After finishing Inquisition, seeing that scene where Alistair kicks Fiona and all the mages out of Ferelden, and getting the letter on the war table wherein he apologizes for kicking them out so hastily, I wanted to write a scene after the fact of the two of them finally talking. This takes place during the party after the final battle, which I assume King Alistair would attend. Obviously, Inquisition spoilers abound, so read at your own risk.

Disclaimer: Bioware owns Dragon Age, not me.

It was over, finally. Everything was over. The civil war in Orlais ended; the breach in the sky closed. Corypheus was dead, slain by the Herald of Andraste herself, if "Andraste's Herald" was truly what she was. Fiona wasn't sure. In any case, the mage-templar war was over as well, with the mages finding themselves with new unprecedented freedoms, and that should have been reason to celebrate in itself. And yet Fiona had no desire to join in on the feasting and dancing. She had already made her obligatory appearance, chatting briefly with her fellow mages and congratulating the Herald, but Fiona had never had the patience for these sorts of things. There were too many pompous and arrogant nobles from both Ferelden and Orlais currently in the main hall vying to win the Herald's favor. She found it utterly exhausting… but that wasn't the only reason Fiona was missing from the party.

So, instead of remaining at the party below, Fiona had wandered upstairs and found herself leaning against a balcony overlooking the Skyhold courtyard. Below her, a young mage spoke with a Grey Warden, his arms moving around enthusiastically as he talked; about what, Fiona couldn't hear. The sight brought back so many memories from so long ago. She had last been with the Wardens… what was it, thirty years earlier? It felt like another lifetime. So much had changed; she had been so many things in her life: slave. Circle mage. Grey Warden. Grand Enchanter. And for too short a time, Mother.

"Have you been hiding from me, Grand Enchanter?" Fiona jumped, startled by the voice, and turned around quickly. "Because I saw you down at the party, but as soon as I could get away from Lord such-and-such or Bann so-and-so, you were nowhere to be found."

Fiona said nothing, her heart pounding in her chest. The man walked forward until he stood next to her, resting his arm on the balcony.

King Alistair. Her son.

"Or maybe they're who you're hiding from. If so, I don't blame you. I can only take so much of their sucking up to me, myself."

He gave her an easygoing grin, and Fiona's head spun. He looked so much like Maric. Perhaps a bit tanner, and with blond hair a few shades darker and kept short, but still. Tall and broad as well, just as Maric had been. Handsome. The only feature of Alistair's that was hers were his dark eyes.

King Alistair was just the very person Fiona had been trying to avoid, and yet here they were, standing face to face. Shit.

At her wary look, Alistair lifted his hands in front of himself. "You don't have to worry. I've calmed down since the last time we saw each other. I'm not going to yell at you or anything."

You promised yourself you would have nothing to do with him, a voice in her head hissed at her. This will bring you nothing but pain. Staring at the son she had to abandon made her heart ache with desperate longing, but Fiona found that she could not bring herself to leave.

"Do you need something, Your Majesty?"

"Just Alistair, please. It's just you and me out here, and I'm not the biggest fan of formality."

Alistair. When Fiona had given birth, she refused to name the child. It would have made the leaving all the more painful, and so Maric had named him after she left. It fit him well. "As you wish… Alistair. If we are not standing on formality, then you may just call me—" Mother. "—Fiona."

He smiled the same goofy grin Maric had given her all those years ago. "Sounds good to me, Fiona." Alistair paused just a moment, as if deliberating over what to say next. "So which is it?" He said at last. "Hiding from me, the evil scary King who likes to yell at innocent mages, or from someone else?"

You. "I just needed a bit of fresh air. It was getting a bit stuffy in the main hall."

"You're telling me. Celene and I finally banged out a peace treaty a short while ago, and the Orlesian nobles keep trying to ask me questions about it, how it'll affect trade, if I'll come to their dinner parties… they creep me out, with those masks. Freaky."

Fiona allowed herself a small smile. When he wasn't busy kicking her out of his country, her son was charming, easy to talk to; another way he was just like his father. And he was the King. The thought brought forth a touch of bitterness. A life of royalty was exactly what Fiona hadn't wanted for her son, but there it was.

"Anyway." Alistair looked down at his feet, suddenly uncomfortable. "I've been looking for you. I wanted to speak with you before I returned to Denerim."

He knows. He knows and he wants to tell you he hates you for abandoning him. "Well, you've found me."

"I wanted to… well. I owe you an apology."

"A—what?" Fiona responded, dumbfounded. This was entirely unexpected. "An apology?"

Alistair looked back up, directly into Fiona's eyes. "Yes. For what happened in Redcliffe. I acted too rashly, kicking you all out of the country. You see, I had learned that my uncle had been kicked out of his home, and I was angry. At the time, I didn't care who's fault it was, but I know now that it wasn't yours. I spoke to you very cruelly, and I'm sorry. Truly."

The honesty and sincerity with which her son spoke left Fiona speechless. At her silence, Alistair continued. "Now that the war's over, the mages are welcome back in Ferelden. Assuming, of course, that you won't be letting any Tevinter magisters take control." There was that smile again. "Can you ever forgive me?"

"Of course, Alistair," Fiona breathed.

"Good. That's good. I'm hoping we can… I don't know. Start over, I suppose. If the mages are to have more freedoms, I suppose there's the possibility we might be working together more closely at some point. I want to be on good terms with you."

Fiona relaxed. He wasn't angry with her, but more importantly, he didn't know. "I would like that very much."

"Excellent." Alistair smiled at her, moving towards the balcony entrance. "So that's all I really wanted to say. Unless there's something else—"

"Why did you do it?" Fiona blurted out. Curse your tongue. Just let him leave. "Why did you let the mages come to Ferelden in the first place? You had no reason to help us." It was a question Fiona had been wondering for quite a while. She should just let him leave, but she had to know.

Alistair paused for a moment before returning to stand next to her. Resting both arms on the balcony, his eyes scanned the courtyard, resting on the mage and Grey Warden still deep in conversation. "I've met a lot of good mages. Good people," he said at last. "Tell me, did you know Wynne? She was an advisor to my court, for a time. I believe among the college of enchanters she was referred to as the Archmage? Anyway, we traveled together during the—"

"—The Blight. Yes, I knew her," Fiona cut him off, trying to keep the distaste out of her tone. She and Wynne had harbored a mutual dislike of each other.

"Ah. Well, she…" He paused and swallowed, as if trying to suppress some swell of emotion. "Wynne was… is… very important to me. In all the years I knew her, she was like… the mother I never had, I guess."

The mother I never had. He might as well have punched her.

"She died saving the life of another, if I understand it correctly," he continued. "Learning the news was… hard. Anyway, inviting the mages to take refuge in my country, it seemed like something she'd want me to do. So I did it. Not sure if it was the best reason, but there you go."

So there it was. King Alistair had allowed the mages into Ferelden because it was what he thought his surrogate mother would want him to do. Fiona regretted asking.

Alistair stared out over the courtyard, lost in thought. "I wonder what she'd think of everything else that's happened," he said, almost to himself.

"I have no idea," Fiona responded. Nor did she care to know.

As it was, Alistair stirred out of his reverie, smiling apologetically at Fiona. "Sorry. Just… thinking out loud. I tend to do that sometimes. And…" His eyes poured over her face, as if searching for something. "Huh. You know, I've been wondering, have we ever met before? I mean, before the whole, 'Tevinter Magister takes over Redcliffe' thing? There's something about you, I'm not sure exactly what it is, but there's something… You just seem so familiar to me. I feel like I must know you from somewhere."

Yes. I'm your mother. "I'm sorry, Alistair, but I don't believe we'd ever met before the 'Tevinter Magister takes over Redcliffe' thing."

Alistair furrowed his brow. "Are you sure? Is it possible you were ever at the Circle tower in Ferelden? Or—"

Yes I'm your mother I gave birth to you and I gave you up and I think about you every single day and "No." Fiona suppressed a wince at her forceful tone.

"Ah." Alistair shrugged. "Must be my imagination then." His face lit up. "Say, you know, my court's sorely in need of a mage advisor, someone who can represent the needs of the mages in Ferelden, and I'm wondering if perhaps you'd like the job? You live in the royal palace, get to order people around, the food's pretty decent…"

Yes, of course, anything to be closer to you "I'm sorry, Your Ma—Alistair, it's a generous offer, but my job right now is to see to the needs of all mages everywhere, not just in your country."

He shrugged. "Well, it was worth a shot. If you have any suggestions for who would be suitable, let me know." He turned to leave. "I should be getting back. My guards are probably starting to wonder where I've gone off to, although they should be used to my escaping by now. I've gotten pretty good at it. Unless you've any other deeply personal admissions to drag out of me?"

"Alistair, are you happy?" Shit. Shit shit shit. Stupid mouth.

"I—am I what now?"

"I'm sorry, Your Majesty. Never mind. That was inappropriate of me." Fiona flushed with embarrassment. Evidently, her voice was now slave to the whims of her traitor mind.

"No, it's alright. You took me by surprise. It's just kind of an odd question, don't you think?" He tilted his head curiously. "I mean, most people don't normally ask me stuff like that. So why do you ask?"

Curse your mouth, Fiona. You are burying yourself alive. She searched for what to say that wouldn't reveal the true reason behind her question. "It's just that I know how trying it can be, having so many people look to you to lead them. Being the King… I can't imagine it's an easy life."

Alistair seemed to consider her question. Fiona assumed most nobles would never even consider answering such probing questions from one such as she. But not her son.

"No, it's not an easy life," he said quietly, running a hand through his hair. "I mean, sure, you never have to worry about having enough to eat or anything. But you're right. Making hard decisions, making sacrifices, it… takes a lot out of you." He sighed. "I don't know why I'm telling you any of this."

"You don't have to answer. I apologize for asking."

"No, no. It's fine. You seem to have a knack for bringing out my sentimental side." He smiled softly before continuing. "You know, I used to think I just wasn't meant to be happy. Happiness was for other people, not me."

Fiona said nothing.

"I used to think that, but not anymore. There's been a lot of bad in my life, but there's also been a lot of good. So to answer your question, yes. I suppose I am happy, at least most of the time."

Unbidden tears welled in her eyes, and Fiona hastily wiped them away. Alistair's eyes widened in concern. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to upset you—"

"No," Fiona cut him off, "I'm sorry. Just… these past few months have been trying. Please, don't mind me. You should probably get back to the party."

Alistair sighed. "I should, shouldn't I." He placed his hand on her arm. "I'm glad I got the chance to talk to you. It turned out a lot differently than I expected, but like I said, you just feel so familiar to me. Well, nothing wrong with revealing deep truths to near-strangers every once in a while, right?"

Fiona laughed. "I'm certain. Have a safe trip home, Your Majesty."

Alistair merely smiled, turning away and finally leaving her. Alone once again, the tears began to flow freely, a weight deep inside her for many years seeming to dissipate.

Her child was happy. It was all she could ever ask for.

As always, reviews are welcome and appreciated :)