Chapter 149: Unrealised Potential

***Trigger Warning: Miscarriage***

I sat curled up in a ball, forehead resting on my knees, arms wrapped around my legs, trying not to think or feel – or listen.

I could hear my husband just outside the open door, whispering frantically to Alim and Jowan. They were acting like I couldn’t hear them – like I was asleep, or something. Which, if they thought about it, they knew I wasn’t, given I still held the Architect’s mana. I could hear them clearly without trying. Honestly, the door’s even open, for heaven’s sake.

I don’t think they were thinking much at all – just reacting.

To be fair, they’d all tried to help. Alistair, horrified by the full weight of what was happening – an unexpected, unplanned pregnancy, and now likely a miscarriage – had immediately gone for help. With Anders away, and no one else to turn to for help, he had brought both mages up to the small room where I waited. And to their credit, the two men had put aside their differences and both come, even though neither was a healer or had any experience with pregnancy or miscarriage – and even though they hated each other’s guts.

I had cleaned myself up to the best of my ability, stuffing several towels into a loose pair of trousers to prevent soiling my clothes – and whatever I was sitting on – yet again. And then I had laid there on the little couch while the two mages did their best to analyze what was happening to me. Both had tried to do something like the diagnostic scan I was familiar with from Wynne and Anders, and had agreed, with some discussion and a lot of uncertainty, that yes indeed, I had been pregnant, and that I was having a miscarriage. But with limited skills and experience, neither had been able to offer anything resembling reassurance as to whether it was progressing normally, whether the miscarriage was inevitable, and whether my bleeding was excessive.

“Save my baby?” I had begged, and both mages, so different in appearance, had developed the same, panicked expression and embarrassed flush.

“I’m not sure even Anders could do that, Sierra,” Jowan had sadly explained, holding my hand tightly.

“But even if he could – and I’m not saying it’s possible, but even if it was – we don’t have the knowledge,” Alim had continued.

“I’m going to ask Avernus,” Jowan announced, and had rushed off – only to return a few minutes later shaking his head sadly.

“Velanna?” I asked.

“Knows even less than us, according to her.”

And the entire time, Alistair had just stood there, looking helpless and horrified, taking deep gulps of air and refusing to meet my gaze.

I just curled myself into the smallest ball I could, put my head down, and concentrated on my breathing.

And now I could hear the three of them talking in the hall, and it wasn’t helping.

“What the void happened?” Alim demanded. “Getting pregnant in the middle of a darkspawn war? And letting her stay awake for days? What did you expect would happen?”

“It wasn’t on purpose,” Alistair almost sobbed, and I had to suppress the urge to go to him, to try to soothe the pain I could hear in his voice. “We didn’t know. It’s all my fault. When she was captured ... I forgot. I was so distracted trying to save her that I think I forgot to take the powder. This is all my fault.”

The regret in his tone lanced through me like a spear, and I squeezed my legs harder to suppress the moan of pain that threatened. All I want is to save this baby I’m losing – and he just regrets that it happened. I felt tears finally begin to fall, and soak through the knees of my pants. And then I felt another wave of cramps hit me, and I wasn’t able to suppress the moan of pain.

All three men rushed into the little room, but with nothing they could do to help, the two mages just offered their condolences and reluctantly left, encouraging Alistair to come get them if the bleeding got any worse. Alistair went to scoop me up and pull me into his lap, but I objected, scrambling out of his arms. He tried to hold me anyway, and I struggled briefly before giving up and collapsing against his firm chest with a stifled sob.

“What if I bleed more? I don’t want to get it all over you,” I complained, pushing ineffectually against him.

“I couldn’t care less,” he insisted, pressing a kiss to my forehead. “Just relax. I’ve got you.” And I couldn’t bring myself to refuse the comfort he offered, even knowing we felt so differently about what was happening. I leaned back against his chest, throwing one arm up to cover my eyes with my elbow, and went back to trying my best to meditate, clear my mind and think about nothing – without falling asleep.

Over the next while, I drank water at Alistair’s insistence, but refused anything else, still feeling nauseated and too upset to even care about food. Alistair kept me in his lap except for when I was dealing with the flood of blood that happened periodically, refusing to leave me even to sleep, and I didn’t have the heart to argue with him. But I wasn’t ready to talk, either, and he was clever enough to know that and choose not to push me. I was too exhausted and sad to cry, needing all of my energy to fight to stay awake, not to let go of the Architect’s mana.

Every now and then I thought I felt silent sobs wrack Alistair’s body. Maybe he doesn’t want to talk yet either.

I lapsed again into hallucinations, sometimes reliving horrible memories – the feel of Utha’s too-warm, black blood running down my wrist as I stabbed her, or the horror of watching Faren succumb to the poison I’d added to his water – but sometimes it was something more akin to daydreaming. I was having a particularly insidious vision of the future where the baby I carried lived, and Alistair and I welcomed it into the world and became a family – and couldn’t help the dismayed groan that left me when I woke to discover none of it had been real. Alistair rocked me, stroking my hair and trying to comfort me as I fought down the urge to scream.

Anders and Aedan found us there a while later, having finally arrived from the Circle. They had apparently been warned what was happening when they arrived. Both men came racing into the room, Aedan to wrap his arm around my shoulders, press a kiss to the side of my head, and beg forgiveness for not being there for me when I needed it, and Anders to stand sheepishly in the doorway waiting for everyone to get out of the way so he could offer help. Zev slipped in past Anders, expression sympathetic. I saw Jowan and Alim lingering behind Anders, and heard more talking from the hall; clearly everyone had now heard what had happened and had come to gawk.

Even I knew the thought was uncharitable; my friends were just trying to be supportive, but in that moment I wanted nothing more than to be alone, and allowed to go to sleep. I nodded at Aedan wordlessly, and then curled up tighter, still held securely in Alistair’s lap, covering my head with my arms and wishing for everyone to disappear.

Finally after a few minutes like that, where it became awkwardly evident that I was not planning to engage in any conversation with my visitors about what was happening, Anders cleared his throat. “Perhaps we could have some ... privacy?”

Startled and embarrassed, everyone began clearing out. Aedan, clearly upset with my lack of communication, seemed to think he should stay; he exchanged some kind of wordless conversation with Alistair, and finally slunk out sulkily.

“Love? Do you want me to go, or...”

I could see the concern on my husband’s face, but also the understanding. He was frightened, and he wanted to help, but if I’d wanted him to leave he would have.

I couldn’t do it, couldn’t say the words that would have made him walk out the door, knowing the pain they’d cause and the stricken look he’d get even while complying. Instead I closed my eyes and nuzzled into his shoulder without a word.

“Right,” Anders muttered anxiously. “You’re fine just where you are, just...”

The mage stopped, and I could hear him shifting his weight awkwardly for a moment, and then he sighed. I felt his aura flare, and greenish light emanated from my abdomen, almost blinding me even with my eyes closed. It lasted forever, or so it seemed, while I ruthlessly tried to suppress the horrible scenarios that tried to intrude on my consciousness – visions of me surrounded by a small lake of my own blood, eyes staring sightlessly at the sky plagued my imagination. I shuddered, and Alistair’s arms closed around me tighter.

“Anders?” My husband’s voice was steady, but barely hidden panic and impotent rage were obvious.

Finally it was over, a minute or a lifetime later, and Anders flopped into a chair facing us with a whoosh of breath. I opened my eyes and risked a peek at the mage’s angular face. He had scruffy stubble, long enough that he obviously hadn’t shaved in a couple of days; there were deep, dark circles under his eyes and his complexion looked almost bruised somehow. But it was his expression that made me regret looking the most: sadness, empathy, pity.

I almost screamed. The sound that emerged from me – the only sound I’d made since saying the word ‘pregnant’ to Alistair other than a moan of pain – was a shrill whine.

Anders winced. “I’m sorry. Sierra, I’m so sorry. If I hadn’t been so distracted by Solona and Faren and darkspawn, maybe I’d have realised...” I grunted impatiently, and he took a deep breath to steel himself before going on. “You were pregnant. Two months or so, I’d guess. You’ve had a miscarriage. There’s nothing anyone could have done.”

I nodded, having guessed what he’d say before he’d said it.

“You’re bleeding rather more than I’m comfortable with, and we need to talk about that. I can help. But you need to know that this isn’t unusual, it happens to a lot of women, and it doesn’t mean ... well, there’s no reason to think you couldn’t have a normal pregnancy in the future. Everything’s going to be fine.”

My temper flared in a small portion of a second, and almost before I knew how I’d done it, I leaped out of Alistair’s lap and towered over the seated mage, blazing with anger. “Fine? Everything’s fine? If you ignore that my god-damned body killed my own baby, that is.” The wind was taken out of my sails when I staggered, suddenly light-headed, and almost face-planted into the lap of the current object of my rage. Alistair reached out and caught me, holding me up so I didn’t crumple to the floor.

Anders’ expression didn’t shift from the understanding, empathetic one he’d started with – like he’d expected my reaction and it didn’t bother him. “I’m sorry,” he repeated, and then reached out for my hand. “Lay down, Sierra. Let me help you.”

My anger spent, I nodded, and he gestured toward the small couch Alistair and I had been sitting on. I was lifted and placed down on my side, and I curled up, fetal style, around the cramping, uncomfortable seat of my misery, and closed my eyes again.

I heard Anders murmur something to Alistair, ignoring the words and just trying to be comforted by the calm tone of his voice. After a brief exchange, Alistair knelt beside me and stroked the sweaty hair out of my face.

“Anders says it’s better if I go, and that I’m needed downstairs. I won’t be far, and I’ll be right back, okay?”

I nodded.

“I love you, Sierra.” He kissed my temple, and then he was gone.

Anders pulled his chair closer to the couch, and waited a moment, then finally spoke. “It’s not your fault.”

I snarled, but half-heartedly – I’d used too much energy, and I didn’t have anything left to fight with.

“No, really. Sometimes ... usually, in cases like these, something went wrong, right from the get-go. It wasn’t anything you did. I imagine you’re blaming the fighting, the stress, maybe the staying awake ... but that’s probably not why. It was just bad luck, and nothing you could have done would have changed it.”

I opened one eye and stared his face, skeptical; he sat calmly through my examination, nodding when he could see that I accepted it as truth. I felt his mana flare, and a soothing wave of restored energy and vitality flowed into me. I finally uncurled and sat up, ignoring my spinning head to slump back and sigh.