I have to admit, I found this section painful to write. Glad to see people are liking the new direction, though! The next section may take a few days, as I'm having trouble with it.
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."
"B— But … But after that?" he spluttered. "You left. Without telling me. You told me you wouldn't see me for a year." He broke off, his eyes widening as he stared at her. "Maker's blood! Were you planning on not telling me at all?" His hands clenched.
"NO!" she cried, shocked. "Just … not until after you were married. And the baby was born. And you had an heir."
"What, because you liked the irony? You wanted our baby to grow up just like his father?" He paused for a moment, then went on, thoughtfully. "You know, when I was growing up—in the stables, then abandoned in the Chantry—there was one thing I used to promise myself. One thing I was sure I would never do. You know what that was?"
She flinched from the look on his face, even though this was essentially the reaction she'd expected. "Never father an illegitimate child?" she whispered.
"Never father an illegitimate child," he confirmed. "And now, thanks to you, I'll have two of them!" His voice rose until he was shouting at her, all his height towering over her menacingly.
A wave of anger swept through her as well. Did he think this past year had been her idea of fun? She put her hands on her hips, standing her ground. "I wasn't the only one in that tent, you know! You told me Grey Wardens couldn't have children together."
"Well, what were you listening to me for?"
"I've certainly learned that lesson now!"
He gave a short, bitter laugh. "Right. I guess I've single-handedly destroyed the idea that Grey Wardens have trouble procreating." He looked back at her, his face set and hard. "You didn't answer the question. Why didn't you tell me in Denerim?"
"Because … I didn't think you'd go through with it if you knew."
"Didn't think I'd what? Become king? Marry another woman and have a child with her? What's one more, right?" She crossed her arms over her chest, as if to protect herself from his sarcasm. "Did it ever cross your mind that maybe I should have a say in that decision, or did you think you were in charge of making all my decisions for me?"
"You put me in charge," she said. "Back in Lothering."
"Lothering! And nothing at all changed between Lothering and the end of the Blight? I get it," he said. "You can put me on the throne, let me run a kingdom, but you can't trust me."
"You broke up with me!" she cried. "Remember? Human woman, untainted blood, legitimate heir, any of that ring a bell?"
"But I didn't have all the facts, did I?"
"You were right, though. Your reign needs a legitimate human heir of Theirin blood."
"Oh, damn my Theirin blood!" he shouted. "I never asked for it, or any of this."
"And I did? Or the baby?" she asked softly. As if in response to her words, Thora felt the baby move inside her. She put her hand over the spot, not noticing the hungry look in Alistair's eyes as he watched the change in her face. Everything he wanted, right there in one package—the woman he loved and their child—and she had kept it from him. "There's another reason I didn't tell you before."
"Oh, this should be good."
"Wynne and I—we've studied. We've pored over books. But we can't be sure the baby won't be … tainted. Wrong, somehow."
"Holy Andraste! That's … horrifying." He closed his eyes, the image all too clear.
"I first knew—about the baby—after we fought the Broodmother," she said, her voice trembling. "And I couldn't—couldn't get past the fear that I would turn out like her, that the baby would be some kind of darkspawn."
"You must have been terrified."
"I have been. I am. I— That's why I didn't want you to know. I didn't think it was fair to tell you that we were going to have a baby … and then have to tell you that the baby wasn't—wasn't—" She couldn't finish. "I thought it would be easier on you not to know. Just in case."
"So you decided to be a martyr, to suffer your terror in silence, to, what, shelter me?"
"I didn't want you to be hurt!"
"You didn't want me to be hurt. That's why you lied to me, left me, and took my baby with you. Because you didn't think that was going to hurt?!" He was absolutely thundering at her now.
"I'm sorry! I realized how wrong I'd been, and that's why I … called for you now. Instead of waiting." She looked up at him, her eyes filled with misery. "I'm so sorry."
He shook his head, unable to bridge the gap between them. "There's so much to think about," he said. "I— I need to be alone." He backed out of the room, nearly running, leaving her weeping and alone.