27. “I’m pregnant.”
Cullen’s mouth opened and closed but he was incapable of making a sound. It felt like the air in the room had turned oppressively warm. Finally, he managed a strangled-sounding, “What?”
The clenching of her jaw and a tiny twitch by her eye were the only signs that his normally demonstrative Inquisitor had any emotion about the subject. “I said I’m pregnant.”
“Are… are you sure? How do you…”
Her thick, dark eyebrows rose, making the Vallaslin on her forehead fold into a fascinating new pattern. “How do I know?” She took a deep breath. “Well, my breasts are big and sore, my pants are too tight and I can’t stop throwing up.. oh and I’m…” She looked up at the ceiling, and seemed to tick some numbers off her fingers before waving a hand. “…at least two week’s late with my moon’s blood.” She shrugged. “I’ll get Vivienne to confirm, but I’m fairly sure that all adds up to pregnant.”
He couldn’t seem to stop blinking. “Vivienne? Oh? Not… not Solas…”
Her eyes narrowed and her voice was firm. “No, it has to be Vivienne,” she said, and he didn’t think he imagined the hard edge of her tone.
He was unused to her holding her cards so close to her chest, and the vacuum of doubt left by her reticence was making it hard for him to breathe. “Well, I… that is… I mean…” He looked at her helplessly before letting out the breath he’d been unconsciously holding. “Ellana, how do you feel about this?”
There was a hard glint in her eye as she studied him. “That depends.”
A lump formed in his throat. It occurred to him then that it probably said something about him that he’d never once contemplated the possibility of this happening. “On what?”
Her green-grey eyes met his with a steady gaze. “On how you feel about it.”
It was only in that moment that the fact finally sunk in. The Herald of Andraste… his impulsive, dramatic, loving and kind and fearsome Inquisitor was pregnant… with his baby.
Slowly his lips curved into a grin that felt permanent once it reached its apex. “We’re going to be parents? Ellana…” He took a tentative step forward, feeling more steady the closer he got to her. “This is wonderful news.”
He stood so close she had to crane her neck to look up at him. As she did, he realized she was scrutinizing him closely… almost suspiciously. A part of him felt wounded but before the feeling could sink in, something in her expression softened. “Do you truly think so, ma vhenan?”
The use of the elvish term of endearment filled him with confidence… and a little pride. He reached out and she stepped forward at the same time, and then he was enfolding her in a tight embrace. “I do, I really do,” he whispered into her jet black hair.
They held each other silently for a few heartbeats, and then she spoke into his chest. “Good. I’d hate to have to bring up a fatherless shem.”
He was certain she was kidding, but knew there was at least some truth behind the joke. He rested his chin on the top of her head. “Never…” Unsure how his use of elvish would go over, but determined to show her that he at least partially understood, he added in a quiet voice, “Ma vhenan.”
She pulled away so that she could look at him, and after searching his face and finding only love and acceptance reflected in his gaze, pulled him into a deep and passionate kiss.