Ok, this one is angsty, I warned you! I think this takes place before Without Saying Goodbye, right before Delia starts to think about searching for the cure. Oh, and I’ll continue the honeymoon-series too, but the angst screamed for my attention :’)
Two Sides of the Bed
Alistair x Delia Cousland
Words: 2711
It’s more difficult with each passing day. They are apart during the day, minding their own business—Delia fulfilling her duties as Warden Commander, and Alistair, well, Alistair’s helping his comrades with feeding the dogs and patrolling on the battlements. And the nights are no different. When they finally get into bed, they lie on the sides, never touching, slowly dozing off with their minds still fixated on their own problems. Especially her. He doesn’t know what’s gotten into her lately, but he’s hurt that she didn’t tell him anything. Just a brief ‘hey’, and she’s off to bed, pulling up the covers and ignoring him for the rest of the night. He tries once, to snuggle closer to her, but Delia is especially moody nowadays so she pushes him away, and he falls back to the other side of the bed.
He’s angry, but the bubbling fury in his belly is soon replaced with the cold iron fist of sorrow and desperation. This is not how they should treat each other. This is not the Delia he knows. Something is wrong, all of this is wrong.
He turns towards the door, but soon he finds himself on his other side again, one hand extended between them, the tips of his fingers almost touching her back. He watches how the pale moonlight dances across her skin where her nightgown leaves it bare, like it’s some kind of negative reflection of the night sky with her dark freckles and moles mirroring the constellations.
But he pulls away his hand anyways, no matter how bad he wants to touch the stars.
They lie in silence for Maker knows how long, but they not sleep. They’re thinking, with long sighs, biting into lips and wiping eyes before the traitorous tears even fall. He’s surprised that she’s the one who breaks the silence first, though her voice is just a mere whisper.
“We should end this.”
First, he thinks about this ridiculous fight between them, these long weeks spent alone, but then she turns, her gaze fixated on the canopy of the bed above them, and he understands. She means this. All of this. Between them.
No, that’s not what he wants.
Alistair is breathless for a moment before he answers, the cold edge of her voice making his skin crawl in the worst way possible. They had arguments in these past few weeks, but she can’t think about ending all of this so soon. It’s just not like her mind works. He knows something is up, but she keeps it to herself, and it even hurts much more than the thought of leaving.
“Why do you say this?” he wants to shout, to cry when he finally forces the words out of his mouth. He wants to make her remember that this is the best thing in both of their short lives—only their marriage gave them some happiness over these years. She can’t do this.
But Delia looks at him, maybe the first time this night, and his stomach sinks, pulled into a tight knot.
“I’m tired of everything ,” she buries her face in her hands for a moment, breathing out slowly. “I can’t make you happy with all of this shit happening around here,” but when she looks up, her voice is steady and cold, and it sounds nothing like her.
“What? No, you don’t think that. You can’t ,” Alistair’s lips tremble as he speaks, his voice turning into a high almost-squeal, and he reaches for her hand. She pulls it away. He almost hears how his heart cracks in that moment, but her next words are what cause it to shatter completely.
“I’ll send you to Redcliffe for some new recruits. Maybe it’ll be easier if we don’t see each other for a while.”
“You want to send me away?” he raises his voice a bit, and he, too, is surprised how anger sweeps into his tone. “You went completely mad?”
“I’m your Commander, Alistair, and you can’t speak with me like this,” ice creeps under his skin as she sits up and speaks, and he really wants to cry now. No, this is not happening, she’s not like this, this is a nightmare...
“Delia, this is not you. Please, did I do something wrong?” Maybe he did something wrong, just didn’t realize it. “I love you, more than anything, I—”
“Don’t!” she cuts in, her own voice a bit weaker. A small victory for him, but it makes nothing easier. She looks down at him again, with tears shining in her eyes. “Don’t say this, or I can’t do it.”
“I’m your husband. I know that this is difficult for you, all of your duties as Commander, but you can’t just send me away. You’re my wife, the love of my life, I’ll not leave your side until I die. So just please, please talk to me,” he inhales slowly, a shaky breath, and watches her expression turn even more grave. “What happened with us in these past weeks? What did I do?”
She closes her eyes and a single tear slides down her cheek. Alistair wants to wipe it down, to caress her face, but he just reaches for her hand instead, placing his own next to hers on the mattress. He strokes her fingertips with his thumb and thank the Maker , she doesn’t pull them away. A shiver runs down his spine, feeling her warmth even for a time so little makes his heart skip a beat.
“You did nothing wrong,” she finally exhales, her fingers coming to rest between his, almost holding his hand, but not quite yet. It’s odd now, looking at their fingers, brushing together. Before these few weeks it was an everyday routine, just a habit they get so used to, and he didn’t even realized it how much he misses her touch until she stopped caressing his knuckles and giving a small peck on his cheeks every now and then. There’s a void in his heart and soul now, and it’s shaped like her.
He sits up too, sliding closer to her on the mattress until his shoulder almost touches hers. Delia is still lost in thought, her eyes are fixated on the far wall of the room where the fire quietly crackles in the hearth, it’s light dying slowly. He wraps his palm around hers finally, slightly squeezing her hand. She sighs again, and from behind wet, dark lashes, she looks at him.
“I never wanted to tell you this…” she fidgets with the edge of the blanket with her free hand, looking away from his searching gaze. “I didn’t think that it will be this difficult. I thought you’ll just go as I say, follow orders like you do all the time. But no. I—I was afraid to tell you, I…” she sucks in a breath, a single tear escaping her eyes. He almost reaches for her face to wipe it down, but he stills himself and lets her speak her mind. “You’ll be so disappointed in me,” she shakes her head, another tear sliding down her freckled face. “But, here we are. Funny how well you know me,” she chuckles but it comes out weak and forced, her voice shaky from holding back a sob. “I can never have secrets with you at my side. Maybe this is the time when I should tell you this,” she blinks, fresh tears joining the others on her cheeks, but he slowly slides his other hand under her chin and wipes them away with his thumb.
“What’s wrong?”
He’s never seen her like this: completely broken, shaking. It’s harder than he first thought, seeing her like this. It makes his heart ache painfully, too.
“Do you remember that fight, maybe more than a month ago, in Denerim? With the assassins?” She forces herself to look at him again, her hand squeezing his.
Alistair nods. “You got injured. Badly.”
How could he forget when a raven arrived with a hastily written letter? She almost didn’t make it out alive from that fight and he was so angry at himself for letting her go alone with only a handful of Wardens. He wanted to get on a horse as soon as possible and march to Denerim with his remaining comrades and kill every single soul who tried to hurt her. But he didn’t. He stayed at Vigil’s Keep like a good little soldier he is and waited until she got home, weak and puffy-eyed, the wound on her middle still covered in bandages.
“Yes. But… It was more than that,” she whispers and his attention snaps back at her immediately, one of his eyebrows rising questioningly.
“What do you mean?”
“I—I… When I got back to the inn my wounds were treated already, but I still felt like shit. I felt completely exhausted so I went to sleep and… The pain woke me up, it was so bad, I thought I’ll die on the spot. And there was blood, so many of it…”
Her lips tremble as she speaks and she’s crying now, her hand hopelessly gripping his and the other quickly reaching for his shoulder so she can hold onto something. It’s heartbreaking, seeing her like this, his fierce warrior, his rogue queen, with her body bent over, with her shoulders shaking from her sobs.
She doesn't speak for a long time, she can't, but he understands. Whatever happened, it marked her, made her feel awful so much, she wanted to send him away. He can’t think anything that she could do that’d make him leave. He married her for a reason, he won’t leave for something like this.
She clings onto his shirt and buries her face in his shoulder, her tears soaking the fabric in a large, wet patch, but he doesn’t mind. He just wraps his arms around her carefully and holds her there, kissing the top of her head a few times just to try soothing her.
“I was—I was pregnant,” she mumbles into his chest, not daring to look up at him, and first he thinks he just imagined it, but another words follow, and they hit way much harder than the previous ones. “But… I lost it.”
He doesn’t realize that he’s holding back his breath until he huffs into her hair, tears clinging to his own lashes, too.
“Maker, Delia…”
“See, this is why I didn’t tell you. The look on your face. Go on, hate me, I deserve it.”
Alistair just shakes his head and lifts hers a bit, then plants a lingering kiss on her forehead. It feels so good to hold her again after these long weeks, but he didn’t imagine he’d be comforting her for something she didn’t committed, for something she had no control over.
“No, love, you don’t. You don’t deserve any of this,” he tries to soothe her with stroking her back and whispering sweet nothings onto her hair, but her tears seem endless at this time. “And… You wanted to go through all of this alone?”
“So… You’re not angry?”
“ Maker , of course not,” he tries not to cry too, but it’s difficult like this, with her in his arms, a promise of a future that can never happen almost close enough to touch, but at the same time, long gone. “I’m so sorry, dear.”
She leans back a bit to look up at him with red eyes, her thumb sliding onto his cheek to wipe down a treacherous tear.
“I’ve met with Morrigan, just to be sure,” she mumbles and his eyebrows rise in surprise, but his hands are still stroking her back, so she continues. “I bought her son a bunch of toys on the way. He’s beautiful.” That kind smile is what ends him. He never had the chance to see her with a child, to see her playing with the little ones. It’s a fantasy he never allowed himself to have.
Also, he's still a bit angry with Morrigan.
“They’re... doing well?”
“I think,” she shrugs and bites into her trembling lower lip to stop it’s shaking. Alistair feels there’s still something she holds back from saying out loud but he’ll not force her. One confession is enough for a night as long and painful as this. “I just keep thinking about what could’ve been if I’m more careful.”
Yes, he’d thought about it too. Back in the days when he was planning to propose to her. He imagined how she would look with her growing belly and a smile on her face, how their children would look like, freckled and gifted with his giant nose and her dark locks… Those are images from another life they can’t have. He accepted it a long time ago, with both of them being Grey Wardens it seemed impossible anyways. But now... It was a rare opportunity for them to have a normal life, and it’s gone, as his hope is gone, too.
At least until someone finds the cure for the taint. Which is likely impossible.
“You didn’t know about it. It’s not your fault,” he says finally, and it is the truth.
“I should’ve known, Alistair! My bleeding was late, weeks late. This was our only chance—a miracle—to have a child of our own, to have a real family, but I messed up everything.”
“It’s not your fault,” he’ll whisper it into her ear all the time until she believes it. How can she blame herself for something she couldn’t control? “But why did you want to send me away?” he asks a few minutes later with his lips tickling her jaw as he speaks. Her sobs quietened down finally, but she’s still shaking.
“I thought it would be easier, dealing with all of this by myself,” she shrugs again, even if her shoulders are tucked under his arms as he hugs her to his chest.
“You don’t have to. I’m here . You can tell me anything, dear.”
“I know.”
“I love you, no matter what happens. Just… keep this in mind,” he plants another kiss on her temple, then her forehead and the tip of her nose, but she tilts her head up a little and his last kiss ends up on her lips.
He’s surprised for a second as she kisses him back, slowly, softly, and he melts into the kiss, the feeling of her against him after so long being apart from each other making his heart skip a beat.
"I will."
They kiss until they’re breathless, lips still almost touching as they breathe for a second, foreheads pressed together and arms wrapped around each other. He whispers faint ‘I love you’-s onto her skin, peppering her jaw and neck with butterfly-kisses. She pulls herself into his lap, bodies melting into one another until he feels her racing pulse under his own skin and he grabs her gently by her waist and pushes her back onto the bed, his tongue slipping between her kiss-swollen lips.
As their clothes slowly fall to the floor and they hungrily slide their hands across each other’s body, he slows down for a moment to caress each one of her scars on her torso—the faint ones from the Blight, when the darkspawn overwhelmed them on the top of the Tower of Ishal, the ones that are even older than that, from her time in her home, Highever, and the still pink and fresh one on her side, even creeping under one of her full breasts. He takes his time there, kissing her, and then paying some attention to her breasts, too, tasting a nipple while his hand kneads the soft flesh.
They make love for the first time since Maker knows how long, and he feels like he found something long lost piece of himself, of his soul, within her. He gets lost in the embrace, in the messy tangle of limbs and bodies, in the slow rhythm of their lovemaking and he feels a tear rolling down his chin as he pulls away from her to look into her eyes, and silently vow to her again and again, that he’ll stay at her side, no matter what happens in the future.
