Second Part
'Oh well now
Mama, we're all gonna die
Mama, we're all gonna die
Stop asking me questions
I'd hate to see you cry
Mama, we're all gonna die
And when we go don't blame us, yeah
We'll let the fires just bathe us, yeah
You made us oh so famous
We'll never let you go
And when you go, don't return to me my love
Mama, we all go to hell
It's really quite pleasant
Except for the smell'
Mama, My Chemical Romance
When she came downstairs for tea, she found a bedraggled elf in the sitting room, rocking back and forth in his chair. In his arms, there rested a pair of resting, drooling twins. Her last nightmare, the reason she'd awoken in the first place, was remembered by the glow of the dying fire.
The image of both her boys jumping into a blazing camp side fire, right after each other, overlaid the sight before her.
"Have you been there the entire night?"
He turned, cat quick and reminding her of his time as an assassin. His arms were given an eerie glow from the fire. The babies in his arm didn't awake. "You. You did this."
"Me?" In a parody of surprise, Morrigan even held her hand to her throat, touching a necklace that still bore the marks of her own children.
"You came here. With those two. And set Aedan off."
"Let's be honest, elf. He wanted children whether or not I was even here."
"But you—you put the idea in his head for twins. That if you could take care of children, he and I could as well."
"I had no say whatsoever in Aedan's choices for offspring."
"Then who?" Zevran waved a half-empty milk bottle accusingly in her direction. "Told him it was a good idea to take in more children!"
"I have no idea."
"It was your boys, wasn't it?"
"I doubt a pair of ten-year-olds-"
"Your children are eight. My—Aedan's—Rebecca and Bryce are ten."
"Either way. How much could they have influenced the Warden's decision?"
"More than you know. The other day, one of them wanted to join the Grey Wardens. Are you aware of this?"
"Was it Alexandros, or Ali?"
"Does it matter? And I can never tell them apart."
"If it's Ali, he'll forget it in an hour. But Alexandros might try and drink darkspawn blood."
Zevran paused, sitting back in the rocking chair. "Don't let him talk Rebecca and Eleanor into drinking as well. You know Eleanor will follow whatever the older kids are doing."
"I won't. Do you want me to get you another goat, so you can refresh their bottles?"
She received a dark look in return.
"Just leave. And never return."
Morrigan shrugged, expecting nothing more from the man who'd taken to fatherhood as fish took to land. "Fine."
"This is your fault, witch! Only you could do this. When Leliana stayed, do you think she talked Aedan into adopting another child?
"And Anders, do you think he told the Warden that it was fine to take in another orphen, that there was plenty of space? No. He treated Aedan like he was mentally ill, because he is.
"Valenna, she never told Aedan anything besides telling him that it was good of him to take in more elves-!"
"Nor does she shut up about her sister."
"But you and Oghren, damn you both. All you do is encourage him! 'What will you name this one, Aedan?'
"-Weren't you only supposed to stay until spring came!"
True. But spring arguable had never come. What was spring here, in Amarathine? A little less snow, a little more rain instead? No one could claim that was a proper spring. And Aedan never complained, never said a word that might be taken as a sign of discomfort.
In return, she agreed not to run off and leave the boys behind, and gave encouragement to the Warden, in matters of family business. "Why, of course Zevran loves children. I saw him just the other day when we were at the market, sighing over some children left in the alleyways.
"You could truly see the misery in his eyes, and the longing to take care of them all.
"It was truly moving."
All done so sincerely. Aedan was entirely blind, as usual, to her half-hidden smirk. He's just look at her with big eyes, "Do you think we should have another child, then?"
"Of course. Zevran was just reluctant to tell you and put you under more stress."
"Aw, is he? That does sound like him...okay, I'll do it!"
"Yes, he'd definitely enjoy you having more offspring. What's another child, when you have, so far..."
"Six."
"Six. What's six? Take in a few more, give them a life that otherwise would never have been available to them."
And then the Warden would come home with another starved orphan or two under his long arms, carrying them into the kitchen and going on and on about how he was going to take care of them, from now on, and say, what were their names again? While the other children would dance around and tell the dirty-faced kids how happy they were, and how much they would love more playmates, ooh, ooo, could they name these two this time?
Through the heavy wood door, she could hear Zevran weeping quietly. His sobbing set their latest kids, a pair of dark-haired twins, off to join him crying.
Quietly, Morrigan threw back her head and laughed, and tried not to burn herself on the teapot.
"Mama?"
She put down the pot. "What did I tell you about that name...Ali."
"Alexandros."
"Close enough."
"Mama?"
"What is it? Shouldn't you be asleep? Or," Morrigan inspected a teacup to hide her nervousness. "Did you have a nightmare. Something about dragons, perhaps?"
"No. Ali woke me."
"Oh."
"He was having a nightmare."
She paused reaching for the sugar. "About what?"
"A giant block of cheese was eating his head. Ali wouldn't stop crying."
"I see. Sit down. I'll get you a cup. Go get your brother, and I'll give him one too."
"M'kay." The tallish boy ran upstairs, and she let herself feel almost nostalgic. Remember, remember when he couldn't even crawl up those stairs? Remember when he, or his brother, fell down and cut their forehead right open? If only it had scarred.
She let herself recall the past, even further ago, when the twins ran into the room to scuttle under her feet and ask for cookies. Remember the big, foolish templar who couldn't even darn his own socks?
His exact face was growing hazy in her memories, replaced with the younger, smoother, rounder face of her boys who hadn't seemed to inherent any of her appearance. Aside from the long hair that the Chantry probably looked down upon, they could have been Alistair when he'd been a boy.
They themselves had only seen their father as a doll. She'd shown them it as small children, making them weep hysterically, until she'd finally tossed the toy into the fire to calm down their screams. Eventually, as the doll turned to ash, the babies stopped holding hands to their faces and kicking their feet.
"Mama! Nooo!"
"Nooooo! Mama!"
"Look. It's burning. It's okay now."
It would have been a lie to say she hadn't felt smug, and proud of them for their reaction. Morrigan had hidden a smile in their bright hair as they ran to hug her for comfort.
They truly are good boys, underneath the constant eating and ruining of diapers.
Years later, she gave the boys apples to shut them up, and seated herself at the roughly carved table, marked with the scratches of children carving their initials into the wood.
"Is that Uncle Zev crying?"
"Yes."
"Oh. Okay."
"Mama? I had a bad dream."
"About the cheese eating you?"
He, Ali, flinched and nodded, hazel-ish eyes filling with tears. "It wouldn't stop, Mama."
"Well. You're fine now. It's not real. And if it was, it's just cheese. You and your brother eat a pound of that everyday." Morrigan shrugged. "If it began attacking it, you could just take a bite out of it."
Fear dissipated in her son's eyes. "That right."
"Mmm," Alexandros was nearly drooling. "An entire pound of cheese..."
"I'm not feeing either of you cheese. Finish your apples and tea and go to bed."
"Say, Mama?"
"Hmm?" Alex on the right, Ali on the left. Alex on the right. Ali on the left.
"Mama, can I grow up and join the Grey Wardens?"
"Alexandros. You can either grow up, or you can attempt to join the Wardens and die. Your choice."
"I'm Alexandros."
"Fine then. Ali. If you tried joining the Wardens, you will die."
"How come? Huh, Mama, how come?"
"Because I said so. The Wardens have killed more people by making them go through the initiation than the Blight has."
"Really?"
"Yes. Wasn't I right about the cheese? Why would I be wrong about this?"
"But, Uncle Aedan survived."
"He was lucky. Incredibly lucky. Why do you think your—why do you think Zevran is not a Warden? Because it might kill him and Aedan didn't want to risk that."
"Rebecca said she was going to be a Warden when she grew up."
"Rebecca doesn't know whether she's coming or going. Nevermind what she wants. You two are going to be better than Wardens."
"Really? We are?" They leaned eagerly over their teacups.
"You'll see. I have great plans for you two. When you're older. Much better than joining the Wardens."
"Wow. Really?"
"When you two are older, I'll tell you."
"I can't wait!"
"I know! I'm going to be a griffon!"
"Get off the table, Alexandros."
"It's Ali!"
"Just get off the furniture."
She's just gotten back from the market place with a new collection of empty vials, and finally tore the boys' sticky hands from her own, only to be met with Aedan's grim look. It had been awhile since he'd looked like that. Maybe six or so years since he'd brought home his first orphaned child, a coughing large-eyed baby that he'd found in a burnt out building.
How the Warden had developed a gleam of hope and delight in his eyes that hadn't diminished for years, even as Zevran began hyperventilating and asking, "Did it have parents? You can't go around grabbing random children!"
"It's okay, Zevran! They were already dead!" His excited grin seemed to strike the elf down with responsibility and a certain grimness. "They died of a fever days ago!"
"Fine," the smaller man had choked out. "Fine."
"Oh, Maker, I love you so much. We'll never be separated. Ever." The Warden clutched the baby tighter to his bosom.
All that joy had left his face, and left the serious man who had led a group of armed maniacs through darkspawn and an Archdemon. "Morrigan."
"What is it? Boys, go wash your hands."
"Morrigan. The, eh, the 'royal couple' will be making an appearance soon."
"I...see."
The twins looked at the adults in the room. "Huh?"
"Who?"
"Boys. Away now."
"Aw, fine."
"But who is it?"
"Away."
They all waited until the children had trudged from the room before continuing the conversation.
"So. He'll be here."
"Uh-huh."
"How many days until he arrives?"
"A week or so."
"Are you, are you finally going to be leaving now?" Both Aedan's and Morrigan's glare killed off any hope on Zevran's face.
"Are you going to tell him he's the daddy?"
"How can you hide it?" The shorter man asked. "They look exactly like him. The only thing to do is to hide them."
"Where? Stuff them in a closet? That didn't work when they were two, and it won't work now."
"The only thing to do, is to just leave and go into hiding."
"Zevran. I think the twins are crying. Go check up on them."
The look his lover gave him was half rageful and half betrayed.
"Please?"
"Fine. Fine." The elf stormed from the room.
"But really, what are you going to do?"
"I suppose be honest about it."
"And uh, I hear Anora is, um."
"Oh. Oohh. Is she?"
"Mmm-hmm. That's the rumor."
"I suppose we'll just see about that."
"What are you going to do? Curse her kid?"
"Of course not. I'm just...curious."
"Maybe you can give her tips on childbirth?" Aedan was always so quick to look for a peaceful solution.
"...Perhaps I will."
"Your pauses are scaring me."
"Stop whining. I'm simply thinking of what to tell the boys."
"Do they know anything about their father? How they were...why they were created?"
"Of course not."
"So, you still have no idea which one is the Old God?"
"Of course not."
"I can't even tell them apart. I just use avoid using names. Speaking of which, could you tell one of them to stop riding a dog sled down the stairs."
"It was probably Ali. He just loves stairs." Morrigan shrugged. What could she do to make him not love them? She'd already tried shoving him down them to teach how dangerous they were. But, after being healed, he'd just ran to climb back up them.
"Anyway. I'm sure this whole Alistair thing won't be a problem.
"On the other hand...Anora might not be too happy about Alistair having a couple of kids running around."
"Threats to their own heir?"
"Right. But I'm sure if we explain the situation...Morrigan. Don't tell the kids they have to grow up and take the throne for themselves."
"I won't. And don't tell me how to raise my children when your Rebecca keeps crawling on the roof."
"Fine. Let's just say the kids aren't Alistair's at all. I don't think Alistair told her about the ritual, right?"
"Probably not."
"Then everything will go fine."
Carpets were beaten out, silver shined, rust scraped away, more firewood brought in, children scrubbed and put in their finest, diapers were changed and Zevran given a fresh handkerchief to wipe the tears from his face as he joggled the twins.
Carefully, Morrigan pulled the children closer to her as they waited for Alistair and his wife to arrive.
"Mama? Why do we have to wear these hats?"
"They're kinda hot."
"Just deal with it for now. You said you liked the face paint?"
"We're griffins!"
"But its starting to drip."
"Give it a few minutes." Just see Alistair again, and the Queen, and move on with our lives.
How awful could this be, compared to...childbirth? Compared to having a goat as her only companionship, as opposed to simply going to talk to the goat when she was sick of the Wardens and Zevran's whining and the boys' chattering. It couldn't be as bad as wandering through a swamp with a pair of twins under each other, who had a tendency to slip and fall into quick sand.
Or meeting the Grey Warden's other companions, whom he'd met after the first group of travelers. Learning how they were even crazier than the earlier batch.
Especially that Velanna woman.
The royal couple rode up in a gilded carriage. Doves seemed to go flying overhead. Guards scooted out the area, trying to reassure themselves that the Grey Wardens were armed lunatics who had no reason to harm the King and Queen, and that their own King had in fact been one of those weirdos.
Anora came out, gracefully, blonde as that hideous female elf. There was nothing meek nor mild in her steady blue gaze. This was the woman who had already outlived one foolish husband, and looked fully prepared to bury the other. Even her stomach's swollen curve didn't add an aura of weakness or peacefulness. "Hello, Grey Warden. It's good to see you again."
When her husband, the great king, hopped out, he was sweating and trying not to look flushed. He was dressed in gold plate that made Aedan's scale-and-leather armor looked tawdry by comparison. His hair had been recently cut and he was freshly shaved. "Ehem. Hi, Aedan, my pants caught on a—you know, that doesn't matter."
Alistair glanced at his wife, then rushed to hug his old friend. There was much back slapping and roars over how great it was to see them, how they hadn't changed one bit, Maker, but were they happy to see each other.
Her sons goggled up at him. "That's the king?"
"Him?"
Morrigan smiled and patted their heads.
"Hey, there, Zevran. Wow. Whose kids are those?"
"Which ones?" His voice was devoid of all irony.
"Um. The ones you're...holding. Wow. Wait. Are all these—wow. I thought you might have a bunch of kids, but they would all look like you."
"They are not my blood."
Aedan wrapped an arm around Zevran's shoulder, encouragingly. His grin was met with a tired stare. "But they're still our kids."
"Awww. That's so cute. Man. There's so many of them..."
"Here's Eleanor. C'mere, sweety. Aw. Look at her curtsy."
"And here's Bryce-"
The witch began tuning out the conversation, looking at her boys and then discreetly at Anora's pelvis. Was the creature growing in there as blonde as these two? Surely. But would it take so heavily after its father? Would it be a boy, or girl?
Oh, yes. She would get a nice daughter that looked just like her. Someone with magical ability and a dislike of cheese and a love of porridge and hatred of griffins.
Alistair was going through the crowd, getting introduced, and introducing others to his wife.
"Hehe, why hello, there Queen. I can see why Alistair wanted to marry you."
"Oh, yeah, this is Oghren. Ignore him. He's drunk."
"I...see." The Queen was all nods and polite looks into eyes. You got the sense she was learning your names, if she didn't already know them, and knew all about your history, or planned to. Only with children did the hardness in her eyes melt. A walking bureaucracy with little pity, even as she would occasionally send a small smile at her husband, who would in turn light right up over the acknowledgment.
"And um, this is Morrigan."
"From the wilds. The daughter of Flemeth." Anora didn't even lie and say she was happy to have met her. Morrigan found it hard not to respect that. Alistair just stared at her, like a deer in a clearly staring at her and her boys and goat passing by.
"And these two?" The Queen was smiling down at the towheaded squirming boys, who clearly wanted to run at Alistair and inspect his armor.
Morrigan did her best not to pause. "These two are mine. Ali and Alexandros."
The King just about swallowed his tongue, and tried to make eye contact with the witch for an explanation. Morrigan refused to stare back him. Even when the Queen moved on, she refused to look at Alistair.
"Mama?"
"Yes?"
"Was that real gold?"
"He's the king of Fereldon. Of course not."
"Awww."
"Can we still play with him?"
"He's a king. He can't play with a bunch of children."
"Why not?"
"Kings don't have to play with commoners. And especially commoner children."
They sneered at him, twin sneers. Like...their mother. "He doesn't look so great."
"I bet Uncle Aedan and Uncle Zevvy can beat him up."
"Mama? Are you-"
"Are you crying?"
"'Tis nothing. Look away. Look away."
"Um. Okay. But you're scaring us."
"I wanna go inside now."
She sniffled, hating herself, trying not to show tears. "I know. I know."
"Mama?"
"Yes?"
"You want us to paint a griffin on your face?"
"Perhaps. Later."
"Yay!"
"Yay!"
Anora was as discreet as she was professional. She asked her for tea, tomorrow, alone.
Morrigan had looked at her evenly, and agreed. Her face showed no fear or discomfort, even as her mind began concocting lies and plotting stories to tell. Say they're Zevran's! Say their father is dead! A stranger! 'Why no, their father just looked a lot like Alistair. Coincidence.' Glaring at each other over their cups. 'Is that right?'
She looked down at the boys, getting ready for bed by putting on the pajamas Aedan had made for them, designed to look like armor, with little fabric patches in the back for wings. They moved slowly, blinking heavily, clearly exhausted from their exciting day of playing hide-and-go-seek with their mother. A game she normally excelled at and encouraged solely from the skills it honed for the twins, hunting and hiding, but had them play to keep them all from Alistair's familiar gaze. The man was far from smart, shiny crown or not, but his reaction to seeing kids that were possibly his was...well, overall Morrigan would prefer him to never know about Ali and Alexandros.
"Mama?"
"Mama?"
"Hello, boys."
"Oooh. Do we get a story?"
"Yeah! Tell us about the evil melting witch who tried to kill her daughters."
"Yeah, yeah, but then she pissed off the wrong daughter and was burned to death!"
"And how her skin sloughed off, like a candle!"
"Do the screams, again, Mama!"
"Mm," Morrigan smiled, remembering how they'd taken so quickly to that story. She'd only told it as a way to quiet them up and scare them into silence. Their cheers at the end had been a pleasant surprise. As had their cries for her to tell it again, them all big smiles. And they'd even taken it to heart to never mess with witches...so long as you were weaker than them to heart. "Tomorrow night, perhaps. If you two are good."
"Aww, Mama."
"Please?"
"I'm here to tell you a different tale."
"Does someone get burned in it?"
She thought it over. "Yes."
"Yay!"
"Tell it!"
"Is it one of Aunt Leliana's stories?"
"Are you going to sing?"
"I'm not going to sing!" Morrigan stroke her necklace, feeling the teeth marks as she went over exactly what to say. "There was once a beautiful woman."
"A witch?"
"Of course."
"Did she set someone on fire."
"Several people, actually."
"Yay!"
"But that's not the point. She was a powerful witch who knew never to overstep her reach. But one day she met a—a handsome strong gentleman. Who was a warrior."
"A Grey Warden?"
"Yes, very good. He was a Warden. She met him in the woods, and helped save him. Him, and his companion. A foolish, naive village idiot that was good only to hold up a shield. And even then, not all that great." She had to unclench her fist.
"Was he a Warden too?"
"Yes."
"How did that moron pass the initiation, then?" One of the boys' demanded.
"He was very, very lucky. Very much so."
"Yeah, but if he lived-"
"It's just a story! Make believe. Let it go."
"Um. Okay, Mama."
"Now, the two Wardens, only one of whom showed any competence, needed her help. They begged her to come with them. And she decided to go along, since the fate of the world was at stake."
"Wow. Really?"
"And it was just them?"
"Yes."
"How come no one else wanted to help them?"
"...the moron Warden scared them all off."
"What? That jerk!"
"Bastard!"
"Yes. Yes, he was. But either way, she agreed to go with them. And through their adventures," Morrigan sighed. "They met other companions, disgusting elves who couldn't keep themselves from making comments on his traveler's bodies and—basically, he was like Zevran. But—but a brunette."
"Huh. That doesn't sound like Uncle Zevvy at all."
"Zevvy only says weird stuff about bodies to Uncle Aedan. And then Aedan gets all embarrassed and tries to run out of the room."
"And Uncle Zevvy follows him, all happy."
"Stop it; you're going to give me nightmares. Besides the elf, they also took along a senile old woman, and an insane bard and a talking rock. And someone just like Sten."
"Uncle Sten!"
"I wish Uncle Sten was here!"
"He smells like cookies!"
"Enough."
"He lifts us up real high, too."
"Tell us about the talking rock, Mama."
"The talking rock enjoyed squishing birds. That's all that needs to be known about the talking rock. Through these adventures, they defeated darkspawn. Remember those things?"
"Uh-huh."
"Like the one Uncle Fergus stuffed and gave to us? And Uncle Aedan put it into the basement because it was giving Vincent and Eleanor scary dreams."
"Neither of those two are your Uncles, are you two aware of that?"
They shrugged in synchronism.
"As I was saying, they defeated darkspawn and a giant dragon. A couple of dragons, actually. And saved the day. But in order to do so, they had to use a spell."
This was the worse part. How do you say to a bunch of nine-year-olds that they were created from a spell and that one of them had a soul of an Old God in them? That their father was the King, and that their mother wanted them to have no contact with said father and to never let the man get a clear glance at their faces and to never be alone with him?
"What kinda spell?"
"Did it set someone on fire?"
"Nooo, not exactly."
"Then what?"
"Did it encase them in ice?"
"No. Definitely not."
"Then what?"
"Mama?"
"What is it?"
"Can we kill dragons when we get older?"
"Ooooh. Can we?"
They were nearly jumping up and down on their beds.
Morrigan stared at them, seeing the length of ankle visible from their trouser's legs. They were already growing upward an inch a day, and from their frantic, vigorous, brutal training lessons that would end with Aedan and Bryce having to beat them back with shields, growing sideways an inch as well. Since they had their father's face, why wouldn't they have his size as well? Or...his voice, one day? Add a few more years, a few more stones of weight, another foot of height...
She saw herself going downstairs for her usual cup of tea, and tumbling downstairs was a couple of burly younger Alistair's. Complete with shiny armor and short hair. 'Hey, Mom, could you fix my sock?' 'Mom. Where's the cheese?'
Maker help them all.
But they weren't those men, yet. They were just boys, young, preciously innocent boys that deserved a few more years of innocence. No one should take their mirrors away and smash them, just yet. I won't allow it.
"Well, I think it's time for you two to go to bed."
"Okay."
"But the story!"
"The story can wait. I'll tell you the rest later." She moved towards them, to push them onto the beds and pull the thick blankets and furs to the chins.
"Wait. Do they win?"
"How many dragons do they kill?"
"Lots and lots. A dozen. And then make armor from their scales."
"Like Uncle Aegon?"
"Yes, exactly. Where do you think he got the idea?"
"Ooohh."
"That's so cool."
"Yes, it is." On autopilot, mind already going over what she would have to do tomorrow, Morrigan tucked her sons in and made sure their feet didn't stick out. She brushed their longish hair out of their eyes and consented to kissing their foreheads.
At the door, she looked behind her. "Now go to bed. No bad dreams. If any cheese tries to eat you, eat it back."
"...I'd forgotten about that dream."
The other boy, Alexandros, just shook his head and looked sad. He turned to his brother, trying to be helpful. "Just imagine Mommy lighting someone on fire instead."
"Hey, Mama!" They waved their wooden swords in Morrigan's direction. In their shiny, miniature armor, they looked like tiny knights. Or rather, with their helmets, small templars. One of them even had a purple towel wrapped around his waist.
"Look at us!"
"Goddamnit."
Anora remained silent.
"Take off those ridiculous helmets!"
"Um. Okay."
"Hey, look, Mama, we got our hair cut!"
"So it won't get in our way!"
"The guy, the guy who did it said this is what warriors look like."
It had been years since their hair had been shorn so short. She'd forgotten how it had looked, and how it helped make them look further like very, very much tiny versions of their father.
If only, if only Aedan had been the one in her room that night. But no, of course not, that would have been too easy. Instead of showing up in her room and ready to perhaps give her a normal pregnant with a child that would have easily been identified as the Old God, he'd nearly been ill just at the thought. And at her mentioning it years later, dry heaving into his helmet while she and Zevran just shook their heads and patted their infant's backs.
"You never understood the beauty in a fine, mighty bosom."
"Stop. Oh, Maker, stop."
A sad grey-eyed, brown-haired child, even triplets, would have been better. They could have even had their sire's arrogant heroism and bizarre attraction to perverted blonde elves that didn't know when to give up. She would have learned to deal with that when the time came.
But not Alistair's children. Never. That was one thing she would never do...except for the fact that they definitely existed in reality and were rolling around in the brown grass and snow outside the Grey Warden's keep. They laughed and laughed, and hit each other with the play swords Aedan had given to them. Passing Wardens nodded to her and the Queen respectfully, and smiled and cheered on the boys.
"Go, Ali!"
"Get 'em Alexandros."
"What I don't understand." The Queen added another squeeze of lemon to her tea. "Is why you gave them names so similar to Alistair?"
"Well. They needed names. And the dwarf wanted to name one of them 'Stairs,' so I had to step in." Morrigan almost shrugged. "They seemed to like those names."
Anora looked out over the twins. Together, she and Morrigan watched one of them nearly club the other to death, only to be outdone when the fallen brother threw snow in his sibling's face. More than ever they appeared to be tiny exactly matching clones of Alistair. If she'd had a difficult time telling them apart before, now it was impossible.
As always when watching them fight, she watched for any sign of magical ability. Any. And half-hoped one of them would lose an eye or get be scarred in the face. Just one little mark. Just one.
As usual, no one heard her prayers.
"They really do take after him," Anora said, thoughtfully.
She wanted to lie, but then a sudden suspicious seized her. "...Alistair told you about the ritual, didn't he?"
"Of course."
"Did he at least wait a day?"
"Our wedding night, actually." The blonde woman gave her a beady look. "You did not help any issues he had with women."
Morrigan couldn't resist laughing. "Is he still doing that thing, that thing he thinks women like?"
Anora thought it over. "...no. Oh, no. I made him immediately stop that."
"I would have but you know...it was funny to think that he thought someone would like that."
"Yes. Thanks."
"I did teach him that one move with his hands. Plus he simply didn't think it was possible—no, let's just stop this right here."
"I agree."
"...does he now feel more comfortable taking his shirt off. Or is he still nervous about the acne scars on his back?"
"Oh. He's pretty much over that. But anyway."
"And that thing with the tongue, going counter clockwise. That's from me."
"I'm sure he would have learned that eventually."
Morrigan took a sip of her tea and shook her head knowingly. "No. He wouldn't have."
Anora tried to sigh. "We should move on. Although, it isn't everyday that I talk to the woman who slept with my husband. Cailan usually kept them out of the castle and from my sight."
"Though, to be fair to Alistair, it was before you were married. And there was literally no one else to perform the ritual with." The dark-haired witch cared nothing for Alistair, or his marriage. But if it made the boys look even more blameless, she was fine with defending the ex-templar.
"What about the other Warden?"
She sipped at the tea, momentarily hollowing her cheek. The lemon tasted particularly tart today. "As I said, there was no one else there to perform the ritual with."
"Oh. Oh."
Before the other woman could get any unflattering ideas (not that she truly cared what she thought), Morrigan added, "The blonde elf raising his kids-"
"I understand. That explains a few rumors I had heard about him not taking any interest in the women at court. And why he didn't attempt to marry me to take the throne."
"...so does Alistair still have night terrors?"
"...yes. But, about your boys."
She had a brief, unpleasant image of the boys being shoved into matching guillotines. 'Mommy, why did you make those remarks about Daddy!' Oh, but Aedan would never allow for that. Nor would the other Grey Wardens. Even Zevran would poison several nobles to keep them safe. "As far as they know, they have no father. They'd never even asked much about him."
"What have you told them?"
"Nothing, truly." It did seem odd, now that she thought about it. They seemed to have no interest in their father, even as they would badger others for information on their own families, and compare them to their family.
"Your Mommy is dead?"
"Yes. Of fever, after she gave birth to me. It was quite common in the whorehouse."
"Yes, Ali, Alexandros, my mother died long ago and I was raised by her employer, a kind woman."
"I don't know what happened to my mother. I was raised by the Circle."
The twin's vindictive reply of, "Well, our Mommy's still alive."
And, "Your sister died?"
"Yes. Because of your Grey Warden."
"Oh. My brother's still alive.
That one Morrigan had definitely approved of.
But nothing about their father. It was as though they simply believed that they had no father. That he had never existed. All they needed was their mother, to hang off of and dangle from her skirt. Her, the Grey Wardens, and the goat had been the only family they'd known. And they seemed to like that just fine.
Perhaps her showing the doll of Alistair, and then burning it, or referring to them as 'acting like their father' when they were bad had an affect after all? They still acted like Alistair, yes, but didn't seem to actual care for the man. Or in fathers, in general.
They were such good boys. Terrible haircuts and all.
"I've never told them who their father is."
"Let's make sure to keep it that way."
"Oh, I have no problem with that."
"And Alistair cannot know. If he even sees them, he'll want to raise them. Or take hand in raising them."
"I definitely don't want him near my children."
"Why?" Perfectly shaped blonde eyebrows rose. "Do you think Alistair would make a poor father?"
"I have no idea. But those boys." She pointed, unshakingly, at her twins rolling around and making snow griffins. "Are mine. Not Alistair's. They've never even seen him before now."
"Did Aedan not tell them about Alistair?"
"Oh, a little. And Leliana, when she came to Amaranthine to talk to the Warden about some new adventure he could run off to, she spoke of him. And Sten, when he needed the Warden's help in his homeland, talked about Alistair."
"What? When did the Warden—No. Nevermind.
"But what if they want to know who their father is? They've never asked?"
"They don't care. When the time comes, and they do grow curious, I'll just tell them he is dead."
Anora winced. "Will they accept that?"
"Do you want Alistair to know? Do you want them to spend time with their half-sibling?"
The golden Queen touched the curve of her stomach with one hand. Her dark blue eyes hazy. No doubt reflecting on her own child, the bright-haired little prince or princess. Perhaps she was even imagining them growing older and looking like Morrigan's boys.
"We tried for a long time. For years." Anora was talking towards her stomach. "Cailan was not able to give me a child, but with his brother I was..."
"The Queen is pregnant, the heir is apparent, the kingdom is safe." She added another sugar cube to her tea. "I just hope for your sake it takes more after you, than it's father."
"What makes you think it's even really Alistair's?" Then Anora laughed at the expression on Morrigan's face. "I was just joking."
"I...see."
"One thing Alistair has definitely taught me is to have a sense of humor in situations." She smiled a little, as though in thought of him. Morrigan imagined herself grabbing one of the children's helmets to vomit into. Ugh. This woman would have a man to hold her hand while she gave birth, someone to coo pathetic things in her ears as a thin comfort. Alistair would love that, he'd love this strong woman to order him about as the Warden had done, and who would give him a child to hold and call his own.
She was free to have that. They were free to have that.
All Morrigan had needed was herself to bring forth her own children. And now all she needed now was her boys.
"And for a second, I actually respected you."
"Boys. We're going to have a discussion."
"Huh?"
"What kind?"
"A serious one?"
"Is this...we're sorry about cutting our hair."
"It's not about that."
"We're sorry for playing with Uncle Alistair."
"But he was so good at hide-and-go-seek."
"We caught him though, Mama, don't worry."
"I'm proud. Honestly. I am. I hope you dragged him to the floor-"
"And rubbed his face in the carpets?"
"'Cause we did."
"Good for you both. But, now, it's time to discuss something serious."
"Like what?"
"It's time we discussed where you kids came from."
"We already did. Remember? When we saw the goat getting jumped on by the other, and then when the goat had a bunch of little babies coming out of her?"
"And they were all bloody?
"And the goat was yelling?"
"And then we got to name them."
"Yeah. And you said, that's where babies come from. That's how we came out. All bloody and screaming."
"Yeah, Mama."
"Yes. Well. That's all true. But I'm going to tell you now how you babies came from. Before you came out screaming and bloody."
"Where?"
"Sit down, and I'll tell you...Ali?"
"Alexandros, Mama."
"Close enough. So, at first two people have to engage in an...intimate act." Morrigan thought back on how she herself had learned of sex: walking in on her mother with one of her 'guests.' She definitely didn't want her boys learning about it that way.
"Like when we say Uncle Zevvy and Aedan hugging, and they weren't wearing any-"
"Yes. Now forget about that moment. Utterly."
"Um. Okay."
"Now, in order to have babies, you have to have a man and a woman. That's why Zevran and Aedan's children are adopted."
"Huh? But we already know that stuff."
"Uncle Oghren told us."
"Goddamnit. He told you about sex?"
"Yeah."
"Uh-huh. With two people kissing and rubbing when they get naked. Then they make a baby."
"Eugh." Still better than how she'd discovered sex. "Fine."
"And so you did that with someone."
"And made us!"
"Yay!"
Together, they threw up their arms in celebration.
"Yes. Yay. But that's not all that happened. Before even that. I used a spell."
"What kinda spell?"
"Did it make someone catch on fire?"
"No. There was a spell used to create you two. Or, at least, one of you."
"A spell? Not sex?"
"A spell and sex."
Their little perfect square foreheads were creased. Just as their father's had been when first laying his hazel eyes on them. Or any other time he was confused . So very similar. And in time, they would only look more and more like him. Maybe one would get a scar or decide to cut their hair differently when they began minding people mistaking them for one another. Or dress differently, even.
But for now, they were perfect and adorable. Her sweet, easy to manage boys that might, in time, grow to develop magic. Or at least grow tall and strong as Aedan and as quick as Zevran. And with her sneer as they killed dragons and pretended to be griffins.
"Look...why don't I tell you another story?"
"The witch one?"
"Okay, fine. So, the witch wanted to become beautiful and lovely, and youthful, as she'd once been a long, long time ago. And the way she would do this was to take possession over her daughter's bodies."
"Booo!"
"I hate her, Mama!"
"I can't wait for her to get burned!"
"That's the best part!"
Morrigan looked down at her boys, at their little determined faces, and felt a warmth twist and writhe in her chest, as though in a terrible agony. But she felt no pain whatsoever.
"Mama?"
"You crying again?"
"No. No. Now, this witch, this hideous witch decided to take over her latest daughter's body. But she never expected the witch to figure out her plan and lay her own trap..."
Aedan was there, waiting out in the hallway to give her a soft look. A drooling baby, one of their latest twins, lay in his arms. "That was awfully sweet of you."
"Shut up. Why does Zevran even put up with you?"
"Dunno. Because I put out?" He laughed as he never used to, years ago. Even as his hand went to cover the baby's ears.
"Disgusting. You've been spending too much time with the elf. Go out like you used to and kill some more darkspawn until you're normal again."
"What, run off and leave the kids? I'm a father now, can't rush out to save the world every week."
"It's not like Zevran isn't used to taking care of the children."
"What, Zevran loves the kids! You even said we should have more children!"
"Yes. I did. I did."
"It's just...I do listen to Zevran. But he always takes care of the kids, so how angry could he be? And...well, I can't just leave kids in the alleys to die! They're in their huddling for warmth, starving, and if I can take them in and help them, why not?"
"It's not like you're just taking them in. You're raising them. And Zevran can't simply just let them run wild. He doesn't half-ass parent; even diaper rashes send him flying into a panic. And with you bring in another one every year..."
"So, I should step in and take care of the kids more?"
"At the least. Tell me again, why does Zevran care for you so?"
"I don't know sometimes." The old Aedan would never have been found with such a dreamy, lovestruck expression on his face. Morrigan looked around for a bucket, or helmet. "But I sure love him in return."
"Stop. I already feel like vomiting."
"No more kids then. At least, not until these two are toilet trained."
"You elf will jump in delight."
"Speaking of which, did your kids take the news well?"
"Well enough."
"...you did tell them, right?"
"...Of course not."
The Warden sighed, and readjusted the baby hanging in his arms. A thing that the old Aedan would never have known how to do. "Oh well. Maybe when they're older."
"I still have no idea which one is supposed to be the Old God."
"Is it possible that the spell didn't take at all, and they're normal children? What if we just got lucky with the Archdemon, and was able to beat him without dying?"
"...goddamnit."
"Oh, it's okay. "
"That never even occurred to me!" She kicked a wall hard enough to nearly knock down a painting. Only pride kept her from clutching her foot.
"Wouldn't this be a good thing?"
"I don't know. Perhaps...I worked so hard on that ritual. The incantations, the ingredients, sleeping with Alistair..."
"Maybe, maybe they're just too young. Give it a few years. And if it makes you feel any better, the goat's doing well. Figured out what's wrong with her."
"Oh. What was it?"
"Turns out she's pregnant."
"Again?"