever home was.

  He moved to leave the copse, though stopped to rustle up the mabari's ears, before casting a single pathetic glance at Lanny. The last thing he wanted to do was get her in trouble with her templar, but there were probably going to be words later about his appearing out of nowhere. All Alistair wanted was...what? He knew the answer his heart kept screaming, but that was impossible.

  Cullen shifted slightly on his heels, that almost replica face blocking Alistair, "You're welcome to stay if you'd like."

  "You..." he stared at the man, terrified that this was a test or he was about to get his jaw punched again. "Are you sure?"

  "It will be dark soon," Lanny interrupted from him. "And the last thing we need is you thrown from your horse that ran into a rock it couldn't see."

  Alistair stared into her earnest face and then tried to catch the templar's eye but he was staring through the distance, clearly not happy with the idea but willing to give in to Lanny's logic. It was the hardest damn thing in thedas after all. Knowing he couldn't defeat it either, Alistair nodded his head, "Okay, I doubt they'll start combing the woods for my body until tomorrow at the latest."

  "Good," Lanny smiled and for a brief flicker his spirits raised.

  "So, what's for dinner, because I'm starving?"

  Cullen kept a grip to his wife's arm, steadying her as she limped upon her cane while Alistair hauled up the box of elfroot they'd sort of begun picking. He couldn't see her face as they walked back to the abbey, but he could hear the exuberance as she laughed, "One of your favorites, lamb stew."

  CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

  Loves Company

  Lanny'd been traipsing around outside of Ferelden for too long. He barely even recognized the lamb stew, the meat boiled for at most two hours and actual bits of carrot and some kind of potato bobbing in the surface. If it wasn't one single color with the consistency of regurgitated beans and with oil floating on the surface you had to stir back in, it wasn't proper stew. They didn't eat huddled away from their various staff and charges, but gathered everyone together in the open kitchen/dining hall. It was a bit awkward when the templar called for a prayer before eating, Alistair midway to sticking the spoon in his mouth as every other hand clasped together.

  Of course the man made certain to drone on and on in thanks to Andraste and the Maker and whatever bits of the Chant he felt like drudging up. The other templars all followed suit, their heads bowed in reverence. Even the staff, most obvious by a familiar gingham check pattern to all their clothes, closed their eyes with folded hands. Bored, Alistair glanced around while waiting for the go ahead to put food in his yawning gullet when he caught Lanny's eye. She kept her flatware in place, but wasn't hunched over in prayer, her sight locking in with his. Alistair was about to respond somehow, maybe by mocking his tossing a knife in the air, when the templar finished his meandering prayer and eating commenced.

  The lord and lady of the abbey sat at the middle of the long table. Lanny offered him a seat near her, but he plopped down beside a elderly woman who commented on how terrible the stew was with every spoonful until she ate it all. He didn't think he was up to sitting beside her while she and the templar were all...them. Stupid loving and caring gestures, it burned Alistair's eyes the way staring at the sun did. Surprisingly, no one seemed to recognize him. There was almost no politics at the table, most of the people discussing their bets for the coming tourney Alistair was supposed to supervise. That entailed him sitting in a chair outside, gnawing on meat skewered to swords, and occasionally waving. It was one of the perks of his job.

  Mid-meal a head landed on his lap, big brown eyes watering in anticipation. He knew he shouldn't, but he also knew it'd piss the templar off more as Alistair palmed wads of bread and a few carrots to the pink and black tongue panting near his crotch. Their dog, Honor, wiggled in happiness with each offering. Her entire backend caused the table to buck. Alistair would cast glances up at the head table, and while there was a scowl on the templar's face, Lanny was clearly trying to hide away her smile. It was worth it.

  With his stomach more or less over burdened in the stripped down meal, the pair in charge of the place wandered off and Alistair was led to a room. He'd expected to be sharing it, and was almost hoping to have that acrimonious woman from dinner. Her constant assertions of what was wrong with Ferelden these days would keep his thoughts off of the barely beating lump in his chest. But no, of course not. He was left alone to drop onto the cot someone was kind enough to toss a mattress on and wait.

  A single candle burned upon a nightstand, the wax being carefully caught for use later -- and someone left a book. Curious, Alistair paged through it, only to realize it was one of the chantry's supplements that they'd make templar recruits recite while waiting in line. Of course he'd have this here, it was a wonder the man didn't have a chanter stationed just outside their walls. More than likely Cullen would grunt out the old canticles while thrusting away...

  Sneering at his imagination biting against him, Alistair chucked the book back onto the nightstand and moved to lean back on the blank mattress. The door opened, and he stood up only to have disappointment personified standing there.

  "Here's a pillow and blanket for the night," Cullen said. He didn't hurl them at Alistair's head but it was crystal clear from the sneer deepening his lips that he wanted to.

  Snatching both up, Alistair dropped the pillow in place but wrapped the blanket around his shoulders like a cloak. The abbey was freezing, or he was too used to being constantly pampered with already lit fires. "Thanks, here's hoping I don't become a human ice block by morning."

  "Yes, that'd be a real tragedy," the templar deadpanned, the jawline twitching harder. "Lana's attending to rounds, but..." He pointed out the door he barely crossed into as if afraid of Alistair attacking him. Groaning, Cullen dug into the back of his neck and stepped back and forth on his feet.

  Before he could start the accusations that'd probably been building since learning of Alistair's untimely arrival, Alistair spoke up, "Sorry for dropping in without messaging ahead first. If I'd had it my way I wouldn't have a reason to come."

  "That..." the man screwed up his eyes, "I don't like you."

  "No," Alistair gasped, "I am shocked and appalled. What about all those late nights we shared together? The bonhomie built over bonfires? Being knocked about on deck during storms at sea? Did it all mean nothing?"

  That earned him the gravel munching growl Alistair expected. He wanted it, wanted to make someone at least a tenth of as miserable as he felt. "But," Cullen spat out, "you're her guest. And I won't interfere in that."

  Alistair blinked in surprise. He wasn't expecting that. Lanny was good at getting her way relying upon a special blend of tenacity and logic, but even she deferred to her husband in matters of things that made him uncomfortable. Being one of the chantry's once golden boys, nearly anything different made him run scampering away scared.

  "Look at that," Cullen snickered, "four years and I finally found a way to shut you up."

  "I am merely out of practice. There aren't as many templars running around in Denerim as there once were," Alistair stumbled, annoyed at himself for giving in so fast.

  "For which you have us to thank," he didn't bow. Shit, in all the time they traveled together he never once showed a lick of deference even while always calling him King. Whistling for his dog, the templar turned on his heel and marched away.

  Tugging the blanket cloak off his shoulders, Alistair slumped onto the bed. He didn't fall asleep, but his mind skipped aimlessly through his thoughts. Most of it was pure nonsense, with an emphasis on the cheese unicorn he was certain could work if he just got the right mage to see his mad brilliance. But lurking at the heart of it all was Reiss. He kept tripping back to their first meeting in his bedroom, her room. She'd looked uncertain while facing up to this big new world, but didn't flinch for a moment as he fumbled and bumbled around. Even then Alistair wanted to kiss her, to rub salve on the tips of her ears
and promise he'd protect her. Fat lot that did. All his words added up to was a pile of horse shit and nothing else. She didn't want him, didn't even need him. He was the lone brussels sprout bobbing in the stew that you tossed to the dogs, and even they knew better than to eat it.

  A knock broke through the fog of near sleep, and Alistair sat up as the door opened. He was surprised to find the creep of night framing behind Lanny. "Sorry that took so long, there's been a problem with..." her eyes wandered over the threadbare blanket clinging to him, "Maker's sake, is that all Cullen gave you?"

  "Don't worry, I was thinking about embracing my new life as a meat iceberg."

  She rolled her eyes skyward and slid into the room, "It's not as if we don't have plenty in stock. I'll get you more blankets, and a better pillow." Groaning, she collapsed onto the second cot in the room, this one missing a mattress.

  "I'm getting the impression your ball and chain doesn't much care for me," Alistair snickered.

  "It's not that," she said, before pausing and shifting her head, "it's some of that. He's not having a good day."

  "Due to that dashing, rapscallion king wandering into his home unannounced no doubt. And daring to stay the night as well, most unbecoming."

  Lanny chuckled a moment at Alistair's bully for them voice before she folded her head into her hands, "You had nothing to do with it. It's a Wednesday."

  "Pretty sure it's Saturday," he said, his eyes crossing to try and remember if that was right.

  "Never mind, it's... How are you doing?" she reached over across the gap between their beds, her fingers skirting over his. Alistair watched her sweet brown skin softly rolling over his sallow flesh, entranced in it a moment before shaking his head.