When Fate Summons (a Dragon Age fanfiction)

This Night

Utterly sated, Alistair collapsed against the mattress, sighing in contentment. Thora snuggled up against him. They lay there together for a while, letting their breathing get back to normal and simply enjoying being with each other. Alistair yawned widely.

Thora nuzzled her cheek against his chest. "All worn out, old man?" she teased.

"Hey! I could do it again," he protested.

"Really," she said. Her hand slid slowly down over his abdomen. He grabbed the hand before it could reach its destination.

"All right, so maybe not right this second," he said, chuckling. "Anyway, you're older than I am." He poked her in the side, and Thora giggled. Alistair rolled over, burying his face in the tender place where her neck joined her shoulder, breathing in her scent. "Maker, I love it when you laugh," he said. He found a ticklish spot and she laughed again, squirming. "You know, that's the first time I thought about you like this," he said.

"When?" Thora threaded her hands through his hair.

"Standing by Duncan's fire, you know, after your Joining, I made some stupid joke—"

"Cailan making you dance the Remigold in a dress," she said, smiling at the memory.

"Right." Alistair smiled against her neck. "You laughed, and I thought 'I'd like to spend the rest of my life making that cute little dwarf laugh.'"

"Cute?!" she sputtered. "Cute?" She swatted at his arm. Alistair dodged the blow, capturing her hand in his.

"Remember," he said, punctuating his words with soft kisses on her hand, "I'd never met a female dwarf before. And I still thought your performance in the Wilds was you trying to keep up with the men. I didn't realize until later that you'd been taking it easy so we could keep up with you. And of course, by then ..." His words trailed off and he shrugged. He still didn't like to talk about the battle of Ostagar, or the period of depression he'd gone through afterward.

Thora kissed him to distract him from the dark memories. "That's all past," she said. "We're here together, and our daughter is safe now."

He hugged her. "I know. I think this is the happiest I've ever been—it's the first time we've been together that some horrible doom hasn't been waiting to crash on our heads."

"Oh, I wish you hadn't said that," she groaned.

"What?" he asked. Then he rolled his eyes. "You dwarves, so superstitious. Never drink less than three mugs of ale at a sitting, knock on stone every time someone mentions the Dead Trenches—" Thora reached out, grazing her knuckles along the stone wall—"and, of course, throw a nug over your left shoulder anytime ... well, anytime."

Thora grinned at him. "Those aren't superstitions," she said. "They're just good sense."

"So what possible doom could I bring down upon our heads just by saying there isn't any?"

The smile faded from her face, and she looked at him seriously.

Alistair sat up, groaning. "Don't say it. Do we have to talk about this now?"

Thora sat up, too, lacing her arms around her knees. "We have to. Because I'm not going to be able to stop doing this again, now that we've started, and neither are you." She nipped his shoulder and Alistair shivered. "And that's going to require us talking about it. At least."