Chapter 1
Newlyweds

"This is so exciting, Lyra! I love traveling…" Leliana said, and spun herself around in delight. "I'm packed. I have been since the day after the wedding. Aren't you excited to leave? How can you be socalm?"

Leliana bounced around the room, watching as the king and queen of Ferelden assembled their luggage in preparation for their honeymoon trip. Lyra grinned to herself, amused by the bard's extreme exhilaration. She and Alistair reached for the same bag at the same time, and their fingers touched. It was excuse enough. Alistair dropped the shirt he was holding and wound Lyra into his arms, finding her lips with his own. Her eyes fluttered closed as their kiss lengthened, and then deepened, and out of the corner of her consciousness she heard Leliana squeal and clap her hands.

From his spot by the fire, Kestrel lifted his head and whined, looking at the exuberant bard in annoyance. He whuffed, irritated, and then lowered his head back down to his paws, intending on sleeping despite the unnecessary noise.

"I love newlyweds! They make for wonderful inspiration," Leliana sighed.

"If you keep doing that, she's bound to launch herself right to the moon," Lyra murmured against Alistair's lips.

"Do you object?" he murmured back, and brushed his nose against hers, affection filling his touch. A blissful smile crept across her features, dark blue eyes drifting open to look on her husband's face.

"Not in the slightest," she whispered, and his lips claimed hers again.

"You two are the most adorable thing ever!" Leliana skipped to the desk and seized a quill in her shapely fingers. The sound of her pen scratching against vellum brought Lyra down from the clouds, and Alistair began to chuckle.

"We're not material, Leliana. You're quickly wearing out your welcome," he said, his hands clasping together behind Lyra's back. She snuggled into his neck and pressed a kiss against his skin, unable to help herself. He was simply too delicious to resist.

"I saw that," Leliana said, and the pen flew again."

"Why is she coming along, again?" Alistair whispered to his wife, his warm breath sending shivers along her spine. Lyra tried to ignore the thought that Leliana was watching them with the eyes of a hawk, storing away every glance, every touch, every kiss, to be regurgitated onto vellum and then put to music.

"To keep Wynne company," Lyra said. Alistair grazed his lips along the length of her neck, and Lyra cleared her throat meaningfully. Sighing with regret, Alistair looked at the bard in consternation. A cat's grin glittered from Leliana's face, greedy eyes sparkling with fun.

"Out, Leliana," Alistair said.

"Oh, fine. Leave me to imagine it, then," Leliana teased, and Lyra snatched the vellum from her hands as she sauntered to the door. Leliana shrieked, and Lyra's hand shot upward, preventing the paper's recapture. Height was sometimes a blessing – Lyra had an easy four inches on the red-head.

"No stories, Leli. No songs, no ballads, no…epics." Lyra was stern. "This is supposed to be a honeymoon, not a research trip. You're coming along purely to keep Wynne company."

"Oh, for Maker's sake. I know," Leliana grumped. "Fine. But don't get rid of that," she warned, gesturing to the paper in Lyra's hand. As soon as the door had clicked shut behind her, Lyra and Alistair peered at the scroll, eager to see what Leliana's mind had invented.

"Oh, Maker," Alistair groaned as they read her words. "Are you seeing this?"

"Unfortunately," Lyra said, laughter spilling forth. Her finger jabbed the page, underlining a bit of script. "This is my favorite part… they held each other with the passion inherent in a sunrise…what does that even mean?"

"Maker's ass. Why can't it be just us?" Alistair implored, and Lyra sighed and set the vellum down, privately agreeing with him.

"You know why."

"Blah, blah, blah – politics, duty, safety in numbers. We're newlyweds," Alistair said. "We're supposed to be alone with each other for weeks on end. Mostly naked."

"Believe me, I would love nothing more than to be alone with you for weeks on end, mostly naked," Lyra laughed. Calloused fingers skimmed the surface of her cheek, bringing a flush and a heady smile to her face. His eyes sent desire rippling through her, and she fought for concentration. "But the only way we're getting away at all is by combining this trip with politics. We have some visits to make…everyone wants to welcome the new king. And we should take the opportunity to see exactly what the status is with everything and everyone in Ferelden. This is important, and we have the perfect excuse to poke our noses in everywhere."

Alistair nodded glumly, thinking of all of the places they'd be visiting. It was all true, but it didn't make it fun.

"Can you believe Eamon wanted to send twenty soldiers with us? We'd be sleeping in an armed camp!" Alistair said, turning back to their bags. Isolde had tried to insist that the servants could pack for them, but Alistair and Lyra had been happy to take on the chore. Lyra wanted to be certain that some practical clothing made it into their bags – she was afraid of opening her luggage and discovering nothing but ankle-length dresses with froth and lace foaming at the sleeves. Not that shedisliked dressing up, but every day? And while traveling?

"Actually, we'll probably be at inns most of the way – either that, or staying at all of the various holdings we're visiting," Lyra said. "We've got a fairly specific schedule."

"Damned schedule," Alistair grumbled. "Will there be any nudity?"

"I promise you, there will be…gratuitous nudity," Lyra giggled. "So much nudity that you'll be dying to get your clothing back on."

"Never," Alistair vowed. "Around you? All I want is to be naked…" He combed his fingers through her hair and touched his lips to hers, pulling her close and taking in the sweet, soft fragrance that was so specifically Lyra. She breathed a contented sigh, drinking in the nearness of him.

"How are you feeling?" he asked, a look of concern flitting across his face. His hand strayed to her belly.

"Fine, truly," she said. "Tired. But Wynne says that's normal."

"And you're sure it's okay for us to…" he trailed off, and she smiled at his hesitation to voice the words. His charming awkwardness was one of the things she loved best about him.

"I'm sure," she said. "You don't seriously expect me to last the rest of this pregnancy without you? That's…" she counted in her head. "…just over seven months. Besides, Wynne told me it's fine as long as there's no pain."

He nodded, concern drawing his brows together, and traced her cheek. "You'll tell me?" he said, and she promised, and then gave a squeak of surprise as he scooped her up into his arms.

Kestrel looked up again at her distressed sound, his eyes narrowing a bit, but then he decided the man was only playing and could ultimately be trusted. The mabari laid his head on his paws, keeping watchful eyes trained on Alistair. Since the beginning of Lyra's pregnancy, the war hound had been more protective than usual, and as much as he adored the man, Lyra had always been his first responsibility – one that he took seriously.

"You are entirely too dressed," Alistair grinned, and Lyra protested, struggling to get out of his arms before he could convince her to spend more time in the enormous bed that dominated one corner of their suite. She really would have preferred to climb under the covers with him and have dinner brought to the room, but newlyweds or no, they had responsibilities, and leaving in the morning meant being ready for the trip.

"We have to pack," Lyra scolded, and Alistair set her down on the coverlet, caging her with his strong arms. From the corner, Kestrel yawned, liquid eyes closing in boredom. His humans apparently intended to play their favorite game, and he slipped into an unworried snooze.

"We have time," Alistair said, and lipped the soft skin of her neck.

"Not that much," she objected, enjoying what he was doing more than she let on.

"Then stop me," he challenged her, and her hands grazed his chest, intent on pushing him away. Alistair's eyes were entreating, warm and soft with desire, and she felt herself melting under his gaze. The fabric of his shirt was smooth beneath her fingers, and before she quite realized what she was doing she had pulled it free of his waistband and begun to work it up over his head.

Alistair grinned in triumph as the shirt hit the floor, and Lyra sat up to unfasten her dress, conceding defeat.

"You're evil," she said as he hauled the garment off of her body and tossed it onto a chair. He knelt on the floor and plucked the shoes from her feet, then ran his hands up the lengths of her legs to the top of her smallclothes. He did look a tad demonic when he swooped down and took the edge of her underwear in his teeth. She shrieked with laughter at the joyous glint in his eyes as he drew them downward with the aid of his fingers.

"We're married now," he reminded her. "This is as far from evil as it gets."

"Riiiight. So you'll be telling Mother Perpetua all about this," Lyra said, her voice dripping with sarcasm, and Alistair's eyes widened in mock disbelief.

"Lyra, I'm surprised at you!" he admonished her. "Mother Perpetua…only dreams of what we're about to do."

"Alistair!" Lyra said with real shock, laughing at his irreverence. He grinned at her and shucked the rest of his clothing, letting it fall in a heap on the floor before climbing over her again. She pulled him close, as eager for him as he was for her, and they spent a blissful hour tangling the blankets, deliriously happy to be alive and married to one another.

.oOo.

They did have dinner sent up, but it was mostly because Lyra was tired and it was faster than dressing and seating themselves in the small hall to be waited on by the servants. Isolde would draw out the meal with more decorum than either of them felt like dealing with.

After they ate, Alistair threw a few more things in their bags and then went to meet with Arl Eamon Guerrin. As his regent, Eamon would take care of the day-to-day concerns of the kingdom while they were gone. Alistair had no doubt that the man could handle it – and likely with far more alacrity than Alistair would at this early point in his royal education. He was learning, but one didn't become a competent ruler in the space of a few weeks.

While he was gone, Lyra bathed and dressed in soft sleeping clothes, preparing for Wynne to arrive and examine her. It was a full week since the morning she'd first gotten sick; since their discovery that it wasn't impossible for a Grey Warden to conceive, after all. It still seemed too impossible to be true; that come the spring she would have a tiny someone who belonged only to the two of them. After being convinced that she would spend her life childless, it was more of a miracle than she had dared to hope for.

"Anything you think I should know about?" Wynne asked, glowing hands hovering over Lyra's midsection. Kestrel sat protectively close, observing the mage like the hawk he was named for.

"No, not really. Everything seems to be fine, although I'm exhausted." Wynne dismissed this as normal, and Lyra continued. "If it weren't for that, and the morning sickness, I would still have no idea I was pregnant."

"That's the best thing you could have possibly said. No symptoms are good symptoms," Wynne's voice was cheery. "Tired is normal. Your body is being taxed a lot… don't push yourself. As for the morning sickness, you'll probably have that for another six weeks or so. If it gets very bad, have Alistair bring you a piece of hard bread, and eat it with a little salt before you get up in the morning," Wynne's fingers rested on Lyra's abdomen, the magical glow giving her insight that a non-mage would lack. "When do you plan on announcing the news?"

"Not until we get back, I think," Lyra said. "We'd rather not have people counting on their fingers just yet. Do you have any idea when I'll start showing?"

"First babies are funny, and it depends on the mother and her body type. All we can really do is wait and see," Wynne said. "But chances are good that people will be watching you for signs of breeding, anyhow, and the rumors will start whether you want them to or not. If I had a way to prevent your morning sickness, I would, just to grant you two the peace you deserve. Just try to stay in your rooms until it passes. Play up the newlywed bit – have breakfast sent up. And eat, and sleep," she said.

"Yes, ma'am," Lyra said with a smile.

"Your little passenger is doing just fine," Wynne concluded, and the glow faded from her hands. She scratched Kestrel behind his ears, praising his attentive care, and the huge mabari panted happily and tried to swipe her with his tongue. Lyra drew her soft bed-shirt back down over her pants and sat up, swinging her legs over the edge of the bed.

"You're packed?" Wynne asked.

"Mostly," Lyra said.

"I need to finish, as well. With your leave, your Majesty?" Wynne said, a twinkle in her eye, and Lyra waved her out with a wry grin. With her own parents gone and this new, scary prospect of birth and parenthood looming, she was grateful for the competent mage's continued presence. She couldn't imagine ever ordering the motherly mage around, queen or no.

Leliana breezed in as Wynne left, plopping herself onto the bed beside her best friend. Kestrel barked a greeting, and she reached down to tweak his ear before turning to Lyra.

"Everything good?" the bard asked, and Lyra nodded.

"Good," Leliana said, and pulled her legs up to sit cross-legged. "Where's Alistair?"

"Meeting with Eamon. He'll be in soon, and then we're going to bed. I'm worn out," Lyra yawned. "Wynne says growing a baby is hard work, and I'm starting to think she's right. I did almost nothing today and I'm just so tired."

"You're looking beautiful," Leliana remarked with a smile. "It's true what they say about pregnant women – you're glowing, ma chère. Zevran commented on it, as well. Are you sure I can't tell him?"

"Quite sure," Lyra said firmly. "Keep your bardic mouth shut, Miss 'I can keep a secret'."

"Oh, that was only once," Leliana scoffed. "And Alistair told us all anyway that he was Maric's son. Eventually. You really shouldn't be annoyed with me about that anymore."

"I'm not. But don't tell anyone else about this, please," Lyra said, and Leliana grumbled, but agreed.

"Did Zevran tell you what he's arranging while you're gone?" Leliana said. She hopped off the bed to pluck Lyra's hairbrush from the dresser, where it waited to be slipped into a small travel bag. Returning to the bed, she scooted herself behind Lyra, gathering the sable locks in her fingers and running the brush through them. Lyra let her head fall back; Leliana's pampering treatment relaxing her.

"He told us he's training some guards for us," she said. "And something about how security at the wedding was way too loose…"

Leliana inspected Lyra's hair, which was growing out nicely after being sheared off in the Brecilian forest to save her from the clutches of the demon trees. Lanaya of the Dalish had cleaned it up and styled it after Zevran's hasty job with his dagger, and Leliana thought her friend was adorable with her shoulder-length 'do. But for someone who had spent a lifetime with hair that reached her waist, Lyra's adjustment to shorter locks was slow in coming.

"He told me he was a wreck the entire time. Apparently Fereldans don't have any idea of how to protect themselves from assassins," Leliana said. "If he wasn't completely correct, I'd be annoyed with him on your behalf."

"Was it really that bad?" Lyra asked, concerned. Her two roguish friends would know better than anyone how easily an assassin could slip through the protections of the castle – murder and intrigue came as easily as breathing to them, and Lyra was more than glad that Zevran and Leliana were on their side.

"Bad enough," Leliana said. "But Zevran is getting everything straightened out. And if he misses anything, I'll take care of it."

"Thank you," Lyra said. With the rhythmic stroke of the hairbrush, she was slipping into a languid almost-doze. "How are you and Zevran?" It was obvious to those with eyes that things were bordering on tense between the two. She rather suspected it was this, and not a desire to keep Wynne company, that was sending Leliana along on her friend's honeymoon trip.

Leliana fell silent, and that was enough reason for Lyra's eyes to snap open wide. She turned to stare at her friend. Leliana looked pensive, her eyes firmly fixed on the bed, one finger tracing a pattern on the coverlet. Lyra waited, and Leliana's eyes finally flickered upward to meet hers.

"Complicated," the bard said, and she sighed and tapped the brush on the bed. "Things are complicated."

"Is he tiring of you?" Lyra asked, sympathy for her friend welling up. A look of surprise lit Leliana's face, and she began to laugh.

"Oh, gracious no… If that were only the case," she said, her laughter morphing into a sad smile. She paused, searching for the beginning of her explanation, and Lyra eased the brush from Leliana's fingers. Catching her meaning, Leliana shifted around to allow the queen a turn at brushing her hair. Their roles reversed, Leliana allowed Lyra's gentle touches to soothe her into a state of calm, and finding the words became simple.

"Zevran is falling in love with me." Quiet, even, and filled with pain, Leliana's musical voice struck a chord of remorse and worry. Lyra's breath caught with realization, the full meaning of such a thing filling her mind. What had begun as a night born of mutual need had apparently taken the assassin by storm, and Zevran was being caught in the downpour. I wasn't sure he had it in him, Lyra thought.

"But… you don't love him back," Lyra guessed, and Leliana made an affirming noise.

"I wish I could. Lyra, he's wonderful…he's sweet, and thoughtful, and terribly handsome…and under all of that bluster and arrogance he really is a fantastic lover. Any woman would be grateful to have a man like him."

"But you're not any woman," Lyra said, smoothing the short red hair to a shine.

"No. I'm not," Leliana agreed. No other words came, and Lyra prepared to wait until her friend was ready to tell her the rest.

"Sometimes I actually miss Marjolaine," Leliana said softly, and Lyra set down the brush and pulled her friend into her arms. Leliana held her tightly, and Lyra felt the tension in the set of her shoulders. She remembered the exuberance that Leliana had exhibited earlier, and suspected it had been an attempt at smothering her own feelings.

"You deserve a woman so much better than Marjolaine," Lyra said, voice filled with love and assurance, arms guaranteeing a safe place to rest and recover. "And you'll find her. I know you will."

"What if I'm alone forever, Lyra?" Leliana whispered. "Maybe I should just stay with Zevran…"

"If you don't love him, you shouldn't," Lyra said. "He offered you comfort when you needed it – that doesn't make you beholden to him. And it doesn't alter your natural preferences." She drew back. "Or did that change when I wasn't looking?"

Leliana chuckled. "No…I'm still very firmly a lover of women. The only reason it worked out with Zevran at all was because… we both needed someone so much. I don't regret it – really. I just didn't expect it to last as long as it has, or to be as serious as it's gotten. He…offered me his earring." Her eyes were distraught, but Lyra didn't understand.

"Just one earring?" Lyra asked.

"It's…sort of like an engagement," Leliana said slowly, and Lyra released a breath of astonishment.

"Oh…my," Lyra said, realizing just how deep the assassin's feeling must run.

"I know! I didn't know what to say. Believe me, it's just as well that I'm leaving with you tomorrow," Leliana said. "Some time apart will be the best thing for us."

Lyra bit her lip, concern creasing her brow. "He'll still be here when we get back, Leli," she said. "Are you sure you don't want to talk to him tonight?"

"Quite sure," Leliana declared. "It can't end well, and I'd rather give both of us some space before then. Maybe he'll meet someone while we're gone… that would make things easier."

Lyra doubted any such thing would happen, but she didn't disabuse Leliana of the only hope on her horizon.

.oOo.

"You've got your itinerary?" Eamon asked, and Alistair nodded, exhaustion dragging at his eyelids. He rubbed a hand over his face, seeking relief from the constant demands – not on his body, but on his mind. His days began earlier and ended later, always requiring decisions more delicate and complex than 'which way do we go' and 'which monster dies first'. It was threatening to turn him prematurely gray.

"There's a copy in my belt pouch, and Wynne and Lyra both have them as well," he said, and yawned. Eamon couldn't help but drive his point home once more – he had to be certain that Alistair truly understood what was at stake.

"You've captured the public's imagination, but it's vital that you cement loyalties during this trip," Eamon said. "It won't do to give Anora reason to try anything. It was extremely generous of you to send her back to Gwaren, and I approve of the decision…but if you want to keep your throne, you'll manage this trip successfully, Alistair."

"I know, Eamon. Really….thank you for all of your help," Alistair said, and stood, intent on finding his bed as soon as possible. He held out his hand to shake, and Eamon's grip was firm.

"You've come so far, Alistair. You've outdone my highest expectations," the arl said, clear satisfaction filling his words with warmth. "I believe you'll do well, my boy."

Touched by the normally stoic man's speech, Alistair found himself feeling pleased and a little bit embarrassed. Eamon had never been demonstrative, and had never been the father figure Alistair had looked for while growing up. Duncan had filled that role, and only then after Alistair had grown. But the look of pride on Eamon's face, here and now, fulfilled Alistair in a way he had never realized was missing. The lonely child he'd been welcomed the affection at last, late as it was in coming.

"Thank you," Alistair said, his voice cracking slightly. He cleared his throat, and Eamon chuckled and clapped him on the shoulder.

"Maker speed your journey," he said, and Alistair nodded and headed off to his room.

Lyra had already tucked herself in, and Kestrel was curled up on the rug by the fire. He didn't even look up as Alistair entered, and the man patted the mabari as he passed by, drawing a contented sigh from the war dog. Alistair spent a moment in checking their preparations over, doing his best to ensure a quick and easy departure in the morning. His old splintmail, cleaned up and repaired, awaited in the corner beside Lyra's simple leather and plate. Their fancy dragonscale and drakescale armor was packed – both were excellent, but flashy, and neither of them wanted to attract more attention than necessary while on the road.

Alistair fingered his sword briefly…the runes that Sandal had drawn were as clear as ever, and the metal glinted in the low light, glittering like the star it had come from. Lyra's blades rested nearby, and he had made certain that all three weapons were sharpened well. It had become such a habit during their travels, and one that he was loath to break – he had been caring for his own weapons for too long to comfortably hand the duty off to someone else.

The open road was calling, and Alistair frankly couldn't wait to begin the trip. He climbed into bed beside his wife and cradled her body close, adoring the way she sighed at his touch. She cuddled into him, and his hands came to rest on her stomach, acutely conscious of the life within. A life they had created, a life that wouldn't have been possible without…

Morrigan.

Alistair fought to keep the witch from his thoughts, but there were times that she invaded his mind, unbidden, uncaring of his wishes or attempts to forget her. He suffered a brief flash of vision – Morrigan, seated on a log in the middle of the Wilds, staring up at the moon. Her golden eyes were fluid silver in the moonlight, pale skin gleaming luminescent as a pearl.

The vision shattered, skipping his mind back to the night in Redcliffe, recalling him of the ritual he hadn't known he took part in. Morrigan had tricked him; glamoured herself to look like the woman he loved, and used him like a stud to sire a life that would act as a beacon to the soul of an old god.

Her deception had saved his life and Lyra's, and Alistair was grateful… if a bit resentful. And somehow, Morrigan had arranged to give them a gift that was even greater… their own child. Wynne conjectured that Morrigan applied her extensive herbal knowledge to suppress the Grey Warden Taint and help them conceive. Another reason he had to thank the witch.

Would he have done it, knowing what he knew now? It was a question that had bothered Alistair for a week, ever since they had figured out exactly what had happened.

Would he have sought Morrigan's bed, knowing how it would affect the outcome of the battle with the Archdemon? Could he have betrayed his love to save her life?

Well… yes. That one was pretty easy to answer; he'd prefer Lyra furious with him to Lyra dead. What was harder was the idea that Morrigan might have used him to change fate, and the idea that the old god hadn't been destroyed was something that didn't rest easily, either.

One of us was supposed to die. Me. I was supposed to die. He worked his lower lip between his teeth.

I was ready for it…

He remembered his desperate race across the roof of Fort Drakon, the absolute evil of the Archdemon soaking the atmosphere as its snake's head twisted down upon him. His sword, sliding through the eye and locking into place as he fought a losing battle of life and death. Lyra's scream, following him down into blackness as he faded from existence…

He shivered.

He hadn't died, a fact that none of them could understand for weeks…not until the morning of the wedding, when they managed to deduce what Morrigan had done.

Alistair could barely remember the actual act – he'd been drugged, and anyway Morrigan had worn Lyra's appearance. He'd had no idea what was going on. For the last week he'd been plagued by the potential implications of that night. If what Wynne said was true, then Morrigan was now carrying the old god in her womb, and Maker only knew what that could mean.

As a Grey Warden, it bothered him. A lot. The Archdemon was supposed to be destroyed, he bit his lip. That's why we exist.

He remembered the exchange he'd had with Lyra after they'd found out.

"I thought we could just settle down to a nice, quiet kingdom, without trouble, without Darkspawn, without…witchy, strange…weird…Maker! What are we supposed to do about this?"

"Nothing," Lyra said firmly.

"What do you mean, nothing?" Alistair cried. "What if she comes after us? What if it's born another Archdemon, but this time it's in human form? What if-"

"What if you had died that day, Alistair?" Lyra shot back. "What if Morrigan had not done this? She saved your life!"

"I..." Alistair wavered, and he dropped back down on the bed.

"And for that, I bless her...a thousand times," Lyra said with feeling. She took Alistair's hand and pressed it to her face.

"If you had truly been dead...it wouldn't have been an hour before I'd have joined you," she whispered, and his brow creased in pain.

"Don't talk like that-"

"Don't tell me you wouldn't have been just as tempted. I'll call you a liar and not regret it," Lyra said, and he was forced to admit that she was right...they were two halves of a whole, greater than the sum of their parts.

"And now she's given us this gift, as well...she's giving us a family," Lyra said.

Let it go. Let her go.

Could he? Could he really ignore the fact that the deadly threat to Thedas had been… not stopped, but perhaps only paused? And that's my baby she's carrying. My child… who might become the next unholy danger to Ferelden. Can I ignore that?

It gnawed at him.

It would be better to mount the expedition now, before the babe was born, while it could still be destroyed with ease. Alistair the Grey Warden approved of this plan, wanted to carry it out without delay. Alistair the man objected, his veins turning to ice as he thought of murdering his own babe… and the mother, as well.

And what about Lyra, and the one she's carrying? Maker, I'm not cut out for this, he thought. Fate must really be having a laugh at my expense. Raised a bastard, told I could never be king… didn't even want to be king… denied a family of my own, and now…

It was really almost funny. As long as you weren't Alistair.

He recalled Morrigan's kiss on that fateful afternoon in Denerim when they had mounted Fort Drakon to slay the Archdemon. That kiss, desperate and passionate, had stunned him beyond belief, and he'd expected backlash from Lyra. But his wife – then fiancé – had been surprisingly lenient considering her previous bouts with jealousy, especially where Morrigan was concerned.

She told him later it was Morrigan's goodbye.

"You don't see yourself, and how desirable you are," Lyra had said when they'd talked about it. "If you weren't safely married, you'd likely have every woman in Ferelden at your feet. Morrigan was no exception, no matter how much she wanted to be. She loved you, Alistair."

"No," he said, confused. "She despised me."

"At first, maybe. But then the two of you got to be friends. And then she fell for you." Lyra's mouth quirked in a semblance of a smile that didn't reach her eyes. "Even I could see it, though I really, really didn't want to."

"Then why did she leave?" Alistair asked, and Lyra rolled her eyes at his lack of understanding.

"Why would she stay? You and I were engaged, and she had just used you in a dark ritual without your knowledge and came away from it carrying your child. How welcome do you think she would have been? She told me she wouldn't return – she wants to be left alone." Alistair was silent, troubled, digesting this idea, and Lyra's brows furrowed.

"You… would have wanted her to stay?" she asked, almost dreading his response. Snapping out of his thoughts, Alistair took her hand, seeking to reassure away her fears. He traced her fingers with his own as he sought the answer to her question.

"She…was my friend," Alistair said slowly. "I don't like the idea of not seeing my friend ever again. And if she is...um…in a delicate way, I'd want to be sure she was taken care of."

And I'd like to see my child, Alistair thought, wondering how his wife would react to that. He wasn't entirely certain of the forms one followed, when one had just married one's pregnant sweetheart and then discovered that one was expecting another child by another woman. Lyra had been jealous in the past, and he wanted to be sure that she understood how he felt. Even though he wasn't yet certain how he felt.

"But you and me, and our baby…" he laid a gentle hand on her belly. "…we're all there is," he continued, and Lyra's relieved smile lit him up from inside.

He gathered Lyra close, comforting himself with the shape of her body molded against his own. Alistair shut his eyes, praying for daylight to come and banish the strange visions of Morrigan and the babe she might carry from his mind and his heart.