She arrived at their camp in the late summer. Usually the hunters would have shot her on sight - but given she was obviously a mage, and obviously very heavily pregnant, they observed her instead, hoping she would bypass the camp. Keeper Xanthi understood their reluctance to kill the woman. When she was brought before her in her tent, dark head tilted proudly, belly jutting forward, she could feel the power emanating from the woman. Perhaps, had the hunters chosen to take the shot, it would have missed. Or worse.
Still, she had trespassed on Dalish land, and the punishment was usually severe.
"You are with child," the Keeper said, "and as such we cannot kill you, as our laws dictate. We shall escort you off our land with a warning not to return. Another such appearance and not even your pregnancy will save you from my hunters' arrows."
"I have a request," the woman said. Her Antivan was precise, but heavily accented. Not her native tongue, then, Xanthi noted. The Keeper nodded shortly, indicated that she would hear the woman. "As you can see, I am with child," she said. "I ask to stay with your clan until the child is born."
Xanthi snorted. "Why should I grant this request, shem?"
"In return, I shall teach your keepers the art of shapeshifting."
Xanthi's eyebrow shot up. She knew some of the southern Ferelden clans still practiced that particular magic, but they were closemouthed about it and would not share the skill with their Antivan brethren.
"How is it that you, a human, know this magic? I understood it to be lost."
"My mother taught me," the woman said. "She may be known to you. Flemeth, of the Kocari Wilds. I believe the Dalish around her called her the Woman of Many Years."
Xanthi sat back on her heels. "You speak the name of a legend," she said. "A witch out of children's tales. Not a real person."
The woman gave a bitter laugh. "I assure you, she is... was.. very real. She is the one who kept the talent alive amongst the southern Dalish."
"You speak of her as though she is no more."
A satisfied smile spread across the woman's face. "She is dead," she said. "And I have inherited her powers, and her knowledge. I offer it to you and your clan, in exchange for safe harbour, and help with the birthing of my child."
Xanthi pressed her lips together. "I will consider it," she said, and waved a hand. Two hunters approached. "See that she is housed and fed, but do not let her wander the camp," she said in Dalish. "I shall give you my answer tomorrow," she said in Antivan, turning back to the woman. "What are you called?"
"Morrigan."
Xanthi nodded. "I am Xanthi. You will be fed, and housed for the evening, but also guarded. Do not attempt to leave the tent you are assigned. When you were faced with only my hunters perhaps you might have been able to best them, but I have three apprentices in camp and we shall all be watching you.
The woman's shoulders slumped a little at the news she would be fed and housed, and Xanthi's keen eyes caught a hint of relief in her expression. She had been traveling long, Xanthi guessed, and the prospect of rest and food was enough to crack some of her proud facade. She was pleased. It meant the woman was not quite so cold as she'd at first thought. Or as strong.
She would take the offer, she thought as the woman left. Shapeshifting would give their keepers even more power to avoid the Antivan shems and protect their land. There was no need to let the woman know that immediately however.
She had a hunter call her apprentices to her. They would need to sort out the care that the woman needed, as well as who would be best suited to learn the shapeshifting magic. There was much to be done and not much time to do it in, judging from the size of the woman. Xanthi had little experience with human women and childbirth, but a Dalish that big would be close to eight months along. They might not have a lot of time.
The pain was bearable - at least at first. What was insufferable was the feeling of helplessness. She was forced to put her trust in the Keeper - Xanthi - and although she had respect for the woman and her power, she was not used to being so out of control.
They had set up the tent for the birthing. Hot water. Soft deerskins. A stool she was supposed to sit on to birth the child. At present she was walking around, it felt better than being still, but she guessed eventually she would need to take the weight off her feet.
"I don't understand why you can't use healing magic to stop the pain," she said shortly. Not for the first time.
Xanthi sighed and Morrigan cursed the weakness that had prompted her to ask. "As I have already explained, Morrigan, you need to be able to feel the contractions and magic will weaken them so they are not as effective. You must think of the pain as something good rather than something bad. Each time you are struck with it, your child is closer to being born."
She grunted, pressing her hands into the small of her back as another contraction came. "How long?" she asked. She suspected the Keeper was trying not to laugh at her, and resisted the urge to blast her with lightning.
"There's no real way of knowing, I'm afraid," Xanthi said. "Although you are young, and fit and healthy. It shouldn't be too long. The baby should be born before dawn."
Morrigan's face crumpled. "Before dawn? It's only mid afternoon!"
"I suppose it's not the time to tell you that my sister's first labour took three days?"
"Bah! Now you are simply tormenting me."
Xanthi chuckled. "Good. Focus on other things. Not the pain. It will make a difference."
Morrigan waved a hand and turned her back on the woman. She had sought refuge with the Dalish because she was not stupid enough to attempt a birth on her own. She knew complications could arise that would kill not only the babe, but also the mother, and medical care outside the major cities left a lot to be desired. The Dalish were a logical choice, especially considering her mother's prior relationship with the tribes in the Kocari Wilds. But she was not stupid enough to tempt Aedan with her presence in Ferelden, not now - possibly not ever. Much as it rankled to leave the arrogant man alone with his ambitions and his kingdom, she had other plans that did not involve being hung as a malificar.
She hoped leaving Alistair alive would set a thorn in the man's side eventually. The boy was too foolish not to want to take revenge. She would be satisfied to hear of Aedan's death at the hands of the former templar. Not as satisfied as she would have been had she dealt the killing blow herself, but satisfied nonetheless.
Another contraction wracked her body and she tried to breathe through it as the Keeper had suggested. It helped, but she wondered how much worse they would get before the end.
Eight hours later she was retching into a wooden bowl. "No one ever told me childbirth would mean surrendering all of my dignity," she said when she had control of her vocal chords again. She had vomited, pleaded, screamed and writhed more in the last few hours than she had ever done in her life, and her life had been full of pain of one kind or another. It was the relentless wave after wave after wave of hurt that was wearing her down.
"You are nearly there, Morrigan," the Keeper said, her voice not leaving the calm register it had kept the entire time. "You're feeling sick because your baby is moving down the canal. An hour, maybe less, and you will hold it in your arms."
Morrigan gritted her teeth and nodded, concentrating with all her might. Once she was able to push, it was better. To be able to do something with the pain rather than just suffer through it made it easier.
"Easy now," the Keeper said. "You don't want to tear."
When she finally pushed out the baby, she felt like she had never done anything as difficult in her entire life. Not even the most draining spell - or the longest battle, had ever taken so much out of her. Xanthi was moving rapidly at her feet, doing something Morrigan could not see. She stood eventually, holding a naked, squalling infant in her arms, covered in white muck and blood, still attached to Morrigan. The keeper passed her - and it was a her, Morrigan was quite relieved to see - to Morrigan, who took her and laid her on her naked stomach.
She spent the next little while looking at her daughter in wonder. She did not feel an immediate rush of love for the child, more like a sense of achievement - a job well done. Her body had performed a task and performed it well. It wasn't until the small head started nosing its' way towards her breast that she felt anything like affection for the life she held, and when the small mouth opened and latched itself to her she felt a strong surge of an emotion that she could not at first name.
"Good," Xanthi's voice came. "If she nurses, the afterbirth will come quicker. Now, Morrigan, one last bit of effort."
An hour later Morrigan and the child were settled on a cot piled high with skins, cleaned as much as they could be.
"Are you going to tell me who the father is?" Xanthi said as she packed herbs back into their packets and folded cloths.
Morrigan snorted. "Why on earth would it matter?" she said.
"Because that child has elven blood," she said simply. "I would like to know if he was Dalish."
Morrigan's head shot up and she fixed Xanthi with a glare. "Elven blood?" she said. "Are you certain?"
The keeper nodded. "She's human," she said. "As are all children with at least one human parent. But there are ways of detecting it. Are you saying the father wasn't an elf?"
"Most certainly not," Morrigan said, thinking of Alistair - his big, clumsy, idiotic bumbling. So, so far away from Zevran's quite stealth and grace.
Xanthi shrugged. "He could have been half elvish though?"
"From what you have said, any of us could be," Morrigan replied. "Although I was told he knew who both of his parents were." Morrigan pursed her lips and grinned, thinking of Goldanna in Denerim. Not his sister at all, it would seem. "It would explain a few things, though, if he were. How delicious for the poor boy."
"There is magic in this child as well," Xanthi said. "But that is to be expected, given your own powers."
Morrigan stroked her daughter's head, feeling the softness of the thin hair, the smoothness of the skin. "Indeed," she said. The child's eyes opened - indeterminate blue, like so many newborns. Would they change to her own yellow? Or Alistair's hazel? There was no hint of knowledge or power in the gaze her child fixed on Morrigan, but she felt herself shiver in anticipation of what was to come.
Alistair sat up in a tangle of blankets and cold sweat. Maker's breath. No archdemon or darkspawn had ever made him so unsettled. The vision of Morrigan and the child had been so clear he could have sworn he could smell the elfroot tincture the Dalish woman had been using - taste the woodsmoke on the air.
Because that child has elven blood...
He ran his fingers through his hair, long past his jawline now, and looked to see if anyone else had noticed his thrashing. Leliana and he were back guarding caravans on the Imperial Highway, having agreed with Nathaniel it would be best if they left the Free Marches, at least until he'd had time to discover the full story at Amaranthine. His watch must be close, considering the height of the moon and the position of the stars. Not much point in going back to sleep, not that he could, with the vision running through his head.
It was a little over nine months since Morrigan had rescued him. Certainly enough time for her to have a child. His daughter, he thought. Was that what she had wanted? A child? It seemed a little extreme, to go through so much in order to have his child - especially given her opinion of him.
Why would he dream of it, if it weren't true? He certainly hadn't been worried about that side effect on the night she'd slept with him. Wardens were practically infertile at the best of times.
His daughter.
He was filled with an overwhelming desire to find her. Family. If that child was his, he wanted to know her, wanted to acknowledge her, meet her, watch her grow. It took a lot of control not to pack his things and leave for Antiva immediately.
There were things that needed to be done first, he knew. But they suddenly seemed unimportant. He snorted to himself, as he dressed, getting into his armour in preparation for his watch - the final before dawn. He needed to tell Leliana. That was going to be interesting. Leliana, last night I had a vision...
He was still smiling to himself as he went to relieve one of the merchants for his watch.