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Dragon Age: Fanfic: The most precious gift

  • Feb. 16th, 2024 at 5:12 PM
Title: The most precious gift
Fandom: Dragon Age
Rating: T
Length: 1018 words
Content notes: Pure fluff
Author notes: Written for the ‘precious’ challenge in fan_flashworks.
Summary: A few months after they flee Kirkwall, Fenris finds out that Sara Hawke is pregnant with his child.

***

Fenris had never really dared to let himself hope. There were some things that would forever be denied him, and he had always suspected this would be one of them. In the haste of their exit, he had not remembered the tisane Anders had brewed for Hawke each morning, nor noticed its absence.

So when she came to him a couple of months after they had left Kirkwall and told him he needed to sit down, he was completely blind-sided by what came next.

“Pregnant?” he repeated. His tongue felt thick in his mouth, clumsy around a word he was not sure he had ever spoken aloud before.

“I think so,” she said. She did not seem to know where to look – up at the trees, down to the rocky ground, behind him towards the small cabin where they had left Anders sitting in front of the fire. Anywhere but his face. “Anders would be able to tell for sure.”

“You’re with child?” he said, as if phrasing it another way would somehow give the concept purchase in his mind. Then a thought struck him. “… my child?” he asked.

Now she looked at him, her eyebrows quirked with annoyance. “I don’t know who else’s it could be.”

If it had been before, or even soon after, they had left Kirkwall there would have been doubt. Although Anders was a Grey Warden, there was a small possibility he was still able to father a child. But since the Chantry, he had withdrawn into himself, cutting himself off from anything resembling human interaction, never mind physical affection.

No, too much time had passed. It could not be Anders’. If Sara was pregnant, there was only one possibility. The child was his.

She was looking at him warily, and he realised he had been silent for too long. He slowly slid from the fallen log and onto his knees on the bare ground. He sat back onto his heels and looked up at her.

“A child,” he said in wonder. “My child.” Puer meus. His own language made it feel more real.

He lifted up to press a kiss against her as-yet slim abdomen, his hands finding her waist. Beneath those muscles, there was a child – his child – nestled in her womb.

Iterum me honoras, domina,” he said. You honour me once again, mistress.

After a moment, her hand stroked through his hair.

“You’re not upset then?” Sara asked.

“Why would I be upset?” he said. “This is more than I had thought possible.”

“You want this?” she asked, surprise in her voice.

Words seemed to press up from inside him, trying to climb up from his heart to be spoken. But there were too many, they were pushing too fast, and they lodged in his throat.

“I thought the magic in my family would be a problem for you,” Sara said, her hand still carding through his hair.

Fenris was not a fool. With mages in both their lines, there was a reasonable chance any child of theirs would turn out to be a mage too. At one time, that would have been abhorrent to him. But not now, not with Hawke.

“We can deal with what comes together,” he said. Then, because that might give the wrong impression, he pressed another kiss against her lower belly and said, “Perhaps Bethany or Anders could train them.”

Sara put her hands on his shoulders and knelt in front of him so they were at the same height. He sat back on his heels again and looked down at the ground, uncertain what he would find in her expression.

“Fenris,” she said, a thread of command in her voice, and he obediently lifted his eyes until he was looking into her golden-brown ones. “Tell me honestly: do you want this?”

He was afraid, he realised. Voicing it would make it real, and he feared she did not want this. That she would ask Anders to help her find a way to end it. Yet the greater fear was that she may be more inclined to do so if she did not understand what it meant to him.

“I have never wanted anything more,” he said, his voice raw with emotion. Tears were pressing against his eyes. He blinked heavily and looked away, taking deep breaths to keep them at bay.

Her fingers on his chin turned his face back to hers. She chewed on her lip for a moment.

“I’m afraid,” she said, “But… I want it too.”

He surged forward then, closing the gap between them, and wrapped his arms around her as he found her lips with his own.

“Sara,” he said breathlessly as they parted. “You are granting me the most precious gift.”

He brought his hands to her hips, pulling them gently against him, and leaned forward again to kiss her cheek, then her neck. She looped her arms around his neck, and pressed her breasts up against his unarmoured chest. Was it his imagination, or did they seem fuller already? He had fantasies of laying her down right there and then and pleasuring her under the open sky.

“We should still see if we can ask Anders,” she said. “Just to make sure.” A beat. “I could be wrong.”

Fenris reluctantly pulled back, dropped his hands, and tried to get his breathing back to an even rhythm. She was right. If anything could coax Anders from his near-stupor, it would likely be this news. Besides, the ground was hard and cold, and he could seek her pleasure in comfort, later, on their fur-lined pallet.

“Should we tell him now?” he asked.

“Soon,” she said. “Maybe after dinner.” She unwound her arms from his neck and pushed herself up off the ground. “Speaking of which, I still need to check the traps. Can you check on Anders?”

He nodded, and stood up. She flashed him a smile before walking off, slinging her bow over her shoulder as she went. Fenris watched her disappear amongst the trees before he turned and walked back to the cabin where Anders waited.

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