A/N: The second part, because it was never really finished.

There is, inevitably, a next time. No joy, however, can be found in the news. Wynne never explicitly offers, but the chance to be rid of the child before it has even begun is there. He leaves that decision to her, of course. She is silent today – not terribly unusual anymore, sadly. He wonders what she will do.
It is a surprise, then, when she stirs suddenly.
"No. We have to try." He looks at her, seeing a spark of hope in her eyes. It is almost as if she is back. Almost. Oghren gently claps a hand on her back, and Wynne smiles again, the first smile since the pair walked through her door today. His fingers tighten around hers, but he smiles at her inquisitive gaze. She is strong, far stronger than he thinks he is, but he would not let her carry him through the pain last time and he will not give her a chance to this time.
He takes his leave, and his heart feels wrenched, squeezed by impossible tiny hands. He does not dare to hope for anything, he thinks as he wanders back to the Warden headquarters. He cannot allow himself that luxury.

Throwing up blood was a bad thing. He steels himself for more bad news, very aware of every possible change in their situation. He knows she is acutely aware that it was around this time last time that she almost died – even in his head he cannot bring himself to say that they lost something, will not let himself acknowledge that there was a life there to lose – and he is on the edge of his seat as Wynne performs tests and scurries around unhurriedly. In the corner, Oghren maintains a tight grip on his axe – he has been dragged out of bed with a hangover, but Alistair appreciates that he would want to be here. Finally, Wynne turns on them.
"I don't know," she sighs. "The best guess I can make is that the child is rejecting the blood, somehow, through you. But even that is just a guess." She folds her arms. "Wait and see."
Three words that they have come to live by, it seems. He pulls her close as she cradles the small bump emerging from her stomach, whispering to her softly. She has grown optimistic lately, and he would hate to see her crushed again.

He is so very afraid. At the best of times, today would have been stressful, but his only concern right now is that she lives – all he wants, all he can dare to hope for, is her continued life. Her guttural screams through the wall are terrifying, and he stands up every minute, only to be dragged back onto his seat by Oghren, who has been charged with making sure that Alistair does not get in the way.
"How can you just sit there?!" he demands of the dwarf. Oghren raises an eyebrow, and Alistair looks away. He knows that the dwarf has sat outside many births now, being Wynne's trusted assistant and dear friend. "Sorry.. I just.."
"I know," grunts the dwarf, staring at the wall opposite. The screams have subsided into sobs, but Alistair is still kept firmly in his seat by Oghren.
Finally, the door opens, and he all but runs into the room. His love is exhausted but alive, and he crosses the room in three strides to hold her close as she cries. Behind him, Wynne clears her throat.
"Alistair, come here and say hello." He turns his head, and registers the bundle in the mage's arms. Standing up slowly, he glances down at his love – she smiles through sweat-soaked locks of hair, eyes damp but shining.
"You mean.. but.."
"Oh, shut up and go and see him!" she chokes, wiping her face. The word hits him like a rock.
"Him?" He walks over to Wynne, shell-shocked that the life that stirs in her arms, red and blotchy and covered in Maker-only-knows what but so very alive, is their son. Oghren moves his arms into a position better suited for holding children, and Wynne lays the newborn into the arms of his father. "A son.." he whispers, finally smiling. Hope beyond all hopes that he dared think have finally borne fruit, and as he sits on the edge of the bed, grinning like a fool at his boy, tears streaming down his face, he thinks that there must be a Maker after all, and that He has finally returned to them.