A/N: From the Reddit prompt: "You suck at apologies."

The first rays of sunlight eased Darrian Tabris from sleep. He kept his eyes closed, breathing deeply and simply existing in what seemed to be a rare, good dream. The air was fresh with morning dew and quiet with the dawn, with nothing but a few distant birds and a child's laughter breaking through the stillness. There were no battles to fight, no political theater to navigate — there was nothing at all he had to do. He was wrapped in warmth, a soft blanket tucked under his chin and a toned arm protectively holding him close. He shifted slightly, pushing back into the lithe body behind him. The other elf snorted with sleepy amusement, curling closer and pressing a kiss beneath Darrian's pierced ear.

"Good morning, mi corazón," Zevran whispered, pressing against Darrian's back and shifting the arm he had under the pillow.

Darrian's fingers delicately slipped beneath the pillow to confirm that, as usual, the former assassin was armed as always. "Finally," Darrian breathed with a grin.

Zevran shifted, the dagger retreating out of Darrian's reach as the Antivan moved up onto his elbow. "Finally?" he prompted as though he had not heard some version of the oncoming jest a hundred times.

"Finally, you're going to complete your contract." Darrian rolled onto his back, smiling up at his love. Zevran's blond hair was messy from sleep, a little wavy where it had been braided, but his honey-brown eyes were sharp and alert. "I always knew this day would come," Darrian said quietly, a hand slipping onto Zevran's waist. "The Crows do not suffer failure."

Zevran chuckled as he sat up, twirling the dagger between his fingers. "That is true. But I don't think your time has come just yet, mi amor." Zevran stuck the blade into the headboard, freeing both hands to work on braiding his hair. Although he never asked, Darrian suspected he used the marks to count the days they had been living here. The headboard was getting rather blemished.

"I shall take today as another gift from you, my little bird." Zevran wrinkled his nose at that, but Darrian sat up and kissed said nose before he could protest the tease. Running his fingers tenderly over the tattoo on Zevran's cheek, Darrian asked, "What shall we do with today?"

Zevran arched a brow at him before glancing toward the window. "Another day being nobodies, unless you have another preference."

Darrian beamed. "That sounds perfect."

The village of Honnleath was only half-rebuilt, barely a dozen families having returned since the Blight. These families thus far had no idea the Hero of Ferelden and his infamous lover were in their mist — that, or they chose to feign ignorance of the fact. The two had stayed here longer than anywhere else. Eventually they were always pushed out due to fear of Darrian spreading the Blight, Wardens getting word of them and coming to demand that Darrian return with them, or simply due to people not respecting much desired privacy. Darrian hoped that day was a long way off. He liked it here. It was quiet, beautiful, and peaceful — none of the things he had ever had the luxury of in the alienage of Denerim nor during his time with the Grey Wardens.

He cupped Zevran's face and pressed a gentle kiss to his lips. Zevran never flinched from affection, although he would certainly have had every right. Darrian might have once been considered handsome, but he knew that was no longer the case. His skin had a grey tinge, parts of his flesh even appearing rotted, and eyes that were once bright and lively had darkened and dulled. Darrian truly did take every day as a gift, fully prepared for the morning when Zevran would decide it was time for the dream to end.

The day was shaping into what Darrian was getting dangerously close to considering his new normal. Calm, quiet, just living without thought of tomorrow. Zevran was making some tea in their small home while Darrian picked some of the ripened vegetables in the garden when a familiar voice shattered the illusion that his life could ever be like this.

"Darrian."

It had been over a decade since he'd heard that voice, but an unpleasant chill still shot down his spine and his jaw tightened. He slowly stood tall and turned to confirm the identity of this visitor.

She looked insultingly the same as he remembered. Tall and pale, black hair gathered in a messy bun, abnormal and off-putting yellow eyes, and a revealing outfit decorated with feathers. She could have easily stepped straight from that eluvian in the Dragonbone Wastes through time to stand before him now.

"Morrigan," he finally replied coolly.

"You look —." Morrigan broke off, awkwardly crossing her arms. "I would say well, but I prefer not to lie."

Darrian laughed sharply. "The taint hasn't taken my memory, darling."

"I wasn't…it wasn't a lie. I helped you!" she replied, appearing uncharacteristically unnerved. "I told you everything."

"Everything?" Darrian replied, taking a step toward her. "You only told me at the end of it all. You knew the entire time what I would have to do, and how to prevent it. You waited so I wouldn't have a choice, or even time to think about what I was agreeing to."

"If you had known sooner, would that have changed anything?" Morrigan challenged. "If I had declared that you or Alistair would have to die in the final battle, or that I had a solution to —."

"A solution," Darrian repeated coldly.

"You cannot deny that the ritual delivered exactly what I promised," Morrigan said with a motion to Darrian's not, despite appearances, dead body. "I do not see why you should be so unhappy with me."

"Don't you?" Darrian stepped a bit closer to her. The witch barely reacted, but he still knew her well enough to recognize that she had almost flinched. "Fuck me, give me a child, give me a god, and you may survive tomorrow," Darrian hissed scathingly. "That wasn't a choice, Morrigan."

"You could have asked Alistair—."

"Why are you here?" Darrian interrupted shortly.

Morrigan became immediately quiet, which was unsettling in itself. Darrian was starting to wonder if he was actually imagining this entire exchange because there was no reason he could fathom for her to be here, and she did not seem to have a better idea herself.

Morrigan exhaled sharply and declared, "I came to apologize."

Darrian exhaled so heavily he was not certain he would ever properly draw breath again. He might have once been pleased to hear her say that, maybe back when he had found her after the Blight. Or maybe if she had managed it when giving him the so-called choice to conceive a child to doom with an Old God's soul. Now he just felt nothing but frustration.

"You're shit at it," was the only thing Darrian could think of to say.

Morrigan sighed, staring down at the ground. "My mother used me," she finally replied, her tone surprisingly soft. There were few moments when Morrigan had ever seemed sincere, and somehow this felt like one. "She didn't give me a choice either. I should have — I do not know." The sharpness in her expression returned like there had not just been a glimmer of vulnerability. "I thought getting you to kill her might prevent whatever her intended use of the child was, but apparently you lied about that."

"I did not!" Darrian countered indignantly. It had been a more difficult fight than the bloody Archdemon in some ways. Just another example of the lengths he was willing to go for those he called friend.

Morrigan waved it off. "Maybe so. Turns out my mother is even more difficult to be rid of than I imagined." She silenced again, awkwardly looking about the small garden as though intently interested despite how she obviously did not care at all. "Are you and the Crow…?" she started quietly.

"It doesn't concern you."

Morrigan nodded. "I cannot say I am surprised. He did not seem like the type for, uh." She motioned vaguely to the little house and garden. Darrian opened his mouth to correct her, but she pressed on before he had the chance, "Still, he was the reason that you needed to do the ritual, so…I am grateful."

"Grateful?" Darrian echoed, perplexed.

"Without him…or your affection for him anyway, you would have chosen to die." Darrian gaped wordlessly at her. "Am I wrong?" Morrigan added once the silence became too uncomfortable even for her. He closed his mouth and shook his head before he even considered that he could lie. "You asked…when you pursued me despite my warnings for you not to," Morrigan said, "you seemed very interested in the…result of our…well.…"

"My son," Darrian finished for her. This time she nodded silently. "Is he…?" Darrian chewed his lip. Morrigan had explained in no uncertain terms that he would never meet his son, and that it was better for all involved if Darrian put the existence of any such child out of his mind forever.

He had entirely failed at that. He regularly considered what sort of suffering he had forced on an innocent child and wondered if it truly would have been better to die a hero and let Zevran move on. Being with Darrian was nothing but a curse in itself, and in his desperation to live for one he cursed two. He could only think of one reason why Morrigan would willingly venture into this topic willingly. "How did he die?" Darrian forced out over the growing lump in his throat.

Morrigan paled, which did nothing to lessen the aching in his heart as she quickly said, "Darrian, our son —."

Her words were cut off by a loud crash of breaking pottery and shattering glass. Darrian whirled around to see Zevran standing outside their house, hands held out as though he was still carrying the tea tray that now lay in pieces at his feet. If the hot tea burned through his soaked leather boots, he made no indication of it as he stared at Morrigan with wide eyes and an expression of utter disbelief.

When Zevran wrenched his gaze away from the witch to look at him, Darrian's heart dropped. The pain in his eyes was far too similar to when Zevran had been forced to kill Taliesen. He had tried to pretend that killing a former lover had not bothered him, but Darrian knew him better than that.

Just as he had then, Zevran felt betrayed.

"Zev," Darrian breathed, but the other elf had already retreated back into the house.

"You did not tell him," Morrigan said with evident surprise.

Darrian growled as he glared at her. "No. I did not."

Instead of following Zevran inside, Darrian ran around the side of the house in time to stop the elf as he climbed through the window. Darrian tried to ignore the fact that he had clearly gathered everything of value to him. "Zev, please, I can explain."

"You don't need to," the Antivan countered with a practiced smile. "I always said I'd step aside. I only wish you'd trusted me enough to allow me to do so." Zevran tried to walk away, but Darrian grabbed his arm. Darrian swiftly found himself on his back, a knee digging painfully into his abdomen and a cold blade against his throat. "Let me make it easy for you, Warden. Join your family, or let me end your misery here and now."

"You are my family," Darrian breathed. His hand itched with the desire to touch the earring he was wearing as proof of that, but considering how his lover had slipped into his more murderous nature he did not dare move. "Please, Zev, this is a misunderstanding."

"Do you or do you not have a child with Morrigan?"

Darrian swallowed, wincing as the action pressed the blade harder against his throat. "Technically, yes."

Zevran chuckled mirthlessly. "Technically. I see." He lifted the blade slightly away from Darrian's throat, appearing only a touch abashed at how easily he had been provoked to attack. "You do recall that I was raised in a brothel? I know full well how children are made. Technically."

"It was the one time, it meant nothing!" Darrian said in a rush, but when Zevran scoffed and resumed his retreat it was clear that was not the right thing to say. As he stumbled to his feet to go after him, Darrian continued, "If I didn't, I'd have died!" Zevran's dagger came so close to Darrian's ear it sliced off a part of his braid as it flew past. "Zev!" Shaking his head, Zevran turned and started walking away again. "Okay, I admit, that sounded bad," Darrian admitted quietly. "I'm so sorry, but I did it for you."

Zevran froze before turning to stare bewilderedly at him. "You had an affair with Morrigan…for me?" Zevran shook his head. "That is a terrible apology and a worse excuse."

"Slept with her one time," Darrian reiterated. "Because it meant that I might live. And you were all I wanted to live for."

The corner of Zevran's lips twitched. "She forced you at knife — er, magic point? Please, do me the courtesy of at least making up a convincing lie."

Darrian took a deep breath. At least Zevran had stopped to listen now. "Do you remember, after I killed the Archdemon, when Alistair was…confused that I was alive?"

"I did think it strange he'd hoped for one of you to have a heroic death," Zevran confirmed, his eyes narrow.

Darrian explained what Riordan had told him so many years ago: that to kill the Archdemon, the Warden had to take the being's very soul and that inevitably killed whichever Warden struck the final blow. Before returning to Zevran that night with the terrible news, Morrigan had approached him with a ritual, one that would make it so killing the Archdemon was not a death sentence.

Zevran appeared increasingly horrified as Darrian explained, but no more so than when Darrian mentioned the child. "You doomed a child?" he said with a furious scowl. "That does not seem like you."

Darrian sighed, closing his eyes. "I know. But Morrigan claimed —."

Zevran held up a hand. "I don't care what she claimed. I cannot pretend I am…." He hesitated before trying again. "I cannot lie to you. I don't give a fuck that you traded someone else's life for yours. Assuming you are not lying to me to wiggle your way out of this," he added with a sharp jab to Darrian's chest.

"I swear, every word is the truth. I never even met him."

Zevran chewed on his cheek, shaking his head slightly. "You should have told me."

"I know. I'm sorry."

"Stop apologizing, you're terrible at it," Zevran muttered before starting back toward the front garden. "I cannot believe you kept such secrets from me — that you might have died killing the Archdemon and —."

"You could have, too," Darrian pointed out. "It was a dangerous battle."

Zevran's eyes narrowed. "And that you fucked the witch before we made love that night."

Darrian grimaced guiltily. "I am sorry." Zevran shook his head disapprovingly, but lightly kissed Darrian's cheek.

"Father."

Darrian stumbled over his own feet, barely retaining his balance as he looked to where Morrigan had been patiently waiting near the garden. A boy, an entirely normal, human-looking boy, stood at her side. The child looked over Darrian curiously, his head tilted slightly.

"Never even met him," Zevran repeated under his breath.

"I haven't," Darrian hissed. "Morrigan?" he prompted, his heart caught in his throat.

"This is…part of my apology," she said with an uneasy smile. "You did want to meet him."

"See?" Darrian whispered to Zevran out of the corner of his mouth. "Yes, I — hello." Words failed him as he looked on this boy — his son. He had long given up on the idea that he would ever meet him, and now that he had, he had no idea what he was supposed to say or do.

"Hello." The boy blinked up at him with eyes that were the exact shade of green Darrian's had once been. "Are you dead?" his son asked a moment later, his gaze falling to look at Darrian's rough and blackened arm.

"Kieran!" Morrigan snapped.

"I'm sorry, he looks like a dead man."

Morrigan put a hand over her eyes. "Kieran, this is Warden Tabris. He is a hero and he is your father. Darrian, this is Kieran — our son."

Darrian tried to smile, blinking away hot tears. He saw nothing indicating the soul of the Archdemon in the boy, no signs that he was cursed or suffering at all. That was better than he ever dared believe possible. "He's…he looks…normal?"

"You're the one with funny ears and rotten skin," Kieran muttered.

"Kieran! Apologize at once."

But Morrigan's demand was drowned out by hearty laughter. Darrian looked at Zevran, more than a little irked as the other elf seemed incapable of stopping. He was still laughing as he gathered up the tea tray, which evidently Morrigan had taken the liberty to piece back together. "I'll make some tea for this family reunion," he managed, grinning from ear to ear. "Tea makes even the worst apologies easier to swallow, after all," he added with a wink before entering the house.

"Is the blonde one my father, too?" Kieran asked Morrigan.

Morrigan arched an eyebrow at Darrian. "You could answer better than I," she said when Darrian's mouth refused to work. "I was apparently mistaken in my impression before. I should not have assumed such."

Darrian realized what she meant and chuckled, reaching to touch the earring that represented their promise. "Yes, Kieran. He is." Morrigan's eyes lit up as she smiled, quite possibly sincerely delighted. "It seems I misunderstood as well. Would you care to come inside? I think we should all get to know one another."

Morrigan went in first, leaving Kieran outside with Darrian. The boy lowered his gaze and shifted his weight. "I'm sorry I said you looked dead," Kieran muttered finally.

Darrian dropped down to one knee, hesitantly reaching out to touch Kieran's arm. "I'm sorry I said you looked normal," he said with a grin. Kieran hesitantly looked at him, a hint of amusement glinting in his eyes. "Now shall we tell your mother our dreadful apologies have been accepted, or should we keep her on her toes?"

Kieran grinned back, every inch Darrian's son.