No Armor Against Fate (a Dragon Age fanfiction)

The Truth

Thora stood next to her window, waiting. She'd seen the horse come into the courtyard, lathering and spent from a day's hard riding, had seen Alistair jump down from the horse's back almost before it stopped, and now could hear his voice shouting. "Where is she? Wynne, I swear, if someone doesn't tell me what's going on I'll—" The voice broke off, and Thora could just distinguish Wynne's voice. Her heart pounded, equal parts excited and terrified. How angry would he be? Part of her hoped maybe he wouldn't be angry, but the rest of her believed that part was over-optimistic, at best. It wouldn't be long now. She sensed him in her blood as he climbed the stairs, heard the firm tread of his booted feet down the hall, and could almost feel his breathing as he paused outside the door.

He was so nervous about what he might find on the other side that it took everything he had to reach for the doorknob. She was in there—he could feel her, his skin humming with her nearness. He watched his hand as though it belonged to someone else as he turned the knob and pushed the door open. And then the door was open and one long stride carried him into the room. He could barely see her now that dusk had fallen, but she was there. He didn't even register anything beyond her white face, the wide brown eyes staring at him, her lips slightly parted. "Maker's breath!" he breathed. And then he was on his knees in front of her, gathering the small body in his arms, folding her close as he had dreamed of doing so many nights, burying his face in her shoulder. "This has been the longest two months of my life," he murmured brokenly.

Thora breathed a sigh of relief at the momentary reprieve, sliding her arms around him in return. Everything else seemed unimportant now that he was holding her again. She breathed him in, soaking his warmth into her very bones, clinging to him.

Slowly the life-giving embrace began to change tone. His hands slid down over her back as his mouth began to move up the side of her neck, the familiar taste of her skin intoxicating him. Thora threaded her hands in his hair, closing her eyes as her body came alive under his touch. But she felt the roundness of her belly in between them, dispelling the haze. She pushed his head away from her neck, looking deep into his dark eyes. "Alistair," she whispered.

"Yes, my love?" His eyes were still hot on hers, his hands still roaming over her back, distracting her.

"I— I asked you to come here for a reason," she said, disentangling herself. She went around the room, lighting the lamps.

"That sounds awfully ominous."

"A little," she said. She didn't turn after she had lit the last lamp, not wanting him to see before she told him. "I lied to you."

"Lied? About what?"

"When I left Denerim. And when I sent you that note."

"You were never injured? I suspected as much."

"Alistair ... I'm not injured. I'm pregnant." Now she turned, her hands resting on the gentle curve of her belly.

Alistair's mouth dropped open. In all his feverish imaginings on the way here, this had never crossed his mind. "Why didn't you tell me?" he whispered.

"I had ... reasons. Good reasons, they seemed at the time. Duty, you know."

"I'm sorry, it was your duty not to tell me we were going to have a child?" He got up off his knees.

"At first, yes, it was," she said firmly. "I ... You would never have let me fight in Denerim if you'd known, and I was needed for that final battle. We both know that."