The Bastards of Ferelden
Prologue
The Planasene Forest – about two years after the crowning of King Alistair, close to Prince Maricen's first birthday (around Chapter 25 of "Duty's Journey")
"I know you are there, elf. No point in hiding anymore."
Zevran dropped neatly from his perch in a nearby tree to the ground about fifteen feet from Morrigan's cook fire. The two assessed each other for a minute, hands at their sides, until a soft "Mama" from behind Morrigan distracted both of them.
"Is that…?" the assassin started.
"Ashling, come here," Morrigan called behind her.
From the shadows a small figure toddled into the firelight. Zevran knew little of children, but the little girl seemed the correct age to have been conceived right before the Battle of Denerim and the slaying of the Archdemon. She clung to her mother's leg and gave Zevran the same assessment her mother had a minute before. Her hair reminded him of fine buckskin, but it was her eyes that took his breath away.
They glowed gold.
Maybe it was the darkness and maybe it was the firelight, but little Ashling's eyes burned with and intensity that he had only seen in a handful of elves. This child was no elf, nor did Zevran think for a moment that she was human. Ashling was something else.
"So," Zevran began casually, "this is what the mating of a Grey Warden and the Witch of the Wilds begets, eh. A very exotic creature indeed." He inclined his head to the child, who reached a hand to her mother.
Morrigan took Ashling's hand, her amber eyes never leaving the invader to her territory. "What do you want, Zevran."
He settled himself on a rock beside the fire, attempting to make himself comfortable and ease Morrigan into conversation. "I have been looking for you for over a year now. I was hoping we could enjoy some civilized chat and catch up a bit. You've been busy, I see." He put on his most charming smile for Ashling, who rewarded him with one of her own. He could feel her curiosity.
"Do not try to charm me, assassin. I have no patience for it. I take it Alistair is looking for me."
"Why no, dear lady." Zevran focused his charm on Morrigan. "I was commissioned to find you by the second-in-command of the Grey Wardens, a very personable man named Rainer."
Morrigan seemed a bit taken aback by this. "Oh, not Alistair then." Morrigan gave Ashling a little push that sent her toddling over to Zevran. "Why did this Rainer send you?" The child leaned against his bare arm when she reached him, her pudgy little hands warm to Zevran's skin.
He gave the child a long look before answering Morrigan's question, which he felt oddly compelled to do. "He wants to know how you did it, kept the Wardens from dying as they slew the Archdemon. He wants you and this little beauty in Weisshaupt."
Ashling's eyes flared as he spoke. Once he finished, she turned to her mother and raised her arms with a little squeak. Morrigan scooped her daughter up and studied her a moment before saying, "You speak truly." Ashling rested her head on Morrigan's shoulder, the very picture of mother and daughter. Zevran shivered.
"Well," Morrigan's tone became casual, odd for her, "since you've come all this way, it would be rude of me not to offer you dinner and a night's rest. We live rather simply here, but it will do for a night, I expect."
Zevran nodded slowly. "A gracious invitation. I accept. In fact," he swung his pack off his shoulder and opened it, "I have a decent bottle of Antivan White to donate to the meal, if you would like."
Morrigan smiled coldly. "How civilized. Allow me to put the little one to bed and then we shall eat. And talk."
Zevran nodded and Morrigan turned to enter the small hut behind her, just out of the firelight's reach.
It was going to be an interesting evening.