Work Text:
DAY 1: "I like you better broken” / Pregnancy
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Amaya stepped out of the physician's office with a weight logged in her heart. Like a rock lodged between her ribs. It was hard to breathe.
Shit.
She shouldn’t be surprised, yet she was.
She had known before the words were spoken; known when the morning sickness grew bad enough that she missed drills, when her body lagged half a step behind commands, when it had followed without thought for years. When her cycle was late, confirmation felt almost insulting.
Still, the truth sat heavier once named.
Fuck.
She could already hear her mother’s voice, Maker guard her soul, sharp and disappointed in the way that was typical of her mother.
“Andraste Cries, I did not raise you to be careless, Amaya! I raised you to be smart.”
Amaya kept walking.
Maybe she didn’t need the physician’s opinion, or needed a second opinion. Maybe the long walk from the barracks was all she needed. Clear her head and step away from the world of duty and honour. She’d visited a physician almost two hours' walk away from the barracks. One on the outskirts of the city that usually cared for the farmers and traders that passed through the city gates. Who saw countless new faces every day and wouldn’t care to remember Amaya’s face.
Even out of armour, Amaya’s Antivan appearance was an odd sight in Starkhaven. The regular physician at the barracks was rumoured to have loose lips, and Amaya did not want this getting back to her superiors.
It would, eventually…
The thought stole the air from her lungs. A sound slipped from her throat, something that started as a groan and ended in a tired sigh.
Shit…
Amaya remembered the mother who lived beside her childhood home. Always swollen with child, with many trailing behind her. Amaya witnessed the woman cycle through six pregnancies by the time she left for training. Watched through her windows how the mother struggled, body growing, slowing with an inevitable softness.
Her mother had once spoken of ankles that disappeared beneath swelling skin. Of sore backs. Mood swings. Nausea.
Even then, young and ignorant, Amaya shuddered at the thought.
Now, grown and lived, Amaya’s body -her hand swept past her stomach- was not meant for that kind of change.
The physician had droned on despite Amaya’s growing distress as they listed even more symptoms of pregnancy.
Constipation, bloating, and spotting. Swollen breasts. I’d take swollen breasts over swollen ankles. The thought of patrolling with her entire body failing had her shuddering.
She had asked about herbs -something to stop the inevitable change- the moment the physician stopped yapping. The question was quick, and the answer had been just as swift.
Too late.
Amaya hesitated too much. Doubted herself when decisiveness had always been her strength.
Ali crossed her mind then.
Amaya laughed. A short one with no humour to its sound. As if she could find him. The Chantry ensured their locations would be far apart from each other. For them -Ali and Amaya- to keep their roles and reputations intact, they had agreed.
He could be as far south as Ostagar or swept in the dry air of Ansburg. A kind thought graced Amaya. If Ali were in Ansburg, the Minanter River still connected them.
It was a kind, yet sobering thought. Ali was still gone.
There would be no father for this child.
Only her.
I’m going to be a mother.
The weight in her heart dropped to her stomach. A piling of stones filling a pond. Anxiety raced through her.
I can’t be a mother.
The truth rang louder than the bells that would echo from the Chantry. She’d known that truth for years. She had never wanted to be one. Could never be one. Never imagined it. Even when the possibility emerged, when the reality of her and Ali’s relationship began. She knew motherhood was not for her.
Her training, her life had been shaped for discipline -not that it meant anything a few months ago-, for duty -something the Chantry had to remind her-, for restraint -something she ignored when it mattered the most.
Tenderness and patience were not something she saw in herself. Ali had, though.
She took another step. Then another.
A chant began quietly, a steady refusal echoing beneath her thoughts.
No. No. No.
It had been there all along, that chorus of no’s, humming beneath the physician’s words. Even now, nearly running through the streets, it would not stop.
I can’t be a mother.
Her hands slammed down onto the railing of a terrace. The city of Starkhaven descended towards the Minanter River like stepping stones. Her new home. She was determined to make a life here.
She couldn’t return to Antiva, her family long gone. She couldn’t return to Ali, nor to their previous Circle.
She needed Starkhaven to be her home. She needed the routine. The discipline that the Templar Order provided- had always provided.
Amya couldn’t be a mother.
She stared at the Circle of Starkhaven standing in the distance, high in the air and calling her back to her role. Amaya had a duty to fulfil, one she’d forgotten in her moments with Ali. A duty they had both forgotten.
Templar Knight Amaya Canero rubbed her hand across her flat stomach, which would soon turn from hard muscle into soft, round tissue.
“I’m sorry, little one." She whispered. "I can’t be the one you need.”
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In another life, in another world, Amaya Canero kept her child.
But, in this life, Valencia Orvain was born without a mother.