Disclaimer: I don't own Dragon Age, or any of their related characters. This is just for my own enjoyment and the potential enjoyment of other fans like me, and no monetary gain was expected or received.

Rating: T

Spoilers: May contain spoilers for Dragon Age Origins, Origins DLC, Awakening, and Dragon Age II, Dragon Age II DLC, Dragon Age Inquisition as well as the novels The Stolen Throne and The Calling. Song lyrics included herein were used without permission.

A/N: While this story is meant to be set completely within the realm of Dragon Age, it is quite AU, mostly due to the fact that I have included one favorite character that does not exactly belong to the world of Dragon Age. I have given Marvel Comics' Loki Odinson a new home in Thedas. Why? Because he needs better role models. He has so much unfulfilled potential, as either a villain or a hero. Which will he be in this fic? That probably depends on which way his role model goes, and that, dear friend, is very much in question as well. But I think they could end up helping each other along, whichever path they take. Aside from that minor alteration (which could lead to some major alterations to DA events, I shall warn you), a few other things may be different in this version of Thedas as well, just because I enjoy playing with alternate realities so much. I'm not making this a crossover in any real way, but I may take "elements" from various stories or video games I admire and bring them to Thedas, as in for example varieties of magic that don't seem to exist in Thedas, more commonly seen in Final Fantasy titles. I'll try not to make it too jarringly out-of-canon.

Chapter One: Fuck Everything And Run

It wasn't his favorite strategy, the F.E.A.R. tactic. Fuck Everything And Run. Sometimes, though, you had to cut your losses. That was the way it was when Loki was born.

Loki was a "whoops," in so much as he was totally unexpected. Not unwelcome, but certainly unexpected. Loghain and Celia weren't supposed to have any more children after their one successful pregnancy, and for a long time it seemed they were successfully keeping to the healer's "no breeding" commandment. Then, when Anora was almost fifteen years old, Loki happened.

And, as healers had predicted, Celia died giving birth to him.

Loki almost died, too. The loss of his wife and the near-loss of his newborn son was eye-opening in a lot of ways. Thence, F.E.A.R. Fuck Everything And Run. Fuck Denerim and the Landsmeet and all the bullshit political crap that kept him away from the people he loved so much of the time. Run back to Gwaren as soon as Loki could be pulled away from the healers and mages and just focus on holding together what was left of his family. Maker's ass, how was he going to raise a teenage girl and a baby boy all on his own? Well, he would figure it out. Somehow.

Loki spent his first six weeks of life in a Denerim Clinic, being continuously fussed and bothered by healers and supervised Circle mages. Loghain and Anora spent those six weeks being likewise fussed and bothered by well-meaning nobility, commiserating on the loss of the Teyrna. Some of them weren't so well-meaning, but they all pretended to be. One of the ones with genuine sympathy was the King, Loghain's good friend Maric. But even he was troublesome at a time like this.

"At least you finally got your heir," he said, as they drank together one night in Loghain's study.

Loghain scowled at him. "Yes. My wife died, but at least I finally have that all-important son."

Maric held up a hand. "That's not – now, you know I didn't -"

"Relax, Maric. I know exactly what you meant. And I agree. It would have been worse if Loki had died as well as Celia. But having an heir for Gwaren does not make Celia's death any easier for me or for Anora and it was rather unfortunate phrasing on your part to put it that way."

"Are you really packing up and moving back to Gwaren?"

"As soon as Loki can be moved."

"What am I supposed to do without you?"

"Be King."

"I can't."

"The fuck you can't, Maric. You were fine when Rowan was alive to help you, and you didn't lean on her the way you basically throw everything into my bloody hands. Stand on your own two feet and rule your own bloody country. I've got a family to think about."

"I know, I know." Maric was glum, but Loghain was determined. They finished the evening, and when Loki was released into his care a few weeks later, he packed up his household and they made the long trip down the Brecilian Passage to Gwaren. It was a long, hard journey for a sickly six-week old, but the little boy made absolutely no complaint whatsoever in the sling harness Loghain wore to carry him in on horseback. In fact, the boy made no sound at all on the three-day trip, which was really quite worrying. The healers and mages said there was nothing more wrong with him that time and ordinary care could not fix, but… why was he so silent? Of course he slept a great deal, that accounted for most of it, but even when his eyes were open wide he never made so much as a peep.

"Father… I swear this child is taking my measure," Anora said on the second night as she knelt to look at the little boy where he lay a short, safe distance from the campfire. "He regards me far more steadily than any infant has any right to, I should think."

"I have noticed that the boy has a remarkably serious expression for an infant, but perhaps that's only to be expected of a Mac Tir," Loghain said.

"It seems unnatural," Anora said.

"You're just not used to babies, my dear. They are unnerving creatures, the lot of them. The only thing that truly worries me about this one is his silence. Why does he not cry when he is hungry? Or tired? Or dirty?"

Anora backed away from the baby swiftly, scuttling on all fours. "I'm sure I have no idea, Father, but it makes me nervous. Not that I want to be out here in the middle of the Deep Woods with a squalling infant, but as you say, it makes no rational sense."

Loghain threw another piece of wood on the fire. "He doesn't try and gum his hands or toes, either. Doesn't seem to mess about at all like a baby normally would. Seems to display a decided lack of curiosity. The healers said he'd be fine from here on, but I'm worried."

"Well, he was awfully sick. Maybe he's just a bit behind, is all. He'll catch up."

Loghain looked into the little child's face himself. "I swear I see intelligence in his eyes when I look into them. Real intelligence, like a far more developed child than a mere infant. Like he is quietly assessing his surroundings and the goings-on around him. Perhaps I'm crazy."

"No, I quite agree with you."

"Maybe when we get out of this creepy-ass forest it will start to feel a little more natural."

"I can only hope."

Cauthrien, Loghain's thirteen-year old ward and squire, sat down by the fire, finished with her duties of feeding and currying the horses. She was a loose-limbed, big-boned girl, far different to petite and pretty Anora, and actually looked far more like a daughter of Loghain than his actual daughter. She was also growing to be a dab hand with a sword, but in that regard at least Anora and she were a lot alike. Once she stopped growing and started to regain control of her limbs, she would undoubtedly be a mighty warrior. But she was far more comfortable around babies than Anora, having had the caring of several younger siblings when she still lived with her parents. She took Loki and his strangeness very much in stride.

"I think the little blighter is adorable," she said. "Not like any of my brothers, always 'owling and hitting. Well-mannered, like. A proper noble baby."

"Cauthrien, nobles aren't born with good manners," Anora said, laughing.

"This one was," Cauthrien insisted. "Look at 'im. You can't tell me 'e don't know it ain't a good idea to be carryin' on in these woods."

"And how would he know that, my dear?" Loghain said, with a bit of a smile.

"Dunno. But 'e knows. Maybe 'e can sense that these woods is filled wiv spirits. My gran said babies was sensitive to spirits."

"Don't be daft, Cauthrien," Anora said.

"Now now, don't scold," Loghain said. "These woods are filled with spirits. The Veil is thin here, and spirits and demons pass through now and then. Can he sense that? I don't know. But something is keeping him quiet."

Anora's already pale face paled slightly further. "You don't really think he's… sensing spirits, do you, Father?"

"Probably not. But I won't discount the possibility."

He picked the baby up and sat down by the fire, cradling him. Loghain hadn't hired a wet nurse for the boy. It should have been the first thing he did, after, but he just couldn't… anyway, he bought a goat. Hardly a substitute, but with a little Dwarven ingenuity he could eat properly and it would keep him healthy. He looked at the clever bottle that was devised by the glass-blower. It wasn't all glass, the bit the baby sucked on was flexible and the milk could pass through it, though not in a rush. It didn't feel like flesh, but it was a whole hell of a lot more like it than it was glass. Dwarves were clever bastards, you had to hand it to them.

He offered the baby the bottle of goat's milk, and the baby drank obligingly. Uncertainly-colored eyes – were they blue? Were they green? At this point it was impossible to tell, and probably would remain uncertain for some time to come – blinked and drifted shut. Soon the little boy was soundly asleep.

"What color do you suppose his eyes are, Father?" Anora said. "I cannot determine if they are blue or green, or some odd mixture of both. They certainly do not seem to have anything in common with anyone else in the family."

"An infant's eye color isn't determined at birth, Anora," Loghain said. "When you were born, you had slate gray eyes. Grayer than mine. They changed over time. Many babies do. His probably will as well. As to what color they will become, I shouldn't like to guess. Probably they will be some shade of blue, most everyone in the family is blue-eyed and that's a good predictor, but they could be just about any color, including green. My mother's eyes were green, after all. Of course, green is a much more common eye color for elves."

Anora gave him a sharp look. "Are you saying your mother was an elf?"

He looked at her. "Hadn't I ever told you that before?"

"No, Father, you had not."

"Could've sworn I had."

"I thought you grew up on a farm."

"What proper growing up I did, yes, 'twas on a farm. Why?"

"Not in an Alienage?"

"No. My father actually took care of us, Anora, he wasn't like most men with half-blood get."

"But… he found her in an Alienage, I assume."

"I honestly don't know how they found each other, but my mother was no City Elf. She was Dalish. Or at least she was prior to becoming my father's wife."

"How… in the Maker's holy name… did a Dalish and a Fereldan Freeholder ever manage to end up together? And I'm assuming get married? Would any proper Chantry priest actually permit such a drastically nontraditional union?

Loghain shrugged, as best as he could while cradling a sleeping baby. "I honestly don't know the answer to any of those questions. I don't know how they met, how they managed to put aside the differences of their upbringings to come together, how or even if they were ever actually legally married. I asked my father once, when I was a bit older and had the wit to think about such things. I believe my exact phrasing was, 'Father, am I a bastard?' His response was to pat me on the head very kindly and say, 'Only every now and then, Pup.' In any event, he claimed me as his son, and in Alamarri tradition that's all I need to take his name legally, and he always claimed he was of Alamarri descent. How he would even know that, I have no clue, but the name does have the Alamarri construction."

"I thought King Maric gave us our surname when he rose you to nobility," Anora said.

Loghain laughed. "Anora, darling, you've been listening to the nobles. The idea that our surname was bestowed upon us by King Maric is something they spread about. After all, that's usually what happens in the rare instance someone is raised. But no, I was a Mac Tir before I met Maric, and I will be a Mac Tir when they lay me on the pyre. Maric felt it was a perfectly good name for a nobleman, even though it means 'Son of the Land,' which probably brings to mind a more earthy occupation."

"I honestly can't picture you ever being, or having been, a farmer, father."

"In any true regard, I never was. I was old enough to pitch some hay and feed horses and muck stables a bit, but all that ended before I was truly old enough to take a real hand around the place."

Anora smiled. "This is more than I've ever heard you say about your past. In total. Anything else you'd care to divulge while you're feeling talkative?"

"I honestly don't know what to say."

"For starters, how about, what was my grandmother's name?"

He looked down at the baby, then back up at her. "Idalya. I don't know what her surname might have been prior to taking my father's."

"Idalya," Anora said, tasting it. "That's a pretty name. What was grandfather's name?"

"You don't even know that?"

"You never told me. You never tell me anything. I know mother's side of the family but I know nothing about you."

"My father's name was Gareth. Don't ask me about anyone further back. He was older than I am now when I was born, and he was even less talkative than I am. I don't know who my grandparents were, on either side. I expect my mother's family wanted nothing more to do with her after she joined forces with my father, and she didn't speak of them at all."

"That's right sad, Ser," Cauthrien said. "You don't know where you came from."

"The past is past," he said. "It's useful as a guideline to the future, but you don't want to live there. It's not healthy. Believe me, I know a little something about that. Not living in the past gets difficult, sometimes. Most times."

"All right, enough of that. Tell me the name of… your best childhood friend," Anora said, hoping for a lighter memory.

"Adalla," Loghain said without the slightest hesitation.

"Your best friend was a girl?" Anora said, startled.

"My best friend was a mabari. My father found her as a puppy, hiding in our woodshed. Why she was there is anyone's guess. It's not exactly common to find stray mabari puppies out in the bannorn. Rarer still for them to imprint to young children but Adalla imprinted to me when I was only a little bigger than this mite here." He indicated the child in his arms.

"You had a mabari?" Anora marveled. "I honestly thought you hated mabari. You never go near any kennels."

"I don't go near kennels because I am averse to the possibility of imprinting again."

"Why?" Anora said.

Loghain's perpetually turned-down mouth turned down further, but it was not one of his famous scowls. "Adalla was enough for me," he said. "Now, you girls should consider taking a leaf from this little one's book and getting some sleep."

"All right. Good night, Father."

"Good night, dear."

Anora and Cauthrien repaired to their bedrolls. Loghain stayed where he was, sitting by the fire with the baby in his arms. He did not sleep well or often, and someone had to keep watch.