Marian Hawke stared at herself in the mirror as she turned first one way, then another. She ran her hand over the nearly flat plain of her belly and puffed out her cheeks, then turned to the side and checked her profile that way. She didn't look any different. She didn't really feel any different, other than the unusual nausea and the strange breast tenderness that had started afflicting her. That and the fact that she hadn't had her courses in working on two months, and she was absolutely exhausted, needing at least one nap every single day and feeling worn out even from the least of jobs. No, nothing had changed just because pretty much everything had changed, and if it weren't for the screaming in her mind to deny what she knew was the truth, then she would probably be able to ignore the symptoms for at least another month. Maybe two; Marian was good at ignoring things she didn't particular care to acknowledge.

She was an exceptional Healer, to the point of being able to do very little else in the way of magic. Anders was a better, stronger mage than she was, probably due to his also being a Grey Warden as well as being Circle-trained in ways of discipline. Marian Hawke had needed to hide her magic, most of the time. What her father wasn't able to teach her, she picked up from the random hedge mage that she came across, and since coming to Kirkwall four years ago, she had picked up more from Anders himself. However, most of that training came from helping him in his clinic in Darktown, and most of her offensive magic came at the price of fumbling in the face of giant spiders, pretty much making it up as she went along with spit and a prayer. So, it was no wonder that she was able to delve herself and discover that yes, what she had known about women and their cycles and the circle of life did, indeed, suddenly apply to her in a very personal manner that she had never considered for herself before.

At least, not considered seriously.

She made her stomach as big as it would go, which wasn't exceptionally big, anyway; she was almost a scrawny woman, fattened up some by the good food and more leisurely life she'd been living since she had purchased the old Amell estate from her mother and her mother had gotten them both the titles to go with it, but she had never been a woman given to excess fat, anyway. Moving constantly, and having to do farm work and live as farm women, pretty much keeping her mage abilities hidden lest the entire family get arrested for being apostates or harboring them, meant that she had always worked her body more than she had taken in. Her hip bones had always been prominent features, and her face was sharper and more angular. Three years a noble and Marian Hawke still looked like the face of Lowtown poverty. Most of what she ate was converted into tight muscles along her legs and arms, from the constant walking and running and hiking that she and her crew did, along with the hefting of her staff and treating it like a polearm. Half the damage she did wound up being from hitting one bandit or thug or the other over the head with the blunt end of the thing. And standing there, gazing at her naked form in the mirror, she could see nothing of where any sort of life was growing in her womb. Flat stomach, or as flat as a woman's stomach was going to be, and jutting hipbones, and wide hips, and smaller breasts than most women in Kirkwall, or perhaps that was simply because she did not use wires and straps and padding to make them look larger than they were. Not the body of a woman with child, she thought to herself.

She shook her head, the loose hair tickling around her face, as she slid her underthings on, and then her stockings. This wasn't just a problem for her, not now. It wasn't something she could ignore, either. She had known a few girls who found themselves in the family way, back in Lothering. Lothering was the place they had settled in the longest, and she had actually made a few acquaintances there, other farmgirls with whom she had dared to steal blackberry wine with and get drunk in haylofts and share secrets. A few of them, a bare handful, had found themselves with child and had managed to find a hedge witch here or there, or the elder, Miriam, who directed them to a Healer, to take care of it, if the boy refused to make a proper wife out of the girl. Next time they were more cautious, and, in drunken giggles, explained exactly how to get around that sort of situation outside of drinking certain herbal concoctions or letting the hedge witch have a go at your innards. Hawke knew that if she were going to take the same route, it would need to be soon, and that soon echoed in her brain over and over until it was the only idea she could think of. The underrobe went on here, and it would need to be soon. The outer robe buckles here and snaps there, and it would need to be soon. The first belt, and then the second belt, and then the tie, and it would need to be soon. The belt pouch goes on thus, and then the staff straps onto the harness on the back, and it would need to be soon, soon, soon.

It was, she thought to herself, the responsible thing to do. Taking care of it. If the last two months had been any indication of how the rest of her life was going to go, Marian Hawke was not a woman who needed to be in charge of an infant. The newly "crowned" Champion of Kirkwall, a woman whose only living relatives were a nearly penniless, drunken wretch of an uncle and a brother who had given his life over to the Templars. No female relatives to help with the babe. No husband or man in her life, to help provide whatever support she couldn't at the moment. An apostate living openly, and the declared Champion of an entire city, all of Thedas knew that Marian Hawke was a mage, and any child she bore would be a target, with the Chantry frothing at the bit to come and snatch it away as soon as it was born, leaving Hawke with nothing but the birthing sadness and empty arms where her child should be.

And Maker's mercy, she thought, shoving her left foot into her boot. Fenris didn't even know. How… how could she tell him? She could barely speak to him now, two months later. It was just too… too awkward. Too bloody awkward, where before her friendship with Fenris had been as natural and comfortable as her relationship with Bethany had been. Obviously, it had meant more to her than it had him, although she suspected that Fenris's decision to walk out after that night wasn't one he had made lightly. It was too embarrassing to talk about, to even bring up, and he hadn't seemed to want to talk about it, either. If it were "buyer's remorse," as it were, then he certainly wasn't acting like a man who wasn't interested; any time they were out together, Fenris watched her, and even Hawke had seen the "sad puppy eyes" that he gave her when he thought she wasn't looking, like he was a man starved for sunshine and she the sun. Hawke stomped down roughly into her boot to settle her foot in there better and absolutely not because she was irritated and did not wish to deal with the dual ideas of baby and Fenris together, even if reality was hitting her atop the head with the concept.

Her Delving was accurate; she knew that. But she felt the need to get a second opinion, in part because it meant she could put off discussing the topic with Fenris and in part because she was afraid she was finding something that just wasn't there, because of fear or desire, or a mixture of both. That meant Anders, since he was just about the only mage she could trust to give her a reliable answer. Void take him, he was just about the only mage she could find who could give her a reliable answer. But then he would know, and she would have to admit that she had slept with Fenris. It was something none of their mutual friends knew, something that she had managed to keep quiet on his behalf; Hawke may be able to forgive him leaving, running out after part of a night, leaving right after sex (and, honestly, it was her first official time, because fooling around in those same haylofts with farm boys who barely managed to get their hands up her dresses didn't count, and even those few trysts had died off once her father had passed and it was up to Marian to be the proverbial man of the house) but she knew that none of their other friends would understand. Isabela would tease him or call him a fool or, worse, to Marian's mind, would think that if he put out once, he'd do so again and continue to put the moves on him. Varric would probably threaten him, and Aveline would tell him to get his shit together. Merrill would increase her insipid comments, irritating both of them until neither of them could handle it anymore, and Carver would find out and then Fenris and Carver would wind up in a fight and she knew Carver would lose and she'd have to be cross at Fenris for Carver's sake, even if she secretly thought Carver had no business in her business.

And Anders would do exactly what she knew he was going to do now: look at her with those large, brown eyes, always so full of hurt, always expecting her to turn on him. Maker's mercy, if only she could love Anders the way he loved her, but he felt more a brother to her than anything, a queer mixture of lost Bethany and lost Father and a nearly-lost Carver that felt more like home to her than this estate did. She had grown up with the idea of magic meaning family, and Anders was the kind of comfortable she could sleep next to, but never sleep with, and it broke his heart to know it, and it broke her heart to break his heart. But she was not for him, nor he for her, and he would never admit it.

Today, she decided to take even more time and braid her hair into one long, wrist-thick plait that would fall down her back past her shoulders. Anything and everything to stall, to bide her time until she had to choose to first go to Anders, or first go to Fenris, and confess what she knew. Anders would be sad, and hurt, and Fenris would be angry. Fenris was always angry. Was it worth it to go to Anders first and simply tell Fenris she had to have that second opinion? Or was it worth it to drag Fenris along to Anders so he could find out the answer from someone other than Marian? Hawke sat on the edge of her bed, elbows on her knees and her face in her hands and sighed deeply, nearly a sob. The Champion of Kirkwall for all of a fortnight and she could not figure out how to tackle her own personal life without distractions and putting off important decisions and choices. Maker, but she was going to make a huge mess of Kirkwall, if they depended on her to defend it.

Hawke shuffled her feet awkwardly for a few minutes, adjusting and re-adjusting her robes around her, smoothing them over her hips and patting ineffectually at hair that was as neat as it was going to be, with the spring winds, all to avoid knocking on the badly-hung door in front of her. She was standing in front of Fenris's mansion and it had only taken her an hour to get there, where it usually took about five minutes at a brisk walk. Hawke called herself ten kinds of coward, and none of it spurred her on to any further action. She would raise her hand to knock and then bite her bottom lip and lower said hand, only to adjust her clothing further, or position her staff better on its holster on her back, or to try to talk herself out of knocking altogether, because Fenris surely wasn't home: he was out shopping, or on a mercenary job, or visiting one of the others, or still sleeping and she shouldn't disturb him.

Her hand was poised to knock once more, the fist she was making so tight that the knuckles were turning white, when the door opened of its own accord and Fenris stood there, haloed by dust motes and shadow. He was dressed only in a black tunic and leggings, his hair tousled, but no more or less than usual, and that lazy, almost secretive smile he only ever put on for her playing on his lips.

"Hawke," he said, pleasantly enough. "You've been standing out here for some time. I was wondering if you would like to come in?"

Hawke grinned widely, showing teeth and tripping over her tongue. "Ah, I, thanks, Fenris, that's nice. Yes, come inside. Good idea, coming inside. I'll just… come inside. Right. Inside." Fenris quirked a brow at her, that smile turning more amused, and Hawke rubbed the back of her neck sheepishly before taking a deep breath to steel herself and stepping through the doorway. Fenris closed it behind her and then the two of them stood there, awkward, neither quite looking at the other.

"It's a nice day," she began, at the same time Fenris started "How are you doing?" They both laughed, somewhat self-consciously on Hawke's part.

"Would you care to come upstairs? I can get us something to drink, if you'd like. Although, I suspect it's a bit early for you to be drinking," Fenris offered.

"No, no. No alcohol for me, thanks," Hawke said, all in a rush. She wouldn't live long enough to have this baby, because she would just die of mortification here and now. Thank you, Maker, for taking this decision out of her hands.

"That's fine. Still, would you care to come upstairs and sit down? Or was there a reason you came by?" He eyed the staff on her back pointedly. One way Hawke had been able to escape obvious notice around Kirkwall the last four years was by not flaunting what she was. It was only now that she was publicly the Champion did she feel it safe to carry what everyone considered to be a proper mage's staff; her others had all resembled more the polearms they were mimicking: ugly, brutish things, with sharp blades. Her new staff was almost pretty, with purple and blue crystals on it that amplified her mana and boosted her magic at once, with runes set into the handle. She could still use it as a polearm, but it was a pretty polearm now, and a bit more delicate than the one that she had carried so long that looked like a scythe.

"Sitting down. Yes, that would be good," she babbled, and Fenris gave her another odd look before gesturing her up the flights of stairs to the one room that he actually used. Once seated, she looked at everything but him, and neither of them seemed inclined to breech the silence that had fallen. She knew that she wasn't acting like she normally did around him, but she was trying valiantly to force her brain into creating words that would make sense and would sound logical and wouldn't drive him away, running for the hills immediately, or going the ghost on her. Not that it was her fault; it was far from just her fault, in fact. She wasn't the one who barged into his home and looked at her with those smoldering green eyes and that "come-hither" voice and said, "I have been thinking of you. In fact, I have been able to think of little else." Oh, she had been thinking of him, and little else besides him in any sort of serious fashion, but he was the instigator there, not her!

"Hawke, are you well? You seem rather off today, and you look pale. Do you need to see Anders?"

"That's kind of why I came by, actually," she managed to squeak out. Maker's breath, she had stood up to the Arishok in front of every living noble in Kirkwall and beat the man in single combat for the life and honor of a pirate who betrayed everyone and caused the problems in the first place. She could talk to the man who was the father of the child she was carrying and inform him of those details. She was Marian Hawke, the Champion of Kirkwall, not some sniveling weakling!

Hawke cleared her throat and straightened her spine slightly, and then looked Fenris in the eye. Clear voice, plain expression, no accusations. "Fenris," she began, slowly. "I know you do not want to speak of what happened between us two months ago."

"There is nothing to say," Fenris replied, dourly. It was his turn to look anywhere but at her, and he had his head tilted slightly so that his bangs hid most of his expression. His posture was wary, and he looked ready to dart at the slightly provocation; his hands were curled into fists.

"Yes, there is, actually. I don't know how to put this delicately, so… Just listen. You were the first man I'd ever had sex with, and sometimes you don't always know how to prepare for those things when you're not expecting them, and sometimes a woman winds up pregnant."

Fenris started and his head jolted up, his mossy-green eyes wide. "What?" His voice was flat, and nearly angry, and Hawke couldn't suppress a wince at the tone. Thick, black eyebrows drew down in what had to be anger, and he stood up. There was no mistaking the hand-clenching, or the angry posture. "Hawke, what did you just say?"

She sighed. About as good as she could have expected; wonderful. "I said that I'm pregnant, Fenris. And as I've only had sex with one man in my life, and that one man was you, well… there's a limit to how many candidates for father the babe has."

"I… need some air," he said, a choked gasp, and he stumbled from the room, leaving her there by herself. Hawke grimaced and slouched back on the bench she had taken a seat on. Well, it could have gone worse, and at least it was over with. Gently, she rubbed the sides of her temple with the tips of her fingers, wondering if it was safe to do just a tish bit of Healing to rid herself of the Maker's own headache that was developing behind her eyes.

A half-hour had passed when Hawke decided she had waited for Fenris enough. Just as she was standing up to go, he stumbled back inside, looking for all the world like a man who had just been told he had a month to live.

"Hawke," he said, sitting down again and gesturing for her to stay seated. "Please treat me as if I am a stupid man right now. I'm going to ask you some questions, and please answer them plainly and honestly as you can. Yes?"

"Sure, Fenris," Hawke replied, fake, cheerful grin on her face.

"You are pregnant?"

"Yep."

"And I… am the father?"

"You're the leading candidate."

A flash of hot, angry jealousy went across his face. "How many other candidates are there, then?"

"There was that guy who turned into a swan…"

"Hawke…."

"And then he turned into a golden shower!"

"Hawke."

She managed a nervous laugh and gave him a cheeky grin. "How many other 'candidates' do you think there are, Fenris?"

"You have not been with… with anyone else, since…?"

"No. Sorry to disappoint."

He touched a red ribbon on his right wrist, seemingly as a nervous gesture, and some of the tension seemed to ease out of him. "Very well. I… Just so you know, I have not, either." Hawke made a noncommittal sound. "So… where do we go from here?" Fenris asked.

"I'm thinking I probably need to go see Anders. He's… probably the only mage I can trust, and he's delivered plenty of babies and is a good Healer to boot. I wouldn't…" She stopped and took a shaky breath, running her fingers through her hair and getting them caught up in the braid she had so carefully woven earlier. "I wouldn't know who else to trust. I… you know about how the Chantry treats mages who have children?"

"I had not heard," Fenris replied, eyes narrowing slightly.

"I know how you feel about mages, so we're not going to get into that argument right now. But if the Chantry finds out that a mage woman has had a baby, the baby gets taken away to a Chantry and the woman never sees the child again. It's even worse in the Circles; the moment the child is born, the cord is snipped and the woman never even gets to see or hold the baby. The child is then raised by the Chantry, whether or not the child has the ability to use magic."

"And you believe this makes the Chantry a threat to the babe?"

"Believe? I know!" Hawke nearly shouted. "If… If I have this child, Fenris, even if you don't want anything to do with it, I'll have to deal with the Chantry possibly hounding me. I can't even say that growing up in a Circle would be so bad for it, because I don't know if I'd be good at teaching magic or not, but never the Kirkwall circle. Without even getting into a conversation on whether mages are oppressed or not, this circle is the worst one in Thedas, with abuses rampant that I know you've seen. Imagine… imagine that the child is a girl, and some Templar like Ser Alrik got ahold of her." Hawke could not even try to keep the fear out of her voice at that, and she felt sudden, hot tears prickle in her eyes. She blinked fiercely, trying to push them away.

"I had never considered it from the point of view of a parent of a mage," Fenris said, slowly. "But I see your point, on the circle here, at least. Kirkwall is a festering hive in many ways, and I have seen firsthand the abuses the Templars here enact on the mages. I may not care for mages, or magic, in general, but to know that children can undergo some of those same abuses as the adults…" He gave her a suddenly stern look. "You will not tell the abomination I said that, Hawke."

She managed a shaky laugh. "My lips are sealed, Fenris." She glanced down at her fingers and plucked at her robes for a minute, trying to figure out how to word the next part. Fenris was patient, giving her the time she needed. "I… also considered you. Magic runs strongly in my bloodline, and runs strongly in elven bloodlines. A magically-prone, half-blood child…" She rolled her shoulders slightly, not daring to lift her eyes to meet his. "I… I have the resources to take care of a child on my own, I suppose, but… I felt it was your right to know, and to decide if you— "

"If I what, Hawke?"

She swallowed hard and licked her lips, still not daring to look. "It's up to you to decide if you want to be part of our lives. Their life. Maker, I don't know how to do this," she finished in a whisper.

"I would ask that you give me some time to think, Marian," Fenris said, softly, and kindly for him. "This is a shock to me. You have had a few days, at least, to grow used to the idea, if I am correct." Hawke nodded, mutely. "Then I ask that you give me a few days, as well. I will not abandon you, or our child, but… I simply need a little time to think on it, before we discuss anything further.

"I need to go to Anders, and have him check me over and make sure that everything is okay," Hawke told him, her voice quiet. "It's a normal part of being pregnant. I will need regular checkups with him. If you want to come along, I was going to go see him today. I need it confirmed by someone who isn't me."

"You would have me along, then?" She nodded again, and Fenris stood. "Then I will accompany you. We will both find out, at the same time." He managed a tremulous smile, and got one from her in return.