The gardens of Skyhold are spacious but Alistair feels cramped, armor constricting around him as his throat runs dry. The Maker is surely having a good laugh at his expense. He never thought to see Morrigan again, let alone his…this child.

"That's him? Well, I thought he'd look, I don't know…more demonic. Tentacles and fiery breath."

"He is a normal boy, Alistair." And he does look normal, ten fingers and one assumes ten toes, dark hair like his mother and -are those Alistair's ears? Poor kid.

"Uh-huh. And what does he know of…of how he was made?"

"He knows his father was a good man. I-" The witch shifts on her feet, glancing away at the child across the yard. "I thought you deserved as much."

This surprises a nervous laugh from him. He can face darkspawn, archdemons and enemies in familiar armor, but a gracious Morrigan is worse than all of them combined.

"He's changed you."

Morrigan glares at him, annoyed, but it still lacks the strong conviction from years gone by. "Don't be absurd."

They lapse into a silence. Alistair isn't sure what to do with all this. He's spent a considerable effort trying to forget that night ever happened ten years ago. He could do without this memory too, he thinks, but, Maker preserve him, she'll never forgive him if he doesn't. Alistair clears his throat and finds the courage. "May I speak to him?"

His eighteen year old self would have loved the comical look of shock on Morrigan's face. "You wish to speak to him, truly?"

"Just for a moment, if that's all right. I won't mention our…association,I swear."

She takes measure of him for a moment more before sweeping out her arm in open invitation. Alistair doesn't hesitate to approach the gazebo or else he might never find the nerve. The boy keeps his eyes down on his work as heavy boots come near and stop a short distance away.

"Uh, hello there."

The crayon stops and dark eyes glance up. Alistair fears he'll see flames or demons swirling in them, but Keiran only smiles and shows a row of teeth instead of a fangs. "Hello."

"I'm Alistair. A friend of your mother's. Well, sort of."

"I know who you are. Mother doesn't think I can tell, but our blood sings," Kieran replies before going back to his task.

"Riiiight, completely normal," Alistair mutters to himself. Armor creaks and clangs as he bends down to glance at the artwork. "What are you drawing there?"

But now that he looks closer, Alistair doesn't need the picture explained. Even if it is no masterpiece, he knows exactly what it is for he was there. The archdemon's maw open, screaming in one final act of desperation. The Hero of Ferelden with a great sword in hand, grim faced and determined, sliding towards an uncertain fate. He can still hear the roar of his blood pounding as he watched her, heart hoping it was all worth it.

"Did Mor-your mother tell you about this?"

Kieran shakes his head. "I remember it in dreams."

"You remem-" The soul of an old god, she said. Of an ancient, evil darkspawn. Yet as Alistair watches, really looks, he does not see evidence of darkness or taint. Just a boy, a peculiar one perhaps, but when has anything been normal in their lives? "Do you like it here? In Skyhold?"

"Oh yes. The Inquisitor is very nice, but I don't know why she wears her face like that. I just wish there were more children to play with."

Alistair laughs at the youthful enthusiasm. "So…you're happy?"

Kieran puts his crayons down and glances back up. "It gets lonely sometimes, but I always have Mother. You don't have to worry."

Alistair lets out a breath and his armor feels lighter for the first time in months. He thought he would feel worse meeting his fated offspring, but there is only a sense of great relief. Maybe something worked out for once after all.

Kieran holds out the drawing. "Would you give it her, please? I want her to have it."

"Uh, sure, I could do that." Alistair takes the paper and tries not to wrinkle it with his heavy gauntlets.

"I would like to meet her again. She was so very brave. Do you think she'd like me now?"

Alistair smiles even as the strings of her memory tug sharp on his heart. "Yes, I'm sure she would. I should let you get back to…" he gestures wildly. "It was nice meeting you, Kieran."

"Goodbye."

"Everything was to your satisfaction?" Morrigan asks as Alistair approaches. He merely nods, uncertain if he can find the right words to describe the experience. Satisfied doesn't seem quite right. "You've heard nothing from our mutual acquaintance?"

"She sent a letter back with the Inquisition's report, but even for her it was vague. Frustratingly so. I don't know where she is, if she…"

"Don't be a fool, Alistair. We both know there are few things in this world that would keep her from you." They both glance at the boy, a gift to them both in more ways than one. "And when you are blissfully reunited, will you…will you convey my well wishes?"

"When I find her again you are going to be furthest thing from my mind," he replies and laughs at Morrigan's scowl. "You know she'll want to come find you again, both of you. Get the family back together, as it were."

"I assumed as much."

"I'll let her know." They share their goodbyes and as Alistair walks from the garden, eyes cast down on the picture in hand, he realizes they are family. A strange and inexplicable one, but something like family nonetheless.