No Armor Against Fate (a Dragon Age fanfiction)

Making Plans

The night before they were due to arrive at Amaranthine, Thora sat with her companions around the fire. "I thought we might want to talk about a few things," she said. "One of which ... Oghren, I think it's time to tell you the real reason I need your help."

"Ah, I knew it," growled the dwarf. "Now's when it all comes out. The hot coals of Oghren burnin' in your—"

"Will you stop with that?" Thora snapped impatiently. "Oghren, not now, not ever. Try it on Wynne. At least that would be amusing." She grinned at the mage, who blushed a bit, to Thora's surprise. Oghren gave a delighted guffaw.

"Wynne, you old doxy! Any time you want Oghren to give you a tumble ..."

"Thank you, Oghren," Wynne said, retaining her composure. "Some other time perhaps."

"Lookin' forward to it."

"Anyway," Thora said with emphasis, hoping to move on before they made her ill. "The reason I need you around, Oghren, is that I won't be capable of fighting for a while. At least, not the way I used to be." She swallowed, looking into the fire. "I'm pregnant."

Oghren's eyes went wide and he choked on a swallow of ale. "Got a royal bun in the oven, do ya? Well, you shouldn't be so surprised. What with the two of you goin' at it like nugs night and day."

Thora's lip curled at the image. She'd never liked being compared to a nug. "Yes, I suppose that's one way to put it," she said.

"Does the boy know?" Oghren looked surprisingly sober as he gazed at her over his cup.

"No."

"What kind of game are you playin', missy?" He gave her a look that reminded Thora that he'd known her since she was knee-high to a bronto. "He's young and plenty wet behind the ears, but he deserves to know he's gonna be a father."

"You're right," Thora sighed. "He does. But it's more complicated than that."

"Yeah?"

Thora glanced at Wynne, but the mage was staying out of this one. Thora knew Wynne was as conflicted as she was about leaving without telling Alistair about the baby. With a sigh, she launched into her reasons. "First off," she said, "if I tell him now, he'll renounce the throne. He's too new to it, not yet committed enough. Or, worse yet, he'll try some grandstand with the Landsmeet to convince them to accept a dwarf as queen and a half-dwarf as heir to the throne. Which would never work, and would embarrass all of us and put his chance of finding a suitable wi—" She swallowed, but could not get her throat to let the word by. "A human queen to sire an heir with in jeopardy." She looked at her companions sharply, but they said nothing. "Second, if I tell him now, he would have an even harder time coming to terms with a ... suitable human queen and creating an heir with her than he's already going to. And if he doesn't have an heir of Theirin blood, I think that might well threaten his whole reign. I really don't want to have to fight another civil war to keep him on the throne." Thora sighed. "Last. Between the taint in our blood and the battle with the Archdemon— Long story," she said to Oghren, who was looking at her curiously. "There's no way of knowing until the baby's born if it's going to be ... right. I don't want to get his hopes up by telling him he's going to have a child and then have to tell him that his child turned out to be some tainted creature." A shiver ran through her as she stared miserably at the fire. "One of us terrified of that future is enough," she said, almost to herself. She looked back at Oghren. "Satisfied that I have my reasons?"

"Aye." He gulped down some more ale. "So what do we do now?"

"Recruits will be gathering in Orzammar for training under the Kardol and the Legion. So we go to Amaranthine, we get the Arling ready for the recruits when they arrive. I told Kardol to make good and sure they were blooded against the darkspawn, and gave him a broad hint that if it took him six months, that wouldn't be a bad thing. And you know Kardol—no sense of humor where darkspawn are concerned. He'll be the best teacher in the ways of being a Grey Warden they could have."

"What about the Grey Wardens of Orlais? Will they be coming to meet you?"

Thora stared at the red-headed dwarf, her mouth open. "I hadn't thought of that." She looked at the mage. "Wynne?"

Wynne clearly hadn't thought about it, either. The two women looked at each other for a minute. Then Wynne said, "Didn't we hear something before we left Denerim about roving bands of darkspawn still wandering the countryside?"

"Yes, we did. I thought it sounded a little strange, though. Aren't the darkspawn supposed to be gone with the Archdemon dead?"

"Maybe. But if they're not ..."

"You want me to fight a bunch of darkspawn to keep the Orlesian Grey Wardens away?"

"No," Wynne said, "but I want them to think you did."

Thora looked at her quizzically. "What's going on in that devious brain of yours?"

"If you were attacked by darkspawn ..."

"Aye!" Oghren cried, clearly catching on. "Which you would be, seein' as they're drawn to your taint ..."

"And if you were, say, injured ..." Wynne went on.

"Injured bad, you see ..."

"You might require months of recovery."

"Recovery without visitors." Oghren nodded, winking at Thora. "The old lady is a sodding genius!"

"Thank you, Oghren," Wynne said, smiling at the dwarf. She looked at Thora. "Do you see what we're getting at?"

"I think I do," Thora said slowly. "Except for one problem." Both of them looked at her. "As soon as Alistair hears I'm that badly injured, a team of Archdemons won't be able to keep him in Denerim."

"A team of Archdemons couldn't. But you can. You can send him a message forbidding him to come. You could even say it's to keep the Orlesians off your back. He'd believe that."

"It seems workable," Thora admitted.

"And has the advantage that it will keep your adoring public from dropping in, as well."

"My friends, I don't know what I would do without you." She sighed, staring into the flames. Oghren took another long swig of ale and fell over his log. He really should try sleeping in a tent sometime, she thought. Wynne came over to sit next to her, and the two women sat together quietly for a long time.

Finally, Wynne murmured, "Are you all right, my dear?"

Thora shrugged. "I haven't gone this long without seeing Alistair since ... since I met him, actually. I'm not enjoying it."

"Really? I would never have guessed," the mage said drily.

"You want a good laugh, though?"

"We could probably both use one."

"Alistair isn't what has me off-balance."

"What does, then?"

"I miss my hair!"