Author's note – I don't own these characters. I'm aware that this may be going against cannon. Where I could find the information I needed, I used it. Where I couldn't, I've made it up to fit with the story. Apologies to any purists if I've got it very wrong. Apologies also if this title is already taken. It just seemed right. Sorry for any glaring typo errors.

9:5 of the Dragon Age – Redcliffe – 25 years prior to the Blight.

The midwife was superstitious and this was an ominous night to give birth. It was late and the candle flames flickered casting eerie shadows on the walls. The wind howled over Lake Calenhad rattling the shutters menacingly and although the room was warm the midwife shivered.

She held the hand of a pretty young woman and wondered at the fairness of life and the folly of men. The woman was exhausted, her dark hair hung limp and damp around her face causing it to curl slightly. A fevered blush stood out starkly against her pale skin, but it was her eyes that caused the midwife distress. She knew.

She'd worn a mask when she'd given her little girl a lingering kiss and sent her away with a serving lass, but it had fallen away as she'd left the room and she turned to the midwife with such anguish in her expression that the older woman's breath had caught. "This isn't right, is it? Something's wrong." She'd gasped "It wasn't like this with my Goldanna"

But that was many hours ago, and now the woman's face was set and determined as she pushed her son into the world. The midwife worked quickly and wrapped the crying baby before settling him gently beside his mother. As the woman pulled her baby close and pressed an exhausted kiss to his soft cheek he stopped crying and with unusual awareness for an infant gazed solemnly into his mother's eyes. The midwife watched as something seemed to pass between them. "Alistair…" the young woman whispered his name and stroked his downy hair with a trembling hand.

The midwife stepped quietly to the door and whispered to the guard standing outside. She didn't completely understand why the Arl wanted to know immediately the child was born, although she secretly wondered if the Arl's brother, Teagan was involved again. "A healthy boy." The guard was told. "But the woman…" She glanced back at the mother guiltily, "The mother's very weak. If there's a healer in the castle, they should be sent for." She closed the door firmly and was both touched and heart broken to witness these first loving moments between mother and child. The woman was barely awake now but was gazing on her child, drinking him in. Their eyes never left each other.

9:5 of the Dragon Age – Denerim – 25 years prior to the Blight.

"Cailan, come back!" The governess called laughing at the little boy who was rushing headlong down the castle corridor, all awkward arms and legs. He stopped and skipped around her in an agitated little dance. "But the messenger was wearing Uncle Eamon's colours and his letters always include a present for me, Maria." He pouted.

"Let your father have a moment before you charge in like a mabari hound, child." She chastised gently while she tried to smooth his blond hair down. He relented to her fussing and hopped slightly from foot to foot while she tugged his tunic straight.

"Maybe it will be a book, like the one he sent last time? " The boy wondered as he chewed his bottom lip thoughtfully. "Uncle Eamon promised me the full set of 'Ferelden History' when we last visited Redcliffe."

The Prince eyed the door to his father's study, but waited patiently until the messenger backed out of the door with a sombre expression on his face. Cailan took his chance and left Maria in the hall way as he slipped in the door, full of the confidence of a boy cherished by his parents.

King Maric stood leaning by the window looking out over the training yard. Something about his posture made the Prince stop before announcing his presence. A sheet of fine parchment was crumpled in his father's hand and his head hung down, his shoulders slumped. Cailan cocked his head to one side, puzzled. His father always stood straight and proud. He was always larger than life, but his present bearing made Cailan uneasy.

"Was your message from Redcliffe?" He finally asked as he slipped his hand into his father's in his childish acknowledgement that something was wrong that he didn't understand. Maric looked at him blankly for a moment before answering.

"Yes. Eamon sent you a history of the Grey Wardens, Cailan." He said quietly.

The Prince loved his father's deep and booming voice, but this was different. He looked like Cailan imagined he'd looked himself when he'd been caught in the Palacekitchens with his hand in the cookie jar. Was that guilt behind the King's eyes?

"Is everything alright in Redcliffe, father?"

"Yes…No." Maric sighed and appeared to think before moving to a chair and pulling Cailan into his lap. "Cailan, I learnt a lesson today. That a man needs to have authority and control over himself before he can hope to have authority over others. I wronged someone and now it's too late to apologize."

"But I'm sure you didn't mean to…." Cailan looked up at his father in confusion.

"No, I didn't mean to, but I did and now I have to do what I can to clean up my mess. "

Cailan's face fell. The King had never admitted a weakness to anyone. And here he was, desolate, confessing a wrong to a seven year old boy.

"Maybe mother can help?" Yes, mother could make anything better, Cailan thought.

"No!" Maric snapped and Cailan gasped in surprise. Maric had never looked at him in such a way.

Maric visibly tried to calm himself. "I don't want to worry your mother over this, Cailan. Please don't mention this to her. We don't want to bother her, and to be honest, I'd rather she didn't know. We'll keep this between us. Man to man." Maric smiled without humor, his eyes burned into Cailan who stepped back slightly.

"Yes, father." He managed to say before he was handed his book and pushed carefully but firmly towards the door.

As he left the study Cailan looked up at the governess who had been waiting for him. "Was the messenger from your Uncle?" She asked innocently.

Cailan nodded absently, but looked back at the door with a puzzled frown. He didn't know how to express it, but he felt different now. Wrong somehow. He followed Maria back up the corridor feeling older than the little boy who had hurtled care free down here earlier.

Please, please, please…do I sound like I'm begging (?) review. It really helps to get a few positive comments and pointers on how to improve.