Author note: Hello my little songbirds! I so sorry it's been so long. I've been utterly swamped with my acting, singing and my Venetian mask. Ugh. And getting my prom stuff ready. Phew! But anyway, I hope you like this chapter. I tried to make this chapter a little longer, so please tell me if I've prevailed! Oh, I forgot to mention that in this fanfic, Grey Wardens no longer die when they're 30 or so because they survived the battle, so the taint was strong enough any more.

And I noticed an embarassing yet hilarious error in the previous chapter. When it says that she's born with the soul of an Old God, I put Old Girl! Oooh, it did make me laugh. I can just imagine Tacita sat in front of the fire, knitting, with Morrigan watching and thinking 'That is not from my side of the family!' But I'm rambling and here you are, waiting so patiently for the rest of the chapter. Or maybe you're not reading it at all? A daunting thought.

Disclaimer: No, don't even ask. Alistair or anyone else aren't mine. Not yet, anyway. i'm working on a 'Bring Alistair and Zevran to life' mod so, fingers crossed!

Tacita entered the awe-inspiring, jaw-dropping, luxurious rand Hall, with it's celestial ceilings and marble pillars. It looked almost as if it had been carved by angels. The marble was ivory white and cool to the touch. The ceilings were miles high and painted with painstaking detail, a scene of the battle at Denerim, all but sixteen years ago.

Butterflies fluttered in her stomach and her hand began to shake so she distracted herself by clicking her tongue. She was reluctant to admit her fear, however.

"May I help you?" a youngish human man asked her with a friendly smile.

She tried not to be, but Tacita was awestruck. She's never been this close to a human before, excluding the Chasind. They didn't count. She had to try admirably hard not to walk up to him and prod his face with her finger to see if it was made out of the same material as her own.

"Miss?"

Tacita blinked and realized that she's been staring at the man with her mouth open for quite some time. The witch blushed, closed her mouth and mentally face-palmed.

"Um. Yes. That is, I'd like to see the King. King. Is it King? Yes. King," she said, mentally debating whether or not to shape-shift into a sparrow and skedaddle out of there. She really knew nothing about humans. When she'd first seen Denerim market, she swore she'd stared at a Dwarf for an hour until he ever-so-politely asked her to move along, which she did after squealing when she realized the Dwarf could talk. She'd got quite a few funny looks then but she found a nice Dwarf named Oghren who, after belching and leering at her for what seemed like forever, lead her to the Royal Palace.

The man began to laugh.

"Pull the other one, girl. The King won't see you!"

A girlish laugh echoed around the room as Tacita spun around in a circle, kicked the man in the chest and then proceeded to set his pants alight with purple fire. She felt a tinge of guilt that was quickly overwhelmed by the giddy rush of adrenaline. Denerim was fun!

"Are you so eager to incense me?" she laughed, knowing that she appeared terrifying as she knew only her and her mother could be.

The man back away, fell over and then got up again, hands trying to smother the flames.

"Help! Guards! She's a Witch of the Wilds, she is! Help!" He yelled before fleeing.

Uh-oh. That wasn't good. What was it her mother had once told her? 'Never introduce yourself with the title Witch of the Wilds'. Oops.

Tacita grimaced as she saw a pretty elven woman approach her, clad in steel armour, with a surprising smile. The elven woman had pale skin, not quite the moonbeam white of Tacita's skin, sweet blue eyes and a sharp bob of black hair. On her face was an intricate tattoo that Tacita was ashamed to feel the spiky lance of jealousy over.

"A Witch of the Wild's, hmm? I've missed you, Morrigan."

Ugh. Every girl's worst nightmare. Being mistaken for her mother.

She shuddered before turning fully so the woman could see her blue-violet eyes, like the hottest bit of a fire, and her long waves of black hair that was tied in a ponytail and secured with a ribbon and bells. Morrigan never had her hair in a ponytail, or down. She always insisted that long hair was unpractical but Tacita grew her hair and wore bells and feathers with it, deaf to Morrigan's fury.

"Um…I'm not Morrigan," she said apologetically.

She didn't know why, but she liked the woman. And she knew her mother, which would help a lot. It seemed they were friends. How odd. Morrigan would never mention her friends, only said 'I had my moments'. Her eyes would grow sad, though, and Tacita never knew why.

"Oh, I'm sorry. You just look…so much like her. Excuse me."

The woman began to walk away, talking softly to her Mabari War Hound.

Tacita panicked, as if she was losing a dear friend. In a world where she knew no one and nothing, she needed an ally. A friend. And the woman just might be her first and only one.

"Wait! I…I look so much like her because…she's my…uh. .mother."

The woman stopped for so long that Tacita wondered if she was dead. She thought about poking her.

When she finally moved, it was to turn around, eyes wide in amazement.

"You…you're Morrigan's daughter?"

Tacita shrugged, rather sheepishly and held up her hands.

"Guilty."

The woman reached down with one hand to pet her Mabari who was growling softly at the witch-princess.

"Shush, Loki. Why are you here…uh…" she fumbled for her name.

"Tacita," she offered.

"Tacita. That's pretty. I'm Kallian," the smiled warmly at the girl.

Tacita found smiling back, shocking herself.

"I'm here to see the King," she explained.

Kallian raised her eyebrows as she mouthed Tacita's words.

"Your father…" she muttered and Tacita nodded. "Why do you want to see hi, if I may ask? Did your mother send you to claim the throne?"

Tacita shook her head, solemnly, throat suddenly closing at the mention of her mother. She hadn't even known she had a claim to the throne. How…well, surprising. That was going to be one heck of a conversation piece at parties. If she got invited to a party. She'd never been to a party before. She'd had pretend parties when she was young, with the wolf pups in the Wilds. Those memories were the best of her life.

"No. Mother…she…" she gulped. "she…she's in danger."

Kallian simply nodded as if Tacita had told her it was going to rain. Didn't she care more? Truth be told, Tacita was a little bit disappointed with her action. She'd expected a mad burst of tears and al matter of crazed wails. Once again, her full knowledge of Fereldan's and their customs came in handy. Not.

The elf waved her hand towards the door behind and walked briskly towards it, knowing the young witch would follow. And she did.

When they got to the huge door, Kallian stopped and faced Tacita who was quite a bit taller than her, a trait both her mother and father seemed to share.

"The King is just through her. Tell him I sent you. Good luck, little one. May the Maker smile upon you."

And with that, Tacita was alone again, staring at the door, knowing her father was on the other side. She wished Kallian was with her, but the elf had left before she could plead with her to stay.

Did she…did she open the door? Go in and see her father, the man who helped create her? What did she say? 'Here's Tacita!' No, perhaps not. Maybe 'Vas happenin', daddy-o?' Uh…no. Even 'Heya pop, sorry it's been sixteen years too late, but here I am!'

Ugh. Tacita rested her forehead on the door, praying that no one would open it and his first impression of her would be her falling flat on her face.

After a few minutes of staring at the door (she liked to stare), Tacita plucked up the courage to enter the throne room.

At the very other end of the room stood two thrones with the Grey Warden griffon stamped on one, the bigger one.

A ruggedly handsome man sat at the bigger throne and Tacita's heart gave a quick squeeze of adrenaline. She fingered the edge of her plum-coloured Wilds-wear, remnants of her mother's youth. Tacita had smothered them with ribbons and jewels and feathers, of course, to make it her own. Still, she felt very under-dressed and even a little inappropriate as one of the guards eyed the attractive curve of her cleavage. Somehow, despite her Wilds upbringing, Tacita took a wild guess that her clothes might be a tad too revealing.

Oh, how she wanted to run away to the comfort of her hut, find a better outfit and come back. Or not come back at all.

"Get moving," a guard hissed and prodded her in the beck to move forward.

"I'm going," she snapped, but miraculously she refrained from turning into a wolf and feasting on his… wang-dangle.

With several deep breaths, she strode towards the King, her father, the bells in her hair all a-jingle.

"I am a hero and one day they shall carve my name with pride," Tacita whispered to herself for courage. It was a phrase that her mother had always whispered to her before she went to sleep, or when she was scared. Her mother would stroke her hair softly with her fingers and say 'You are a hero, and they shall carve your name with pride'. Over the years, it became a mantra, her motto. It was a rule, and Tacita lived her life by it. She was a hero. Not a villain or murderer, like her mother long ago had once been.

"By Andraste's holy knickers, it's Morrigan!" The King paused. "Oh, not Morrigan. Sorry about that," he said sheepishly.

Tacita said nothing as she drank in the man's strawberry blonde hair, honey-coloured eyes and warm, friendly smile. Her father.

Alistair observed the striking young woman in front of him, who looked so much like Morrigan is was almost unbelievably. But looking closer, he now saw the subtle differences. Her limbs were longer, more willowy. Her eyelashes were longer, her eyes blue-violet, her hair flowing down to her waist. Wasn't that Morrigan's Korcari clothes she wore? He noticed that the was now a quite provocative ( but not to him) slit up on side and it was dripping with all kinds of girlish fanciness.

The woman watched him with almost an expression of awe. What was it? Did he have something on his face? Were his eyes uneven?

He blushed as he felt his face with hand self-consciously. He blushed further when the girl said nothing still. Was she trembling, or was his eyesight slightly fuzzy?

He threw Anora a look which screamed 'Help me!' and she sighed.

"Young lady, what are you doing here? Where is your chaperone?"

The young woman seemed to be having difficulty tearing her gaze away from Alistair but she finally managed and she blinked a few times. She frowned a little at Anora, as if she was something disgusting she's stepped in, and Alistair had to bite his lip to stop himself from laughing. Oh yes, she was definitely like Morrigan. Her sister, maybe?

"I don't have one. Kallian, the elf, sent me in," Tacita explained, not at all caring for the way the blonde pouty woman rolled her eyes and gave a haughty sigh. She fantasized about turning her into a toadstool. She knew how, Morrigan had taught her.

"Ugh! I wish that stupid woman wouldn't keep sending riffraff in! I swear, she's doing it just to annoy me!" Under her breath, Tacita heard her mutter 'Stupid elf'. Judging from…her father's angry expression, she guessed that he had too.

"Hey! Watch your tongue, wife! She's my friend Anora, and she's the one who saved us all from the Blight. Or did you forget?" he said sarcastically. Anora sniffed and raised her chin defiantly.

Tacita, meanwhile, felt as if she was going to be sick. Wife…her father had a wife…

She shouldn't have hoped, but she'd thought that maybe he loved her mother and then they could be one big happy family. So stupid, she knew. Such an idealistic fantasy to have, she couldn't help it. She was still just a girl, after all.

Wiping her eyes discreetly while the two argued, she turned her back on her father and walked away, getting ready to morph into a wolf and find her own way to save her mother. If she died in the process…well, that was just too bad.

She began to run as it made the transformation from humanoid to animal easier and frankly, less painful.

"Wait! Miss!"

She looked around and saw her father stand from his throne and jog over, his stunning golden armour making little 'clink clink' noises.

Alistair rested a hand on the girl's shoulder and her remarkable violet eyes burned into his, framed by a forest of dark, feathery eyelashes. Her plum-coloured lips parted in a small smile and Alistair gave her a warm smile back, as was his wont.

"Yes?" she said. Her voice was velvety, with Morrigan's accent but it was higher and she was softer-spoken. Gentler.

"You wanted to see me?"

Tacita nodded, setting the bells on her hair ribbon on a jingling rampage.

"Yes. Yes." she cleared her throat. "Yes."

Alistair laughed, not unkindly. The girl seemed so shy and awkward, like he used to be. Alright, alright, still was.

"You are Alistair Theirin, right?"

She wanted to be absolutely sure. She didn't really want to blurt out to every man called Alistair that she was his daughter. She'd already yelled at gravestones of the people who'd shared his name that she was their daughter. One headstone had been particularly stubborn.

"Last time I checked I was. Why?"

The girl seemed so….nervous. She twiddled her thumbs, the way Alistair did when he was anxious, he noted. By Andraste, she really did look like Morrigan. She was gorgeous, like her mother (not that that made the woman any more attractive) but she already seemed much gentler and he'd only just met her.

"I am Tacita Morrigan-daughter, Princess-Witch of the Wilds. And I am your daughter."

Well, that was just going to mess up his party plans.

Hehe. What are your party plans, Ali? That's what I want to know! Ohhh, he's so adorable. I just want to give him a big hug. *fangirl sigh*

Anyway, I hoped you enjoyed! Please R and R!

Merci, beaucoup. x