Mother,

It shouldn't have taken me so long. I knew (or suspected) for years but couldn't bring myself to admit the truth. Being angry was easier. I would rather think you hated me than the alternative, that you died alone and unrecognized on the road trying to move closer. I hope someone gave you the pyre you deserved. I hope you weren't afraid and that you didn't suffer.

I'm sorry.

I didn't write after my Harrowing, or when I left the Circle. I didn't write when I became a Warden, when I fell in love, when I slew the Archemon. I didn't write about any of my honors or titles.

I didn't marry. I do have a partner, and a home in this strange world between worlds. In not very long I'll have a child.

It would be so easy to call Morrigan my wife, but it wouldn't be true. Her name belongs to her and mine belongs to me, and every day is a reiterated choice. She's worried incessantly these past few months, more as it becomes obvious how close she is. What kind of soul will be brought into the world, will it be a god or a person or some combination. Will it love, will it be loved, does love matter. Did she lose something, growing under the wing of a witch in the Arbor Wilds.

She asked me to kill her mother. I did. She wanted to survive as herself. There was no question that if it came between her and Flemeth she was forfeit. Morrigan mattered only as a vessel, and she doesn't want to make a child of hers into a vessel too.

She fears this has been selfish, but can't regret saving my life.

She's better than she admits. I wish with all my heart she could have known you.

I've told her stories, to help. Morrigan has shattered mirrors and sacrifices, games played with death and practical things. I taught her the lullaby you used to sing. I shared tales from the alienage, kinder games you'd use to make me smile. At first she seemed confused ("You're not hiding anything behind your hands. Alim, this is ridiculous"), made wonderful faces. She's come to find the humor since.

Morrigan feels what was missing more, now. But I'm glad to be here with her. I think she's glad too.

She cries occasionally. It's something she tried to hide at first. Now she lets me find her.

When I murdered Flemeth, I thought of you. I'd never have been able to ask such a thing. I couldn't have done it.

I miss you. I always have.

I don't share my fears with Morrigan. She's distracted, hopefully she hasn't noticed. All I have left of Father are vague impressions. It's been decades since you told me. He worked too hard. He didn't think enough of himself. He gave everything he had. He was sickly. Will that pass into my son or daughter? Will I be good enough, patient enough, aware enough? Will I find myself facing a monster I killed in my child's body? Will I act like a father, will I love them?

I've given up fighting for now. It's easier than you'd think to pretend things are normal, in this solitary place. We sneak back to Thedas for food and supplies. We have fresh water. There are no animals in this world of reflections. When we cook dinner or do laundry it doesn't seem so strange.

Morrigan knows old songs. Flemeth sang them around the house sometimes. A few of them are in Elvish.

Her voice is beautiful.

People don't recognize me when I visit the towns. I don't use my name there. Most shop owners are kind, but our people are still servants more often than not. I've learned to hide my magic and I'm better at swords than when you first watched me practice.

There are times I miss Jowan dearly. I hope he survives and I hope he hasn't caused any more harm.

At night, I don't see archdemons. I still hear the corrupted prayers, see bodies warped by disease and violence. Darkspawn are such empty things, Mother. Their minds are twisted beyond any semblance of order or meaning. They don't understand that they live or that others live, only that there is fear and excitement when they kill or fuck or put part of the world into a shape it was never meant for.

They don't want to die, but they don't know that they can.

I spared those that spoke. One called The Architect. Another, The Messenger. They know something is incomplete. They want to learn another way to exist. They sought my help.

Sometimes, when I return to Thedas, I see them. It's never pleasant, but neither Morrigan nor I fear it any longer. They won't kill me.

I try to keep in touch with the friends I left as well. Morrigan thinks that's unnecessary, but she still tells me to include messages from her when I write. Even to (King) Alistair. She's always looking for new ways to call him dull.

I think he knows she misses him too. The insults he replies with are cleverer and funnier every time.

We've learned how to be lonely. We're still learning we don't have to be.

The last letter you received, I told you I could throw lightning. With the tower behind me I can see the sky again. I still like storms best, and when my magic builds you can almost taste it in the air. It isn't subtle, my energy cracks and thunder is much louder when you're the source. It links and it moves and it doesn't stop moving.

I know what it takes to mend, but I can kill with a thought or a gesture.

I can be something truly terrible, but I try not to be. I hope that would be enough.

Thank you for your protection, for teaching what you could as long as you could. And thank you for being someone whose absence I will always regret.

I hope you've found peace.

Love always,
Alim