"A 'strange coincidence,' to use a phrase

By which such things are settled nowadays."

~Lord Byron

2. The Princeling

A golden hue bathed the walls of the stony bedroom. Outside the wind howled something fierce, prompting the mother to raise the blankets to her child's chin. He was unfazed, though, his earnest face encouraging her to continue.

"What happened then?" he insisted.

She sat back resignedly. Sleep would not come easily tonight, she realized, looking into the boy's eyes. They said boys resembled their mothers and daughters their fathers, and she had been inclined to believe the old wives' tale except when the light caught his profile a certain way. Depending on the angle, she could swear she was looking at her son's father— the same strong nose, chin, brown eyes…

"Mum!" he pleaded.

She grinned and ran her hand over his cheek.

"Very well, little man. Where were we?"

" Lorran's about to descend into the lair!"

"Ah, yes! Lorran grasped his sword, unsheathing it and wielding it before him defensively. He cautiously approached the great iron gate…"

The boy huddled deeper into the bed, his eyes open wide. He'd heard the story before—several times, but never tired of how his mother told it, since she frequently changed the plot. Her voice knew how to coax the scary bits out in ways mere words in books never could. He could never be certain whose side she was on— sometimes the hero was the hero and sometimes he was the villain— so he'd often find himself wondering if he'd aligned his sympathies correctly. And the battles! She would release wisps of fire into the air, evoking the explosions and eruptions of her narratives. It was delightfully terrifying, he found, watching his mother's cat-like eyes shimmer in the firelight.

"'Foolish man!' the dragon warned him. 'The treasure you should be seeking is not of this world!'" she said in a lugubrious voice. " 'Gold and precious stones are common rubble in this realm of darkness and silence. You have disturbed my slumber for nothing!'"

He squirmed nervously under the covers. It was now. The moment Lorran and the dragon would stare each other down, each convinced of the righteousness of his beliefs, each prepared to step over the threshold irreversibly, sealing their fates.

A faint knock sounded against the door. He kicked his feet in frustration, turning to his side and punching the pillow lightly. His mother moved her hand towards him in a soothing gesture, but the knock sounded forth once more, urging her to answer it promptly. She straightened the skirt of her formal dress and ran her fingers over her short dark hair before crossing into the small parlor and opening the door. A young elven woman stood outside, her hand raised halfway to the door.

"Lady Morrigan," she said politely. "I apologize for my delay. I was held up—"

"You are here now," she interrupted, with her usual cool charm. "And Kieran's already in bed. I was hoping he'd be an easy charge for you this evening, but he is having trouble settling."

The young woman entered the room, removing her cloak and draping it over a chair.

"Hello Kieran." Her voice possessed the bright lilt of the Dalish.

"Hello Alea," he replied sullenly.

He turned to his mother, a mournful expression on his face. "Can't you finish the story before you go?" he implored.

"We can continue tomorrow," she suggested, heading for the door. "Is it very crowded downstairs?" she asked Alea.

"I'd say it's been crowded for a good hour," the woman admitted.

Perfect, Morrigan thought. She'd make her entrance discreetly.

"But what happens to Lorran?" Kieran finally sat up in the bed.

Morrigan turned around abruptly, raising her palms and casting a barrage of flames towards the ceiling. Both Keiran and Alea jumped, but for very different reasons.

"The dragon ate him whole," she grinned. "For some dragons—not all, mind you— are wise in the ways of the world… and even of the Beyond. It would have benefitted Lorran to listen to his warnings."

Alea turned a slightly discomfited face to Kieran.

"Greedy Lorran," he shook his head disappointedly. "I wonder if tomorrow he will do better?"

"We shall have to wait and see, won't we?" She bent down and planted a kiss on her son's forehead. "Now quiet down and don't give Alea any cause for complaint, my love."

She addressed the woman.

"I'll be back in a couple of hours."

"Very well," she acknowledged, taking her seat by Kieran's bed.

Morrigan paused before the mirror by the bedroom door to pull on her gloves.

"Would you like to hear one of my stories?" Alea proposed.

"Will it be in Elvish?" Kieran asked suspiciously.

"Your mother does want me to speak it to you as often—"

He frowned.

"Does it have dragons?"

"Not this one…no…But," she continued conspiratorially, "it has an ogre!"

His eyes brightened.

"And plenty of magic!" she laughed.

Morrigan smiled as she stepped out into the parlor and headed for the door, ready to depart.

"Will anyone be changed into…a frog?" he asked, with slight concern in his voice.

Her head whirled around in surprise and disbelief.

"What is this preoccupation all of a sudden?" she asked, stepping back into the bedroom, caught off guard by how eerily familiar the question sounded.

"It's just that in all these Dalish stories people keep getting turned into animals," Kieran complained. "They just wiggle their fingers and then…ZAP! It's frog time."

Morrigan had to clasp the railing tightly on her way down to the formal gathering.

Coincidence, she told herself. Mere coincidence.

Kieran was just talking like a child talks, that's all…And yet, hadn't his father often sounded like one, too?

She sighed deeply.

Of all the similarities they should share, she thought, shaking her head.

Her left eye hadn't twitched like that in years.