There and Back Again Ch. 195

Chapter One Hundred Ninety-Five: Out-laws

"Fiona. You're Fiona."

I sat back, nearly hyperventilating, as I examined my visitor again. My eyes flew from her hair, to her eyes, to her slightly wrinkled face, trying to see something familiar, any sign of the man I'd married, but nothing had changed -- she was still the same stranger, though her smile looked rather forced now.

"Yes. I am. I see Duncan was right -- you know who I am." She swallowed again. "I'd honestly thought he was kidding, or maybe mistaken." She ran a shaky hand through her hair. "You can see why I wouldn't reveal myself to anyone but you."

I nodded slowly, my mind racing, but finally turned to look at Avanna. "I'm sorry to have dragged you away from your duties. You can go -- we'll be fine here." The guard's stoic expression fell for a moment, and I could read the worry there, but as much as I trusted my captain, I couldn't talk to Fiona with Avanna present. She knew many of my secrets, but there were some even she didn't need to know. I nodded reassuringly, and Avanna turned stiffly, yanking the door open and leaving without a word.

Fiona and I waited for the door to close, and the elf -- my mother-in-law -- slumped slightly in her seat, finally relaxing a little. The two of us sat for a moment, just staring at each other; I hadn't the first clue where to even start with the conversation I knew we needed to have.

"Alistair's n-not here," I stuttered anxiously. "He'll be back tomorrow."

She nodded. "I admit, I'm somewhat...relieved, really."

I raised an eyebrow in surprise.

"I just...this is...awkward," she finished, looking nearly as uncomfortable as I felt.

I took a deep breath. "Yes. So let's clear the air. You're Alistair's mother. I'm his wife. And he's the Warden-Commander of Ferelden, now, as well as the Prince and next in line for the throne. No one can know what you are to him, or...I don't even know what the outcome would be, honestly." I felt a bit like a bitch for saying it, but it was the unfortunate truth.

"I know." She winced. "I'm not here to stir up trouble. Duncan asked me to come, but I wasn't sure it was a good idea. It's why I couldn't send a letter, in case it found its way into the wrong hands. It's also why I wanted to see you first; if you believe my presence here will be a problem, I'll go." The queasy expression on her face said she might prefer it that way, even though I couldn't imagine she'd come all this way just to want to leave. "I should really just go."

"No, are you kidding? You can't leave without even talking to him. He'd be devastated."

She didn't look convinced. "You could just...not tell him?"

I wondered if that option seemed as painful to her as it did to me. "Uh, no. First, I'm not lying to my husband -- not for you, not for anyone." I'd seen where that led, and I wasn't doing it again. "And second...I am, actually, really glad you're here." I cleared my throat. "Look, I know what it's like," I took a breath and blinked away the sudden tears that threatened, "not to know where you came from. I wouldn't want Alistair to lose the opportunity to meet you, no matter how awkward it will be."

The look on her face was agonizing, a combination of fear, hope, and pain so strong it made my jaw ache. "Are you sure?"

I nodded, decided. I'd been hesitant, during the Blight when Duncan talked about asking Fiona to visit, uncertain how I'd feel about the woman who I couldn't help but blame -- at least a little -- for Alistair's dreadful upbringing. But seeing her, nearly feeling the anguish that radiated from her...she deserved a chance. She and Alistair both did.

"Come on. Let's get you settled. No, no, don't put your cloak back on."

"But you said it yourself -- no one can know who I am." She looked sad -- momentarily -- but resigned.

"We're just going to tell everyone that you're First Enchanter Fiona, here on a mission for the Circle, and no one will care. That cloak just draws more attention to you, believe me."

She gave me a skeptical glance. "A mission for the Circle," she replied flatly.

I grinned. "You would be surprised who wanders around here. I suppose I should warn you, I've got an entire battalion of templars training here somewhere." I led her out into the hallway, then up to Levi's office to arrange a room for such a distinguished guest. "And the Knight Commander has been here before too."

"Templars! Why?"

I explained the training program we were running -- allowing the templars to train alongside a large portion of Ferelden's military -- and it didn't even occur to me to omit Greagoir's hope that I would train his men in my unique templar skills.

That didn't make explaining my unique skills any easier, especially when I wasn't going to be telling her everything -- at least, not yet.

"So, you were just...born a templar?" She stared at me like I had a third eye, smack in the middle of my forehead.

My stomach roiled as I considered the stupidity of telling her about all this -- despite Duncan, I barely knew the woman. "Yup." We'd reached Levi's office, and I was relieved for the reprieve. I asked him to settle Fiona in one of our nicer guest suites, and he hustled her off, giving me space to breathe for a minute. And I needed it; I'd held it together better than I expected I could in front of Fiona, but I was honestly freaking the hell out, and I needed some time to compose myself.

I slumped into a chair in my office, pen in hand like I was going to do paperwork, but instead stared at the wall for a solid half hour, mind reeling. Finally I pulled myself together and tried to think through the situation logically.

It was awkward, there was no escaping it, but I hadn't lied when I'd said I was glad Fiona had come. I'd lost any opportunity to get to know my parents, but Alistair still had a chance, and I'd promised myself in Lhanbyrde to do what I had to for his chance to come to fruition. In the end I hadn't even had to lift a finger.

Which reminded me of the letter I still held in my left hand, forgotten. I looked at the envelope again, my eyes following the shapes of the small, utilitarian script on the front. I took a deep breath, and popped the wax seal, straightening out the parchment on my desk.

Sierra,

If you're reading this, then I am dead and the Blight is over. Knowing you, you probably feel responsible for my death, even though we both knew it was inevitable. If the Blight hadn't taken me, my Calling would have. So please, for me, let the guilt go. You, Alistair, and Aedan brought unexpected joy to this last year of my life, and I am nothing but grateful. I dare say I'll be looking down on you from the Maker's side with as much pride as I know your parents would feel.

I took a shaky breath, blinked away a few tears, and continued reading.

This letter is meant for a different purpose, however. The bearer of this letter, a dark-haired, Orlesian, elven mage, whose importance is well known to you, should be able to confirm enough details for you that you can be certain of her identity. Please ensure she is who she claims to be; I don't want to take the chance that my letter to her has ended up in the wrong hands.

My eyes widened as I thought back to the conversation I'd just had with dread. It hadn't even occurred to me that Fiona might not be who she said she was -- that I could have just told a complete stranger that Alistair's mother was an elf and a mage. I stepped out into the hallway and requested that my guard have someone keep an eye on our guest -- not necessarily to interfere, but to report on her activities -- and prevent her from leaving, if she was to try.

I didn't want to think too hard about what I would do if I determined she was lying. Whatever I have to, probably. I wouldn't enjoy it, but I'd do it.

I sat back down and picked up where I left off.

This is going to be a difficult time for both of them; I trust you to help them through it, to encourage them to forgive and move on from the past. I know you understand the importance of this; life is too short to cling to bitterness. And I know you probably harbour some hard feelings as well, but keep in mind no one could have predicted the future when those choices were made.

And Alistair -- because I know you'll be reading this -- I have told you before, and I will tell you again now, your parents loved you more than you can imagine. They only wanted the best for you, and letting you go was the hardest thing either of them ever did. Their decisions may have been mistakes, but they were honest ones, made with your best interests at heart.

Alistair, Sierra...You were the children I never had, and I am so proud of both of you. Aedan, you were the best recruit I could have hoped for. I hope that you all think of me fondly -- but not too often, and without regret. It was my honour to know you, to guide you, and I know I left the Wardens in the best possible hands with you.

Maker Watch Over You,

Duncan

I sniffled a little and put the letter aside, vowing to show it to Alistair and read it to Aedan later. There was a confusing mix of emotion swirling around in my gut -- guilt, that I'd been the reason Duncan had died in the end, and because I'd allowed his loss to dim with time and didn't think about him every day, anymore; sadness that he was gone, that we'd all lost him and we'd never get him back; pride, that he'd loved me, loved us, just as much as we'd loved him. It was bittersweet, and I knew I'd probably have a little cry about it later, when I had time to think about it more.

For now, I had a conversation to have with a certain elf -- and then, if it went well, a reunion to plan. Maker, I hope this is the right choice.

*****

"First Enchanter?" I knocked on the door to the guest room Fiona had been assigned, dry-mouthed with anxiety. "Could we talk?" The guards informed me she hadn't left her room since Levi had taken her there. I'd decided I needed to go into the conversation with an open mind and having her brought to my office like a delinquent child wasn't going to earn me any brownie points.

The door opened, and the elf smiled at me, somewhat nervously, I thought. "Your Highness. Please, call me Fiona."

"Only if you call me Sierra. I hate all that title nonsense." She nodded, so I went on, "I was wondering if we could talk for a while before supper."

She nodded, turning to let me in to her room with a sweep of her hand. "Um..." She looked around awkwardly. The guest room was lovely, with a large bed, private bathroom, and a chair by the hearth, but it wasn't exactly a convenient place for two people to sit and talk.

I smiled. "Not here. If you're ready, why don't you come with me?"

I led her back to my quarters, the most private place I could think of for a chat. When he heard us, Prince appeared in the living room, lavishing me with a quick nuzzle before checking out my guest. Fiona appeared delighted, cooing at the mabari like a baby, and after a few minutes soaking up the attention, he curled up at her feet, looking completely content. A little bit of tension left me at that; Prince had always been a pretty decent judge of character, and anyone who could charm a very protective mabari couldn't be that bad. Lady, Barkspawn, and the two, as-yet-unnamed puppies followed shortly, and with a bit of herding, settled by the fire.

I gestured for Fiona to sit, offering her tea, which I'd had brought up before I went to fetch her. "Do you happen to know that spell...?" I asked, pointing at the teapot, which was now decidedly cool. "Would you mind?" It was a bit of a test; I wanted to see what her magic felt like.

Looking surprised, the elf summoned her mana -- the aura reassuringly similar to Wynne's, to my templar senses -- and touched the pot, and before I knew it, the water was boiling merrily, and her aura had subsided to nothing. I'd been expecting it, but prepared for something worse, like an attack, and some more of my tension faded as her magic quieted.

"Most non-mages aren't comfortable asking someone to do a spell for something like that," she murmured, looking at me in surprise.

I steeped the tea, my back to her as I considered my answer. "I'm not like most people," I began. "I wasn't raised to fear magic, and I've spent the last eighteen months traveling with multiple mages. But you also pose very little threat to me, so I suppose that makes it easier to be nonchalant about it."

"I don't intend any harm, that's true, but I wouldn't have thought you would take that for granted, given we've just met."

I brought the tray over to the end table and sat across from the elf with a grim smile. I wasn't looking forward to what I had to do -- but I really didn't have much choice. "That's not what I meant. Whether your intentions were good or bad, it would be difficult for you to hurt me." Her skeptical look remained unchanged. "I could show you, if you like?" It wasn't really a question, and I was sure she knew it.

She nodded anyway, so I carefully, gently, trapped the mana I could sense about her; I tried specifically not to cause discomfort while still making sure she wouldn't be able to cast a single spell. She gasped anyway, her hand coming up to clutch at her chest, though her expression didn't show pain -- only fear.

"How...?"

I released her mana, and she slumped back into the chair like she'd just run a marathon. "I told you, I was born with some unusual abilities." I tried to look reassuring. "I'm sorry, I know it's uncomfortable for you. But as you can see, mages don't worry me that much."

I poured the tea, giving her a few moments to pull herself together. As unpleasant as it was to do, I needed her to know she couldn't hurt me -- and to be just a little bit frightened. I swallowed thickly.

"So I was wondering if I could ask you a few questions." Fiona's face had taken on a blank, expressionless look, so I couldn't be sure if my intimidation tactics had been effective. It didn't matter; I still needed answers. "Tell me about Maric?" I'd read the book about her relationship with the late king, but just once -- years ago. My memories wouldn't be perfect, but hopefully, if she was who she claimed, her story would remind me of the details I'd forgotten.

"I'm guessing you've read Duncan's letter, then," she replied. "He warned me I'd need to prove my identity to you. Which is fair enough, I suppose." She frowned, as though she didn't think it very fair at all. "You aren't a Grey Warden, though, and—"

"There isn't a Grey Warden secret that Duncan knew, that I don't. You don't have to worry about telling me anything I'm not supposed to know."

"And how exactly do you know all this, then?" She cocked her head and examined me. "You're not going to tell me, are you."

"Not...today."

She considered that for a moment, and finally nodded. "What would you like to know?"

"Tell me about how you knew Maric."

Fiona sighed, but launched into the story I remembered vaguely. First in the Palace in Denerim, when their Commander asked Loghain to accompany them -- and instead Maric had volunteered -- to the Ortan Thaig. Maric had been miserable since Rowan died, and had a bit of a death wish, not to mention a prophecy he'd been given by Flemeth that drove him to believe them about the risk of a Blight. The Wardens needed to recover a Grey Warden who'd gone on his Calling, and been taken by the Architect, as it turned out.

"This darkspawn -- the Architect -- I know it sounds mad, that darkspawn don't kidnap people, but I swear he was real." Her tone became defensive, and I wondered how many people hadn't believed her.

"Oh, he's real all right." I gave her a grim smile. "And we killed him." No one knew the real location of the insane emissary who'd originally sent me to Earth as a baby except a small handful of extremely trusted Grey Wardens -- and me. The official story was that we'd killed him in the Deep Roads near Amaranthine, and I was sticking to it.

Fiona's eyes widened. "He was still alive? But...that was twenty-five years ago!"

I nodded. "Best I can guess, he was hundreds, if not thousands of years old. He isn't a threat to anyone anymore. We made sure of it." That much was true -- the Architect was currently in a blood-magic-induced stasis, hidden behind multiple demon wards, and buried under several tons of rock. "Utha too." I didn't exactly feel guilty for that, but it wasn't a comfortable admission either.

The elf blinked, her eyes taking on a glassy sheen, and she let out a shaky breath. "I...oh. Right." She looked away and wrung her hands for a moment, then finally sighed and met my gaze again. "At some point would you tell me about that?"

I scrunched my nose unhappily, but finally nodded reluctantly.

Clearing her throat, Fiona went on to summarize their trip into the Deep Roads, skipping over the details of being trapped in the Fade, then explained the events once the Architect had gotten hold of them. "He wanted to make everyone in Thedas -- all the elves, dwarves, and humans -- into Grey Wardens. It would have been a slaughter."

"Genocide, more like."

She nodded. "And then he thought he could stop the Old Gods from being tainted."

I snorted. "And instead, he tainted one and started a Blight. Shocking and unexpected." I rolled my eyes.

She blinked, but the surprise didn't last. "I suppose I should have predicted that." She shook her head. "He convinced Genevieve and Utha, but the rest of us didn't agree. We escaped, fleeing to the surface; Kell died, but Duncan, Maric, and I escaped, only to be captured by First Enchanter Remille. He was going to send Maric to the Orlesian Emperor, and supposedly going to help the Architect distribute the taint across Thedas -- only he betrayed the Architect too. And he would have gotten away with all of it, if not for Loghain." Her forehead wrinkled in distaste, and I chuckled.

"He's not my favourite person either."

"Yet he's a Grey Warden?"

I nodded. "He's not here though." I sighed. "And then what?"

She slumped in her chair and stared into the fire. "Duncan and I went back to Weisshaupt to report. I realised I was pregnant before I even arrived, and until Alistair was born, they left me alone. I was allowed to come to Ferelden to give him up, and that's the last time I saw Maric -- or my son."

"Tell me what you told Maric when you gave Alistair to him?"

She frowned, her eyes tearing a little. "I told him...that I didn't want Alistair raised at court, the bastard, elf-blooded half-brother to the heir. I told him I wanted our child to have a normal life -- and to believe his mother was human, and dead. I made him promise." She laughed, the sound more than a little hysterical. "I hear I have you to blame for him finding out the truth. I don't know whether to thank you or shake you." She smiled weakly, and I grinned at the amusing pretend threat.

"Just...one last question." I was mostly convinced Fiona was who she claimed to be -- she knew too many secrets, both about Maric and the Grey Wardens, to be anyone else -- but she hadn't told me the entire story, and I needed to be sure. "I know it's personal, but...tell me about the demon."

Fiona swallowed, the colour draining from her face, her gaze flicking between my face and the door behind me, and I wondered if she was going to run. Instead, she took a shaky breath, scrubbed her hands over her face, and nodded slowly.

She still didn't speak.

After a long, expectant pause, I continued, "If it's any consolation...I already know. And I don't blame you, nor do I think less of you."

She stared at me for a moment before responding. "Does Alistair know?"