And that was that, for ten years, give or take. After two dead fiancées, no woman wanted a bit to do with me, and I didn't blame them. I certainly pursued none, having a good idea what might happen to them in return. You have a better idea than most how crazy Isolde can be about Connor.
She offered you her own life to save him, but I'm certain she would have offered anyone else if that wasn't good enough. Think of all the castle folk that were killed, just so she could hide his possession. Thank the Maker he's been sent to the Tower, where they can help him.
Well, yes, I realize that could mean Templars cutting off his head, but you survived the experience, my dear.
I hardly need to finish out the tale for you, but it's good to bring things to completion, I think. So, Connor turned out to be a mage, and after you rescued him (along with your companions, of course), he was stripped of his rank and sent to the tower. Isolde is inconsolable, quite literally; she spends much of her time weeping, when she isn't visiting with him.
She had so many difficulties with Connor that the mages say the possibility of a second child now, at her age is very very slight. So that leaves me, since she's hardly likely to encourage Eamon to find a new, younger wife. After all these years, her worst fears have come to pass – she has no choice but to accept that Redcliffe will fall to me someday, though I dare say Eamon is just as hale as he's ever been for the moment. She has only spoken to me alone once since the incident. She told me that "none of it" had been personal – only politics.
Of course, that brings me to you, my sweet. You caught my eye the moment you walked into the Chantry there in Redcliffe, you know. So kind of the King to waive the restrictions on mages and titles to make you Teyrna of Gwaren, wasn't it? And I, personally, can't wait to prove the rumors about Grey Wardens and children completely wrong.