Archive of Our Own ^beta

Neria sat in an elegant tearoom in the palace at Denerim, settled on an inlaid chair beside an impossibly small table. She had been two days traveling from the Keep, her plan firmly in place, but now, in this dolls' room, it all seemed very complicated. Alistair, sitting in a matched chair beside her, reached for her hand.

“You’re doing the right thing,” he said. “Whatever you decide here is the right thing.”

Neria looked at him, and squeezed his fingers. “You don’t think she’ll be mad?” Before he could respond, Anora, the Queen of Ferelden, swept into the room.

“Lady Surana.” Anora tipped her head, and Neria stood hastily and dropped a curtsy. “Can I get you anything? Tea? Milk? Something to eat?”

“Maker, no.” Neria’s stomach was already trying to turn inside out. She wondered how long that would last. She sat back down, ran her finger around the edge of the tiny table, trying to think of how to start.

“Alistair said you wanted to talk to me,” Anora prompted. Neria nodded. Anora sat opposite her and arranged her hands in her lap. "My dear. If this is about the ménage a trois, I must apologize, but I still don't think it's a good idea."

Neria frowned. "Who said anything about that?" Alistair mumbled nobody but his ears turned the shade of sliced beets. Neria set that aside for the moment. "No, I was just wondering, are you still trying to get pregnant?"

“Well, yes.” Anora glanced at Alistair, and tilted her head. “Obviously.”

“You know, you really have to try,” Neria went on, babbling. “It’s not like in the romance novels, you don’t just get knocked up when a chevalier rubs his knee against you one time. Regular interactions, you know, at the right times. And I know Alistair likes to be, um... ridden, but you have to encourage him to take charge. Gravity, and stuff.”

Alistair, already blushing, proceeded to have a minor heart attack. “Neria.”

“Sorry.” A life in the Circle hadn’t always prepared her for normal expectations of privacy. She had no idea what was supposed to be normal in this situation. “I’m just really concerned for the stability of my country.”

"Is this really what you came here to talk about?" Anora looked at Alistair, bemused, and added, "I am well informed on best practices, I assure you. We have been giving it our absolute best effort."

"But you aren't.” Neria’s blue eyes sharpened. “Pregnant, I mean."

Anora sighed. “No.”

“Okay, well. Funny story.” Neria took a small breath; this was going to be awkward. She placed a hand over her belly. “I am.”

Anora’s smile turned instantly to ice. Her eyes narrowed. “Warden. If you think this gives you some claim--”

“Oh no, you misunderstand!” Neria said quickly, waving her small hands. “I don’t even want it! I fight the forces of darkness, you know? A little rugrat would get in the way of all that.”

Neria stood, and began pacing around the room. “So I was thinking. I’m cute. You’re cute. We’re both blonde.” She tossed her flaxen hair in demonstration. It was, in fact, very similar in shade to Anora’s. “I’m pregnant and you need a child. How about I cook this bun up and serve him to the kingdom as yours?”

Anora stared at her, pursing her lips to hide a lack of response. Neria grinned; she had never taken the Queen completely by surprise before. Anora looked at Alistair. He spread his hands.

“It’s a little crazy,” he said. “But you know Neria. When she gets an idea in her head, she’s like a... pregnant woman with a baby she doesn't want.”

Anora bit her lip, considering the angles. “You would do this for me?” Neria nodded. “But you’re an elf. Won’t it be plain he isn’t human?”

“He will be human. Half elves don’t look elfy at all.” Neria waved the concern away. “If the kid was seven-eighths elf, or three-quarters elf even, we might be in trouble. But half elf, no. This kid will be all shem, no worries.”

Anora was probably still worried, about keeping secrets, proper nutrition, the state of shield yields in South Reach. But she only lifted her chin and said, “You are very generous, Lady Surana. Ferelden thanks you.”

“Is that a pile of human skin in your lap, or are you just happy to see me?”

Anora looked up. Alistair had found her hidden away in a private corner of their quarters, where she had retreated to sew up a very beige sort of jumper.

“It’s a pregnancy suit,” she explained. It was her own design, with extra pockets so that she could graduate the padding. She stood and held it up to herself, laying its curved belly against her flat one. “What do you think?”

“It’s... frighteningly accurate. I’m afraid there might a pregnant woman somewhere that you’ve flayed.” It was nugskin, actually, but that wasn’t important. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you make anything yourself?”

“I could hardly trust some tailor, could I? They do talk.” Anora turned it inside out, inspecting her work. “I would have asked Erlina, but she is busy fetching herbs and things for me. For Neria. Us.” Anora smiled at the thought. Then she cocked her head, realizing Alistair probably hadn’t come to talk about herbs. “Did you want something?”

“Yes. Eamon’s here.” Alistair gestured vaguely towards the gate. “Continuing to forget that he’s retired. Something about the Circle Tower, again.” Alistair smiled a bit rakishly. “Care to join me?”

If her hands had not been full, Anora might have clapped in delight. “So we can share our blessed news?” The pregnancy was fake, but the humble pie Eamon would eat, when Anora very graciously rubbed it in his face, would be quite real.

“Here, help me into this.” She would finish the seams later. Alistair helped her fasten the buttons behind her back, and Anora touched the faint swell of her false belly that was the first stage of her padding.

Neria would just barely be showing now. Her baby was not even a baby yet, just a tiny promise in her belly. But soon, Anora thought. She smiled, imagining bright eyes and fat little toes.

“We’ll have to do something about Neria, too,” she mused, as they walked to the atrium. Unfortunately the Warden favored an armored style, and that was beyond Anora’s own skill. “Perhaps we can commision something from that Wade fellow at Vigil. Can he be trusted?”

“Yes, but...” Alistair frowned. “Neria will hate people thinking she’s getting fat.”

Anora arched a brow. “Or I could kidnap her, and hide her in a dungeon? In the dark. Guarded only by deaf mutes.”

“Fat suit it is!” Alistair poked her experimentally in her false stomach. It was stuffed with goose down, and dimpled somewhat realistically. “You are suspiciously well prepared for this.”

They passed a servant, who lowered her eyes as they passed, but Anora saw her glance curiously back. Anora had been careful not to make her first stage too obvious, just a small suggestion of something. But there would be whispers now, she thought.

“I might have daydreamed, once,” she admitted, quietly, “about bribing one of Cailan’s mistresses if a pregnancy ever took. Of course they never did.” She patted Alistair on the shoulder. “So, good job, I suppose!”

Alistair laughed, the color rising in his cheeks. He looked down at his feet as they walked. “Neria was afraid you’d be upset.”

“What for?” It had never been Anora’s fantasy to be a mother, although she understood how necessary it was. No one ever let her forget. “Neria has taken a great burden from me,” she said. “We’ll have an heir, and I won’t even have to go through the unfortunate business of bearing it.”

They arrived at the atrium. Eamon Guerrin, the former arl of Redcliffe, once her most irritating adversary, stood when he heard their footsteps. He looked at Alistair, and then at Anora, and then he looked her up and down. His expression was a very satisfying blend of annoyance, surprise, and a sweet hint of defeat.

“My dear Eamon.” Anora wasn’t pregnant, but the glow in her cheeks was real. “We have something important to tell you.”

Alistair usually split his time more evenly between the palace and Vigil, making sure not to favor one place inappropriately over the other. It was very tricky balancing his responsibilities and wants, and his more than the usual number of women. However, during these nine months he found himself favoring Keep perhaps more than he should, because Neria was having a baby.

Neria was having a baby.

Neria, meanwhile, was trying very hard not to notice. “If you’re going to be here all the time, you’re going to have to watch me work,” she said. “Which is just as boring as it sounds.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t be working so hard,” he doted.

Neria rolled her eyes. He followed her as she made the rounds at Vigil, swaddled in a set of padded armor that Wade had fashioned for the cost of six Phoenix pelts. They made it as far as the stables. “How is Blaze?” she asked her horsemaster. “Still sick?”

“Getting better,” he replied. “Should be ready for duty next week.” Behind him, a stallion lifted his tail and defecated.

The smell was thick and earthy, and unfortunately familiar for Alistair, but Neria looked rather green. “Okay good talk, carry on.” She flicked her hand at him and hurried off.

She retreated to an empty corner of the stables. “I’m sorry.” Alistair didn’t know exactly why he was apologizing. “Are you okay? I’m so sorry.”

Neria leaned heavily against a wall. “Just shh and hand me a bucket.” He did. Neria bent and unceremoniously emptied her stomach into it, and then looked up at him, as small and helpless as he’d ever seen her. “I’m so done with this.”

Alistair held open his arms, and Neria collapsed against his chest, wrapping her arms around him. Immediately she pulled away, her hand over her face. “Ugh, on second thought, no hugs. I had no idea you smelled so bad.”

“Oh, I’ll.. bathe more.”

Alistair wet his handkerchief in a nearby trough, and handed it to Neria. She wiped her face, letting the water drip down her chin. "People are going to notice if I keep getting sick,” she said. "Maybe you should pretend to be sick too, to cover for me. No, never mind, you're a terrible liar.” Neria frowned. “We’ll just have to leave your dinner out in the sun before you eat it, that should do it."

"Is that really---" Neria looked at him with her best do-this-for-me-I’m-pregnant eyes, and Alistair sighed. "..okay, sure. I will eat as much spoiled food as you need."

He escorted her back to her room. "Are you taking notes on all this? Anora needs to know how to act."

"She has it covered, don’t worry.”

Neria climbed into her bed and reclined with a heavy sigh. In smallclothes, her delicate condition was much more obvious. Alistair knelt beside her and slid his hand under her shirt, pushing lightly against her skin. To his wonderment, something pushed back.

“Oh, yeah, it’s doing that now,” Neria sighed.

“Really?!” He put his ear against her stomach. He couldn’t hear anything and didn’t really know what he was listening for, but he did feel a kick again, against his check, stronger this time.

He was going to be a father. The weight of it hit him hard. He had so many responsibilities, but somehow this one was more real. More his.

“Neria.” Alistair looked up. "Are you sure you're okay with this? Giving up your child to someone else?"

"Maker, yes.” Neria groaned and rolled onto her side. “Nothing’s changed.”

The disconnect unsettled him. He found himself back in his own childhood, abandoned in the stables, clutching a silver amulet in tight fists.

It must have shown in his face because Neria touched his cheek. "It's not like she won't know me, Alistair,” she assured him. “I visit Denerim all the time. I can be the overindulgent aunt that gives her too many sweets and teaches her bad words."

"She? Her?" That cheered him. He cocked his head, considering the strong kicks. "You think it's a girl?"

"I hope so, for Anora's sake." Neria smiled indulgently. "Theirin boys are hopeless."

Too soon it became impossible to hide, however. Even Neria had to admit that. When Anora offered her the Mac Tir house in Gwaren for refuge, she reluctantly accepted. Anora met her personally at the back gates of Vigil, in an unmarked carriage, with a few guardsmen disguised as livery.

Neria’s eyes widened when she saw her. Anora’s transformation was uncanny; if Neria hadn’t known better, she would have believed the ruse without question. It was not just her figure, either, although that was well done. There was a glow about her.

At the same time, Anora was considering her, a curious expression on her face. “You look…” Anora paused.

“...huge?” Neria sighed.

“I was going to say beautiful. It’s true what they say, isn’t it? You have never looked more lovely, truly.” Anora gestured to the carriage. “Shall we?”

Gingerly, Neria negotiated herself into the cabin, and Anora sat beside her. “I trust you are well?” she asked politely.

Neria grimaced. As if the nausea had not been bad enough, now the kicking was keeping her up at night, as was the constant need for urination. “As well as can be expected,” she grumped.

“Has it been that bad?” Neria gave her a sidelong glance, and Anora tilted her head. “Would you like me to talk about something else?”

“Maker, yes.”

“Well. You’ll be pleased to hear that there is peace in the Alienage. Denerim is largely repaired, and trade through the port has been restored. I finally beat Alfstanna at chess. And Alistair has been beside himself, making everything safe for the baby. Perhaps that’s too close.” Neria heard the crack of a whip, and the carriage lurched to a start. She glanced back at her home, as they rolled away.

“What have you told your people, about where you’re going?” Anora asked.

“I’m looking for a cure for the Taint.” Neria gestured vaguely at herself. “It’s actually much more likely than this, I think, in their eyes.”

Anora seemed to understand. “People don’t think of me as maternal, either, I don’t think.” And yet, that same look, that glow. Neria would not have described her as cold, in that moment. Her eyes were sparkling. “But this child will have every advantage, I promise you.”

“Anora, are you crying?”

“No.” Anora wiped her eyes. "It’s only… nobody has ever done anything like this for me before, Neria.”

"I think that's safe to say, yes." Neria laughed.

"You joke, but I mean it. I owe you everything, Neria. My throne, my whole life, and now this.” Anora took her hand. Neria was startled; she had never touched her before. “I need you to know that you are precious to me," she said.

Neria was struck by the softness of Anora's expression, a sweetness she’d never seen in her. The Queen really was very beautiful. "I... well, I like you too, Anora."

They were so close Neria could smell the sweet lilac smell of her hair. Anora leaned in and very gently pressed her lips against hers. It was so much warmer than Neria had imagined, soft as rose petals. She closed her eyes before she pulled away, savoring it.

Anora smiled. "Perhaps we should reconsider that threesome?"

"Um, maybe later?" Neria's swollen belly bumped against Anora's false one.

"Yes, that would probably be best." Anora laughed, blushing a little. She looked away. "It’s three days ride to Gwaren, my dear. We should rest.”

“What happens when we get there?” Neria asked.

“I’m afraid I can’t stay. But I will send you Erlina, and my healer. You won’t be alone.” Anora patted her hand. “And we will come for you, when it is time.”

“Agh Maker fuck yeargh!?!” And with that final push, a child was born.

It had been months of discomfort, hours of frustrated screams, panting, cold moments of dark sweat and blood, but the ordeal was finally done. Neria collapsed from exhaustion, and the healer took the small boy from her, clipped the cord carefully and set to washing him. It was a boy, physically; Neria had been mistaken. Anora noted that he seemed about the right color and had the normal amount of limbs and such.

There was something unexpected, however.

Alistair, already ashen from worry over his lover, looked like he was going to be sick. “Oh, Neria.”

“What? Does it have seventeen toes or something? What’s wrong?” Neria squinted. Through the fog of her experience it took her more than a moment to notice the faintly pointed ears on each side of his perfect head. “Huh?”

Anora took the baby from the healer, holding it like a damp rag. She leveled a dead stare at Neria. “This is his?” she asked. “You are sure?”

“Yes! But you’re…?” Neria was staring at Alistair with a new consideration, as if the distance between them had widened and narrowed all at once.

Anora tsked, quietly. This was not according to plan. She held the baby on the pads of her fingers, separate from her body. It cried for her, and squirmed, and she adjusted her grip, let him settle against her. He cooed into her chest, and despite herself Anora smiled.

“Never mind. He's perfect.” She let out a long breath, and looked at Alistair, and then Neria. The three of them would figure something out.