#astala

"We do not have so many!" Zevran protested as they entered the building. "A few more will not hurt."

"Knowing us, we'd end up adopting half the local orphans anyways," Astala said and took his hand as she walked around the house, head turning left and right as she inspected the sturdy, white caulked walls of the rooms that, for now, lay empty and bare.

"That will be an easy thing to accomplish. The Alienage is right past the garden wall," Zevran said, deliberately casual.

Astala stopped and Zevran stopped with her. He paid close attention to the way her head turned towards him, the way she looked at him with an unspoken question in her eyes, the way they lighted up when she understood. The surprise hadn't ended with the house.

"The garden?" she asked.

Zevran couldn't help the smile that claimed his face nor the way he brought their joined hands to his lips to kiss her knuckles and then to pull her along. "Come, amor mío."

The garden was terribly overgrown, no doubt courtesy of the abundant Antivan sun and the rain that was common this close to the sea. It also wasn't terribly impressive--Zevran had snuck in and out of mansions with gardens far bigger and better kept than this one--but Astala stepped into the green with a look on her face as if she was stepping into a dream. Zevran followed, and fought the urge to give in to his impatience. If she'd only tell him soon what she thought-!

"Love," Astala said quietly, almost reverently, and waved him over. "Look!"

There were flowering vines climbing along the garden wall next to a peach tree, their star-petaled flowers a deep blue and as large as Zevran's open hand. Astala picked one and asked him with a touch to lower his head. He felt her affix the flower to the braid in his hair, and then she stepped back with a satisfied nod.

"Beautiful," Astala breathed, and Zevran couldn't tell if she was talking about him, the flower, the garden or the combination of all of them.

"Do you like it?" he asked, just to make sure.

"Oh Zevran." Astala cupped his face with both hands and smiled impossibly bright. "It's like the garden at the Vigil. Like that but more perfect. I love it!"

She pulled him in for a kiss and Zevran felt his mouth pull into a wide smile against her lips--which was objectively terrible for kissing, but his wife didn't seem to mind. Quite the contrary, she kissed his brow and nose as well, and then slung her arms around his neck and leaned her head back to look at him.

"I love you," she said, with a conviction that sent a pleasant shiver down Zevran's spine.

He leaned in to rest his forehead against hers. "What do you say, amore? Shall we live here until we and our children grow old and make it a game for the neighbors' rascals to steal as many peaches as they can?"

His answer was the glorious view of his wife grinning widely and biting her lip in excitement before she dove in for another enthusiastic kiss.

"Zevran, my love," Astala said, "I would like nothing more."

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49. nightfall

One of them always ends up searching for the other around nightfall. Sometimes it's Zevran looking for her to drag her off to bed. Sometimes it's Astala who is wandering from room to room in search of her husband. Today it's apparently her turn.

She finds him in the twins' room, splayed out on one of their beds, Rinona and Astolfo fast asleep on either side of him. At five years of age they just barely fit into the child-sized bed that is already more than occupied by their father. Astala catches herself running calculations and considering the purchase of two bigger beds. The kids will need them at some point anyways. She is about to silently step out of the room when Zevran opens his eyes and finds hers.

"Cariño," he purrs sleepily.

Astala smiles and makes her way over to the bed as quietly as she can. Zevran lifts his head and she sits down on the mattress, her legs now becoming a pillow for her husband. Zevran closes his eyes again and hums in contentment when she starts combing her fingers through his hair.

"My love, did I wake you up?" she whispers.

Zevran's hum turns throaty as he shakes his head. "It is alright."

"So I did wake you," Astala concludes. "I'm sorry. Might I be forgiven?"

"Hmm." Zevran frowns as if thinking about it. "Yes. Yes, I will forgive you."

"Thank you."

Astala brushes his sleep-tousled hair out of the way and presses a kiss to his forehead. Zevran leans his head backwards and pouts until Astala relents and kisses his lips as well.

"Impossible," she mutters and kisses him again.

She stands up to fetch a blanket for the three of them and give her children a goodnight kiss as well. Astolfo has inherited his father's light sleep and stirs slightly. When she's made sure they're comfortable, she makes to leave. Zevran stretches his hand out to brush hers.

"Stay," he whispers.

The simple word makes Astala's heart grow heavy and warm with fondness. She thinks of the letters waiting for her on her desk, thinks of the bookkeeping that's been left undone for days and the documents she has to look over, and then looks at her family, at the peaceful scene in front of her.

How many years (Months. Weeks) until the Blight claims her?

She lifts Rinona into her arms, freezes momentarily when the girl moves in her sleep, and, both hands full, nudges Zevran with her foot. "Scoot over."

Zevran carefully maneuvers Astolfo onto his chest and makes room for her. It's not much, but it's about what she had back when she still lived at her father's house and shared a bunk bed with Shianni; she knows she can make it work. Astala lies down, drapes the blanket over herself and Rinona and leans into Zevran's side, their daughter safely tucked into her arms. She's getting heavier, as a growing child should, and the fact that they can grow up strong, healthy and heavy brings a proud smile to Astala's face. Zevran's lips brush her jaw and the scars from the archdemon's fire before he nuzzles his nose into the crook of her neck and she rests her cheek against his head. He will take some time to fall asleep; he always does. Astala closes her eyes and breathes in the scent of summer, of her husband, of her children. Two, three deep breaths and she's fallen asleep.

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