No Armor Against Fate (a Dragon Age fanfiction)

Return to Denerim

Alistair arrived back in Denerim in something of a daze. Despite the unyielding stance he had taken with Thora, he was far from looking forward to the repercussions of acknowledging their baby. It was what he wanted to do, and he felt strongly that it was the right thing to do, but he had no illusions about how his advisors and the Council—and his intended queen—would react once they knew. He had carefully timed his arrival for late at night, to get a hopefully good night's sleep in before he had to approach Eamon and Dorothea. He had a late dinner served in his room, wolfed it down, and went to bed, missing Thora. Two brief nights spent sleeping next to her had spoiled him for sleeping alone all over again. Every time he rolled over he expected her to be there, her warm body and soft, rounded stomach with his baby inside it there to put his arms around.

The morning dawned both all too early and not at all soon enough after a restless night. And with his breakfast tray came a nearly frantic Arl Eamon. "Alistair, have we not talked about this kind of thing? A king simply cannot take off one morning and be gone for days at a time with no warning!"

"I'm sorry. There were ... circumstances." Alistair groaned, climbing out of bed.

"What kind of circumstances?" Eamon asked suspiciously. "Alistair, what have you done?"

"Nothing! Er, I mean, that is to say, nothing recently." He blushed. Eamon waited, tapping his foot on the floor, while Alistair attacked his plate of ham and eggs. "That's better," he said, swallowing half the cup of coffee at one gulp. "So here's the thing." Alistair walked over to the window, not particularly wanting to see Eamon's face when this little revelation dropped. "Thora's pregnant."

"You're joking," Eamon said explosively. When Alistair didn't react, he said more hesitantly, "Tell me you're joking?"

"Nope. She thinks she's about three months away from the baby being born." He tried to be suitably penitent, but he really couldn't. Alistair turned to Eamon, his eyes sparkling. "I'm going to be a father!"

Eamon dropped his head into his hands, groaning. "Well, that's wonderful for the two of you, but it presents us with a bit of a problem, doesn't it? How are we going to keep this from getting out?"

"We're not."

"What did you say? Because it sounded like you said 'we're not'," Eamon said faintly. "I know that's not what you meant to say."

"It's absolutely what I meant. Look, Eamon," Alistair said, turning to the older man. "I spent the better part of a day arguing this with Thora, and I won. Please don't think you're going to succeed where she failed. This is my child coming into the world—my child with a woman I love. I am not ashamed of her or of our baby, and I would be with her today if Ferelden would accept a dwarf as queen."

"Oh, no, Alistair. You're not suggesting that, are you?" Eamon stared at the king in horror.

"No, I'm not. She wouldn't agree to it, anyway. She's much more politically savvy than I am."

"Who isn't?"

"True enough." Alistair grinned. "I'm not about to make an announcement about it, you understand, Eamon, but I don't intend to try and hide it, either. I'm not going to be like my father, and my son won't grow up the way I did." At Eamon's stricken look, Alistair shrugged uncomfortably. "You did your best, I know that, but it wasn't the same as growing up with a father's love and care. And that's what my son is going to get from me. No matter what the rest of the country thinks."

"Your son?"

"Or daughter. That's what Thora thinks—that it's a girl."

"Maker, I hope so," Eamon muttered. "My boy, you are a politician's nightmare."

"You're the one who wanted me on the throne."

"I'm beginning to think civil war was a more reasonable option than I'd given it credit for," Eamon groaned. "Have you given any thought to what you're going to tell Dorothea? Who has been most confused, may I add, since I could hardly tell her that you'd gone to visit your ex-lover."

Sighing, Alistair said, "I intend to tell her the truth."

"Which parts?"

"About my history with Thora, about our child, and that ... it's over except for the friendship and parenthood we share."

"Is it?"

"As much as it ever will be. I'll always love her—I can't help that—but I can help what I do. And as far as that's concerned, it's over."

"Well, I hope that will be enough for Dorothea," Eamon sighed. "Under the circumstances, the sooner you produce an heir, the better." His eyes widened as he began to consider all the ramifications of Alistair having a baby with a dwarf Grey Warden. "At some point, after the baby's born, I'd like to sit down with you and Thora and talk about your parents."

"I'd like that," Alistair said, eyeing the older man curiously, "but why with Thora? Is— Does this have something to do with the baby?"

"We'll talk after the baby is born," Eamon said hastily. "Er, how is she, anyway?"

"Thora? Cranky. Glowing. Lovely," Alistair said, his eyes shining as he thought of her. Eamon's heart smote him as he began to realize just how much in love the young man truly was. It was too bad the Commander wasn't human, he thought, leaving the room.

Alistair, left alone, sighed. "Well, that could have gone worse," he said to himself. "Now for the other one." This one wouldn't go as well, he suspected.

Hours later, after dealing with stacks of papers and several meetings that he'd missed while he was gone, he presented himself at Arl Eamon's palace, where Dorothea and her family were staying until the wedding. Eamon met him at the door. "I assume you're here to—"

"Yes," Alistair said. "Let's get it over with. And hope she's still speaking to me an hour from now."