Fiona's attention was caught from her sewing by a wandering child. The children were at the age where they would come and go, playing - or fighting - with each other or friends outside,or amusing themselves with their own tasks in their bedrooms. In fact, they'd snap at her for calling it playing. They didn't need her so much anymore, except for mending their clothing - of course. Fergus had slipped into the main room and perched himself on the couch.

"Hey honey," Fiona chimed at him.

"Hey," he said simply.

She continued with her sewing, she didn't know what he had shown up for, but it definitely wasn't to help her. His anxious nature left him easily frazzled with tasks he would fumble with, and it didn't capture his interest in the way other fiddly tasks did. It seemed none of them had any particular favour for sewing, there were much more interesting things to do out in the world - go figure.

She kept going with the rhythmic stitch, though she remained aware of him in her peripheral vision. He was thinking. Fergus was her thinker, after all. His siblings were do-ers, impulsive improvisers like their father - get themselves into a situation, get themselves out. Fergus was more mindful than that, he tried to avoid situations altogether. She couldn't help but wonder what kind of situation he was thinking himself around right now, just the pair of them in the room. He had something meaningful to say, she could tell.

"Mom?" he asked for her attention.

"Mm?" She barely paused her movement to glance at him.

His ears receded slightly at her meeting his gaze. He looked away, shrugging. "Can I ask a question?"

Fiona looked back at him, gaze softened. "Sure, what is it?"

Her son fiddled with the frayed edge of his shirt - turning it into something else for her to mend. She gave him the space he needed to speak, setting the clothing down on the arm of her chair.

"Dad told us to not ask you questions about…" he trailed off, "you know…"

"The tower?" she offered gently.

Her words seemed to make him cringe. "Yah."

It surprised her that Shrek asked that of them. Mostly because there had been unfortunately timed proddings about something, or curious questions over the years; did her and Aunt Dragon have slumber parties in the tower? What did she do by herself? And if she hated that book so much, why did she read it a million times? But since they got older… never much from Fergus.

The apprehension hit her. As innocent as her children were with their questions, it didn't mean they didn't affect her. She hated that it affected her, it shouldn't. It wasn't every time, and not every question, but if her children wanted to know something about her, of course they could know. She wanted to be a good mother to them - that didn't mean ceasing up and being unable to answer a simple question.

"You can ask, honey." She gave him the permission he needed, against her better judgement.

He thought some more. "What would things be like…" he paused, "if you didn't go?"

He watched her, the apprehension spreading to him.

"What do you-?"

"Would we even exist?" he interrupted her call for clarity.

"Oh." She suddenly wished she hadn't paused her sewing, giving her hands something to do would have helped. "Well, I don't know. I haven't thought about it," she lied. She had thought about it. She'd thought about all the ways destiny brought her many blessings in her life. She'd thought about the fate that would have been waiting for her had she not gone to the tower, or had her unorthodox husband showed up just a little too late. "I guess things would be very different," she mused, trying to speak her words in as cheery a tone as possible. "Perhaps I wouldn't have ever met your father."

His curiosity hadn't been quelled. "You wouldn't have wanted to meet him either, right?"

She blinked at him, suddenly realising the weight of the conversation she was engaged in. He didn't have a question about the tower as such… more so her own perspectives. She wasn't sure which was worse. "Well… I think it would depend on the circumstances." There was hesitation on his part. She couldn't read him enough to know exactly what he was getting at. "What makes you ask?"

His eyes became wide, his gaze found the ground quickly. The fiddling of his shirt grew frantic. Ah. That she could read; he was thinking his way around a secret. She had no doubt some discussion had happened and the triplets had agreed to not tell mom. Don't tell mom had evolved a lot over the years, but one thing remained the same; Fergus had always been her insider - whether it was intentional or not.

"I was just wondering…" He scratched at the back of his head, trying his best to seem nonchalant.

"Because…" She widened her eyes at him, encouraging him to spill his secret.

"Because nothing!" he insisted, shrugging. "Grandma just said something that sounded like something and it made me think about stuff. I don't know…" he rushed through his words, "Fark and Fel said to not say anything and so I'm not. But it wasn't really anything."

She raised an eyebrow. "Hm, it sure doesn't sound like anything."

He had to tell her now, especially as it involved something her mom said. She couldn't deny that her mother had come a long way in her own personal journeys over the years, but there were still some situations caused by an ill timed judgement, or a comment made in poor taste.

Fergus had his mouth sewn together firmly, he'd already said too much.

Fiona put together the puzzle pieces in her mind. "Grandma told you that I wouldn't want to meet your father?"

"Well… no…" Fergus furrowed his brow. "Kinda?"

Fiona gave him a soft smile. "I won't tell them you said anything?" she offered, playing into their game of secrets.

He watched her warily for a moment before sighing. "She didn't say that."

Fiona watched him as he struggled with his brain again, trying to find the words that matched up with his intention.

"If you didn't… go to the tower, to meet dad…"

She nodded to indicate she was with him on his thought journey.

"Then… you wouldn't have wanted to ever meet him. You wouldn't want to be an ogre. So… so… we wouldn't exist." His eyes were apprehensive, almost as if he was afraid his words would hurt her.

The weighted situation smothered her again. Children were interesting things, especially as they got older and were able to understand much more perplexing concepts; she thought she was just mending a torn sweater and now she was trying to grapple with the complexities of her own past and ogrehood.

She wanted to tell him that he had it all wrong. That whatever grandma had insinuated was false. She would have always been proud to meet her husband and share the life she loves. But, his investment in the situation made her reluctant to lie. The children had danced on the edge of this conversation a few times, asking about what the kingdom truly thought of them or processing their own experiences of judgement and prejudice in the place she grew up. Clearly, it was time they heard more, not that she wanted them to hear more. She wanted to protect them from those terrible views and herself; the self she was many years ago… and sometimes even now.

"Hmm," she hummed at him, formulating her own response. She had to be careful, whatever she told him would possibly be taken back to his siblings. She was sure whatever he took away from the conversation would be his own interpretation and quite possibly not what she said. He was old enough to understand her words, but perhaps not old enough to truly grasp the concept. "Things were very different for me before your dad came along. He taught me a lot about the world and about myself. So, I'm glad I went to the tower, because it gave me this and it gave me you." She smiled at him.

He looked down. Despite her careful thinking, he wasn't comforted by her words, if anything he looked more troubled. It surprised her. Fiona had never considered that fact upsetting people. She always thought it would comfort others, in the same way it comforted herself.

"Then… There's no way that I-we exist without you going to the tower." He was concerned, so concerned about her.

"Honey, that's okay," she reassured him gently.

"Dad said that it was so…" he glanced at her, "so horrible for you that we shouldn't mention it."

She sighed, her family clearly wasn't doing the best job of talking about things. And neither was she.

"Fergus…" she addressed him, he met her gaze. "It wasn't a good time for me, no. But that doesn't mean that you can't talk about it. And… well, you know the story." She allowed a smile to flicker across her face. "I wasn't too pleased about your dad showing up to rescue me. So, you're right. If I hadn't gone to the tower to be rescued by your father, I probably wouldn't have met him or wanted to meet him." She watched her son's brow crease up once again, just a little. "But, it turns out I didn't even know what I wanted. I thought I wanted to marry a prince, live in a castle, and become a queen." She sniggered at the thought. She met his gaze with bright eyes, "Think about that!"

His face broke out into a hesitant smile.

"I wouldn't have been happy at all. And the worst part is, I wouldn't have known why I was so unhappy."

The smile slowly faded from his face as he began his thinking again.

"So, okay, the tower wasn't pleasant." She raised her eyebrows briefly - he wouldn't ever even know the half of it. "But it led to this, and you. I would choose to do it all over again without hesitation."

She let him have his moment to contemplate what she said.

"I'm sorry, mom," he spoke sheepishly.

"You have nothing to apologise for." She smiled softly at him. "Sometimes, not so nice things happen to us to allow much better things to happen. It's okay. It's life."

He hesitantly nodded at her, his fingers still frantically fiddling with his shirt - until finally it tore. He looked down in surprise at what he'd done.

She exhaled, a smirk settling onto her face. "Give me that. I can mend it now."

He met her gaze, his own face breaking out into a smile, less hesitant this time. "Sorry, mom."

"That you can apologise for." She gestured for him to stand, though she quickly withdrew her hand. "…Unless you're going to mend it yourself."

Ignoring her caveat, he stood and removed his shirt. He tossed it to her. It landed on the arm of her chair, but not quite far enough. It slid off the chair, taking the other unfinished project with it, onto the ground. She sighed looking at him, but he had already turned and was heading back to his room to find a replacement.

The ogress leaned over and picked it up. She guessed their conversation was over now and Fergus got what he needed. She'd have to wait and see if the other two of her children would approach her for a similar conversation once he had reported back, she was sure he would. For now, it was just another day - she returned to the stitch that was waiting for her - her heart rate only just a little more accelerated than before. She tried to take a long deep breath, repacking those boxes in her mind, just not quite as tightly as before.

. . .

Unlike the films + extras, I appear to have neglected Fergus in these chapters. Here's one for him!

I've had some spare time on my hands recently and the finished BNOWs are mounting up, so I thought I'd actually upload them a little more frequently.