My Love

by Sabrina Zbasnik

  Alistair blinked a few times, then smiled wider, "Did you hear that Duncan, Duncina? You've got some far better father out there. I bet he gives you biscuits every night and lets you stay up late. Oh, and how could I forget..." He pulled back on the latch for the door below Lana and opened it to reveal her distended belly. Tenderly placing a guarding hand against it, Alistair cooed to her womb, "Number three coming in two months time."

  "Three, Alistair," she corrected him while stroking his cheek, "it'll be three months time. You're so bad at counting." Unperturbed by his failed maths, Alistair wrapped Lana in his arms, careful to leave room for her growing belly. A wrathful red haze bundled in the back of Cullen's skull and he turned away, but he couldn't escape the image imprinted on the back of his eyes. Lana, draped in worn grey linen, her body soft and curvy as it filled with new life. Maker, give me strength. I beg it of you. Please.

  "How," Cullen gasped, his eyes burrowing into the floorboards. He couldn't look at her, not now, not as his. "How can you have children?"

  "When a mommy and a daddy love each other very much..." Alistair began, then he waved his hands around and blushed, "Surely someone mentioned it to you before. There might be a couple pigs out back that could demonstrate it for you."

  "You met at the battle of Ostagar, yes?" Cullen continued, needing to pull sense back into this senseless man.

  Smiling like an idiot, Alistair draped an arm around the back of his imaginary wife and she placed her head upon his chest. "Yup, king Cailan, the grey wardens, and the armies of Ferelden stopped the blight right then and there. It was so romantic."

  "You're terrible," Lana giggled as she dug deeper into him.

  Cullen wished he could jam rags in his ears so he wouldn't have to hear her voice whisper those words to Alistair, not while she was... "But, you only met because you're both grey wardens, right?" Cullen continued, not about to abandon him now.

  Alistair nodded his head, the goofy smile fading lower, "Yes."

  Lifting his head, Cullen stared deep into the king's eyes and said the damning evidence, "Grey wardens cannot have children."

  "What's he on about?" Lana asked, but Alistair slid away from her, his skin struggling to escape what his mind finally woke up to tell him wasn't real. "Ali...?" she continued, and he turned towards her.

  Picking up both of her hands, he kissed one, then the other, "Let me talk to Cullen, Lanny. We'll get it all figured out. You should get the kids ready for bed."

  "It'll be light out for hours," she chided.

  "Ready for pre-bed. Won't be more than a minute," he ran his thumb against her cheek then he reached over to Cullen and grabbed onto his arm, dragging him into the room. Despite having sparred before, Cullen was surprised at the strength yanking him further away from the young family. "I don't know what game you're playing at here, templar, but you cannot harm her. Do you hear me? I won't let you do that."

  "You're not thinking clearly," Cullen hissed in a whisper. The king backed him against a corner. Out of the side of his eye, Cullen caught the glint of a sword hung on the wall now within easy reaching distance of Alistair. "This isn't real. That isn't Lana. It's the fade."

  Alistair sneered, teeth gritted as he glowered at him, "Or, or maybe you're a rogue templar sent to find her, to try and take back a free mage because you and your chantry can't handle the idea of her happy. You will not touch her or the children. I will not allow it!"

  "For the Maker's sake, man, you know me. I would never hurt Lana."

  He swallowed deeper, something percolating in his brain, but it didn't stick. Alistair jabbed a finger at Cullen, "Before today, we had never even met."

  "Then how did you know my name? I never spoke it."

  "I...I, um," Alistair's eyes darted back towards his wife who was bent over to whisper to her daughter and son, her hand caressing her belly. "No, there was a, I overheard it from somewhere, or guessed right. That's what it was. Pure luck. I can't..." Tears welled up in his eyes; he didn't bother to try and wipe them away or fight them back in. They rolled in streaks down his cheeks as the king crumpled his forehead into his hand. "No, I can't go back to before, to-to abandon what I wished more than ever. The lie is so much more, than..."

  Cullen grabbed onto his forearm, digging his fingers deep to try and draw the man back, "We can still save her, the real Lana. If we get out of here, escape from the fade. She needs us."

  He glanced over his shoulder at his Lanny, the imaginary one the fade created, the perfect one to trap him the same as it tried to do to Cullen. "I could stay here, be happy, really happy," Alistair whispered. A frown shifted across his face and he pinched his nose. Blinking back the tears, he wiped his cheeks and plastered on a smile.

  "Love," Alistair called, his full attention upon Lanny.

  "Look at what your daughter's drawn," she said, holding up a sheet of paper.

  Slipping away from Cullen, Alistair picked up the parchment and pretended to love it, "It's a perfect representation of me on a dragon," he mumbled barely looking at the drawing before turning to Lana. "I just remembered I left a few things out in the field. And I should bring them in, in case it rains."

  "Oh Ali, do you have to do it now? Dinner's almost ready."

  He flinched from the fade pulling against him, the demon doing all it could to keep him trapped. Alistair picked up her hand and smiled, "I won't be more than five minutes at most, I promise. Then, when I come back I'll...read to Duncan and-and braid Duncina's hair." Eyes lingering across both imaginary children, he swooped his arms around Lana's waist and pulled her tight to his body. The pair shared a deep kiss goodbye, one that Cullen shielded his eyes from, before Alistair brushed her cheek one last time. "Be back soon."

  Faking the smile, he turned to march towards the door frame and their escape. Cullen followed in behind, Honor on his trail, when Lana called out in the sweetest voice, "What if I made you walk barefoot across a lake of fire?"

  Alistair froze, a shudder knotting up every muscle along his back. His head dropped down against his chest and he breathed in slow, ragged gasps for a moment. Screwing his eyes up tight, the king gripped onto the door frame. Cullen was afraid he'd need to shove the man through to end this, the king's knuckles white from the strain. Alistair clucked his tongue a few times before he whispered in a brittle voice, "There's nothing you can do in all of thedas or beyond to get me to stop loving you."

  Releasing his grip on the frame, Alistair slipped out of the house into the blinding white light of the fade. Blinking from the change, Cullen rubbed his eyes until they came upon creaking wood. Flipping to face each direction all he saw was wood wrapped around wood, beams propping up even more wood, boxes of wood. "I think we're on a ship," he said aloud, the roll of the waves knocking him back and forth on his feet.

  Alistair stood in front of him, his fist bunched up tight and shoulders scrunched up. He didn't say anything, didn't turn towards him, only dug his fingers deeper into his palm as if bleeding himself could draw the demon's poison from his heart.

  "We should find Aqun," Cullen said, "and then the demon who's trapped us here."

  "And kill it," Alistair whispered, his voice throaty and raw, the words clawing out through a rage boiling inside him.

  "Yes, kill it," Cullen nodded. "Do you think she'll be on deck or...?"

  A singing reverberated through the ship, sweet and airy, almost as light as the solos performed during chantry services in Val Royeaux, but Cullen didn't understand any of the language. He set out to follow the voice, then paused. Honor followed by his side, but the king kept remained frozen in place, his eyes glaring through the distance. Uncertain if he should whistle at the man or try and shove him to start, Cullen reached out to steady himself on his sword, causing the sheathe to knock against a cargo crate. The noise drew Alistair's attention and he whipped his head at him the way a vengeful bird would. Streaks of tears hung down his cheeks, but no new rivers fell as if they'd run dry. A soul crushing anger pulsed in his eyes, threatening
any who dared to stand before him. For the first time since setting out, Cullen feared what the man would do to him. He'd stolen Alistair's only chance at happiness.

  The king swallowed a few times, and then he dug the back of his hand across his eyes. It wasn't the usual effervescent self, but the anger blotted away from Alistair and with a tight, straining jaw he bobbed his head. Cullen patted him on the shoulder, and nodded. He knew the pain, but if this worked then they'd free themselves of it and find her. It was worth it.

  Shoving past crates stacked to the ceiling in the hold, Cullen followed the voice picking through the maze. "Shok ebasit hissra. Meraad astaarit, meraad itwasit, aban aqun. Maraas shokra. Anaan esaam Qun."

  The sweet timbre rattled at the final word, eventually fading to a bitter gasp as the woman dropped her head into her lap. Aqun sat upon a barrel, but she looked different. Ribbons knotted up her horns, beads dangling off the ends and even a few bells. She wasn't dressed in the revealing but also imposing strip armor of the qunari, but wore a simple tan dress with brass buttons running the entire length down the front. It looked like the typical outfit for fieldworkers.

  "Aqun?" Cullen whispered.

  She tossed her head, almost colliding her horns with the ship. More Qunlat rolled off her tongue, the words staggered in her struggles to breathe, the long vowels hopping back and forth. Even if he could speak the language it was doubtful he'd have understood it through her grief. This was wrong. The demon tried to lull both of them into a false happiness, to keep them wrapped up forever in bliss. Why did it draw pain from the qunari?

  Her hauntingly blue eyes rolled over at Cullen, and then to the king hovering behind him. "This is not correct," she said in common, her own jaw gritted tight.

  "No, it's not. It's the fade, a demon's trapped us, and we have to break out," Cullen nodded. He was grateful he didn't have to try and convince an angry qunari that she couldn't stay in her perfect happiness, but he was curious why she wasn't fighting him. "How can you tell?"

  Aqun shifted back on her barrel to reveal another qunari dressed in the same tan dress curled up on the deck, fast asleep. "Because, she shouldn't be alive." Both men watched the woman, barely even that, slumbering peacefully. Her breath bounced an errant strip of white hair in front of her mouth. Aqun shied away from touching her, keeping her feet and arms locked tight against the barrel, but she couldn't stop watching. Almost as if she wanted to reach over and push the tickling hairs away from the woman's face.

  "We should go," Aqun said. "Free ourselves before we lose too much to this demon. It is a demon, yes? You, templar, must feel it."

  Cullen nodded, it had to be a demon doing this to them. He could only tear himself away from his false Lana because of the hope that she was yet out there, still needed him to save her, to give them both another chance. What kind of willpower did it take for Aqun to slide away so easily?

  Hopping off the barrel, Aqun gestured towards a backdoor into what must have been the qunari kitchen. "We can escape through there. We are whole. It will not stand against us. Please, I need to..." she wrapped both her hands around her horns and twisted her head back and forth to try and ground herself, "Leaving is preferential," she said. Happy to oblige, Cullen pulled open the door and moved to step through when the sleeping woman stirred, a soft cry breaking through her dreams. He froze, prepared to turn back and grab onto Aqun to drag her onward, but she stood straight, her eyes staring through the hull of the ship.

  "Panahedan, kadan," Aqun whispered before disappearing through the door. Whistling at Honor to follow, Cullen stepped out of the fade and fell back into the real world.

  The first thing to welcome him back was water seeping across his skin, and a pain knotting against his already swollen jaw. He cracked open an eye, then another, to find himself level with the fetid runoff. Struggling to not breathe in the water, Cullen rose up, splashing himself in the process, and grabbed onto his throbbing head. Then he remembered the demon, and he leaped to his feet, his fingers searching for his sword's grip.

  "You need not bother, templar," Aqun's voice rang out from inside the room. A single halo of light circled around her while she stood like a holy statue, still as the grave. "Whatever demon was here is gone."

  Behind him, Cullen heard Alistair shuffling through the water, his feet dragging as if he'd lost the ability to lift them. "That's not possible, demons do not vanish," Cullen said. Unsheathing his sword, he paced into the room. Five pillars ringed it with green crystals embedded into the top, each in the shape of an eye, but none of them glowed the haunting white light. At least not anymore.

  "This one appears to have," Aqun shrugged. "Either we will have to face it again or it has fled into the fade."

  He tried to find it, twisting his head back and forth for the tell tale smell of sulfur but nothing like that floated through the room. If anything, it almost smelled of cold tea, roses, and the spray of sea water. "I do not like this," Cullen said, keeping his sword extended.

  "No one does," Aqun gestured at the king then turned her back on him. "We continue in this direction," she pointed to the only open portal and began to stomp towards it.

  Rolling his eyes at her impatience, Cullen turned to Alistair needing to confer with another templar. Instead of standing near, or happily prodding at the walls, the king stumbled into the room and fell to his knees. Stale water splashed against his clothes, welling up the entire bottom half of his pants, but the man didn't seem to notice.

  Alistair's eyes stared through the walls, his lips mouthing something in practice before he finally asked, "Are you going to hit me again?"

  "Ah," Cullen stumbled, unprepared for that question. "No," he shook his head, "no, I...no."

  "Feels like you should," he whimpered, pressing his palm against the cheek Cullen bruised before. Alistair must have been weighing every poor decision he ever made against that perfect moment the demon dangled before him, questioning what he could have done to make it possible in his life. Cullen assumed it, because he was doing the same.

  "I hate the fucking fade," Alistair hissed. "First, it's my sister but not my sister, because she wasn't a colossal... Then, my father who kept me, let me grow up as his. With Lanny there beside me as, I don't know, a princess or someone I could be with. And now?" He gasped, digging his palms into his eyes. "I'd have given anything, bled myself dry to, to make the impossible happen." The king of Ferelden swatted his hand against the water with a flat palm hard enough the slap echoed through the room. Even in the dank pit, Cullen could see red welling up from his assault. Staring at his slapped hand, Alistair paused and a cruel quirk twisted up his lips, "Let me guess, yours was just a really, really good sword. Hard to leave and all but..."

  "It was Lana," Cullen interrupted. He hated revealing anything about himself, but in this instance he needed to say the words as if speaking them would also banish the touch of her skin, the taste of her lips, the sound of her voice. Obliterate how the demon's vision plucked into his heart and almost kept him forever. "She tried to convince me that she'd survived Adamant. Any memories I had of the-of her death were a blood mage's doing."

  "Maker damned demons," Alistair hissed, "they're too smart."

  "A simple vision, I know. Nothing like what you..." shame curled up in his stomach. Somehow, Cullen sat smug in the right, knowing that his love was purer than the king's because he'd never broken her heart, never offered up a promise he couldn't keep, because of the reason of it being him. But he hadn't dreamed up an entire family, a life away from everything she hated, perfection for them both. It was just more of the same but with Lana in it. Did he even deserve her?

  "A nursery," Alistair whispered, breaking through Cullen's fog.

  "What?"

  "The queen needed a nursery for, you know, and she decided that it was time we, time I clear out Lanny's room. I kept one for her in the palace so she wouldn't have to keep dealing with thieves at the inns or drunks trying to challenge the Hero of Ferelden to a duel. I hadn't ent
ered it since she'd...since she died. Wasn't strong enough to-to look upon her few things. Not the -- you know -- staves, and books, and other weapons of hers, but the important stuff."

  Alistair smiled through a wall of tears, and he sat up higher off his knees, "She had this little gear golem that if you turned the crank would lean down, pick up a boulder, then drop it back in place. Loved that thing like crazy, even if it only worked one out of every hundred tries. Lanny'd say 'Just wait, it'll get it this time' and I'd watch her crank it over and over until the broken thing finally went."

  Cullen remembered the bear she kept in her room at Skyhold. He'd been curious about it, especially as he'd seen it in various stages of being complete and then back to a million pieces, but never questioned her on it. His mechanical knowledge was apt for weapons of war, not microscopic screws and gears.

  "Her phylactery," Alistair continued, and he jabbed a thumb at Cullen's pocket. Obliging, Cullen unearthed the glass bottle that cast a red glow over them, and placed it in the king's hands. The king smiled through his tears and patted it like a dog's head, "It was in her room too. I couldn't bear to look at it, but I couldn't throw it away either. It was hers, it was her. The last bit of her to know when she fell, and..." Alistair turned and stared up at Cullen. On his knees he looked as if he was begging for forgiveness from him, "I only saw that it came to life because the queen told me to throw it away so she could have her nursery. Who knows how long it's been doing this half alive, half dead thing? Maybe it went all alive a year ago, and has been slipping. I don't know, because I was too much of a coward to look, to check, to hope that..."

  "It's all right," Cullen whispered.

  "No, it isn't," the king whipped his head back in forth in a frothy rage.

  "None of us could have expected her to come back."

  Alistair snorted, and rolled his eyes, "If it's Lanny, always expect the unexpected. I, of all people, should have learned that."