#fiona-ic

To the Warden Alistair,

I write this letter to you in the hopes that it will reach you, though with the ever-changing political climate I cannot be so sure. Perhaps this is the very reason I have decided to put pen to paper after all these years. Perhaps I fear I do not have much time left to say what needs to be said.

I have never been practiced in emotional confessions, most especially when it comes to putting those feelings to the pen, so I apologize if this was not how you envisioned this revelation. It is one I must bring forth nonetheless, as I feel it is owed to you.

(a significant stain of ink has pooled between the two paragraphs, as if the next words written had taken quite some time to form)

My name is Fiona, and I am your mother. I am not some scullery maid or servant to your father's throne, nor am I dead and gone. Though, I would not blame you if you wished that I were instead. I wish that I could grant you solace in the fact that your father simply grew too acquainted with a fawning and innocent woman; mundane and human and without any faults. Instead, an elven mage took advantage of him while they were both at their lowest, and they sought comfort in one another, if only for a moment.

I have had many years to think about our time together. Beyond all of the guilt and the knowledge that we could never remain as close as we had been, I have never stopped thinking about Maric...or you.

It was not an easy thing, having to give you up. There were many moments where I thought to turn and run from my duties. To raise you on my own, but that would have been foolish. You deserved more than being raised by an elven apostate. So I ask that you do not point your anger at your caretakers or your father for something I hardly gave them an option in doing. I deserve all of it; the anger, the tears...whatever has been consuming you, if anything at all. Perhaps you feel nothing about it all, to which I would also accept.

But I understand you must wonder why I choose now, after all these years. For that, there is no simple answer. Initially, this was to be kept from you your entire life, that you find a chance at happiness; away from the throne, and away from any discrimination you might face were others to connect you to me. I see now that fate has a cruel way of complicating things.

It was Duncan and your Warden-Commander who ultimately convinced me. I know there have been times where my name, or simply the mention of my presence has passed their lips in your company. I am aware that Duncan had told you of our journey into the Deep Roads, but had neglected to mention my name, As I am also aware that you and the Warden-Commander who elected to extend more freedoms to the mages in the Circles are close.

It is in knowing that you walk your own path, by your own choice, that I write to you. I cannot say whether this will cause your happiness to crumble, or if it will bring you the clarity you have longed for. Regardless, I do not intend to walk into what may be my death without putting pen to paper. I am aware I am the last of those that might offer you the truth, and so I give it to you.

Your letters will not find me, as in writing this, I have branded myself no more than a wandering apostate, but if fate should somehow conspire for us to cross paths one day, I know you must harbor many questions, or even accusations...to which I shall answer both.

But if it would not be so, know this. You have never left my heart or mind, my dearest Alistair, and I am sorry for not providing you with the truth you deserved more than anything.

Yours,

There are words that she wants to say, words that surely the other deserves, but she cannot will them to pass her lips. What would be the point in apologizing, for seeking forgiveness when she did not deserve it. The Inquisitor speaks to her of a future that cannot come to pass and it is her weak will that had almost allowed it to, then and there. She was better than this, better than the weak, older woman she was looked upon as. She had fought darkspawn for weeks on end in the Deep Roads, she had killed her slaver at the chance to understand herself, she had worked her way tirelessly through the magi circles to fight for their freedoms, and all it took was a single man to catch her in a weak moment to ruin all of that work.

Her skin still crawled at the thought. That she could be manipulated like so long ago...that she could bring shame to the one group of people she could still consider her people. Blood magic was no Taint, but she had hated that feeling of something just beneath her skin for the weeks following the events at Redcliffe.

The observation should not cause the mage to tilt her head in question, not if she was to avoid giving such watchers more of a reason to gaze upon them. But it could not be helped, even with age, Fiona had not refined her lack of subtlety, nor did she truly care about what others thought of her.

She could not be sure if the same could be said for the Inquisitor, who seemed keen on observing those who observed her. It couldn't be helped, she supposed, as grand as her title was. Anyone would be set on edge.

"I would hardly be surprised. You left Redcliffe declaring that the mages would be given shelter and companionship with little restrictions. While I am thankful for your generosity, most others would not be so open to the idea." She spoke in a matter of fact tone, offering the other a seat parallel to her at one of the small tables littered with tomes; none of which had been hers. Someone had been studying up on wyvern tracking patterns with great enthusiasm...

"So they look to us and wonder what might come next. What can the mages give to the Inquisition that would fare better than the Templars? How will their Inquisitor make them useful? Where would you point us? It is much for anyone to consider...it is more for others to wonder." The older woman sighs, deep brown eyes trailing the length of the rotunda. Part of the fear and anxiety had been her fault. She had known the little ways blood magic could seep into one's brain and she'd still allowed room in her mind for Alexius to slip in...

Perhaps because she had feared at any moment that the real confrontation she had been avoiding would arrive at any moment, with one single slip up....

One night. Not even one night could he manage on his own. Perhaps it simply took him time to adjust from months of traveling in a group, but then why not seek out Duncan as well? Surely, the more company he had, the better. Or perhaps the boy had already turned him down. Perhaps that was why he looked as miserable as he did; with slightly tussled hair (she could only imagine from tossing fitfully) and trembling eyes. He was...fatigued, exhausted, like he'd attempted to fall back asleep in the comfort of his quarters but couldn't muster it.

As if he couldn't return to this life.

But he must. Because the remaining Grey Wardens would need to report back to Weisshaupt as soon as their story was deemed acceptable to the King's Court (the Teyrn unfortunately included), and it would simply be chance if they ever saw each other again. This, she had nailed into herself upon their breaching of the surface once more...so why hadn't he? Why was he standing here now, a fool, yearning for her presence? This was...inappropriate, to say the least. What if others were listening in? What if-

She sighs, fingers pinching the bridge of her nose as she allows him to cross the threshold of her guest room, all the while cursing herself for even allowing him this...what a terrible excuse for visiting her in the night.

But she had been feeling the same terrible loneliness creeping up on her as well, and she hated it. She hated needing to be near someone...old habits died terribly hard, it would seem.

They'd missed the turning of Spring and the height of Summer while lost in the labyrinth of the Deep Roads. Soon, the leaves would turn their autumnal colors and wither, just as most things had in the caverns below. To think, their final escape would not reward them with much needed warmth from the land above. The trek back to Weisshaupt would be bitter, and she hated to think of how much her wounds would bite against the cold.

...Then again, it was better to feel the bite than feel nothing at all. A few day's walk towards the capitol city had afforded some time for the previously tainted skin to retract on itself, and left sensitive spots in its wake. She hated the feeling, numbness and now...itching, like a freshly healed scab.

It was why the guard had allowed her some time away from their group as they settled for the evening. Not alone, of course...their king had practically jumped at the offer to accompany her (much to the Teyrn's discomfort).

She tried to entertain it, the idea that they could sit together while she ran her hands through the passing stream. Not that it would help the healing process but...it helped the feeling in the moment. Made the withering creep of the receding taint feel...washed away, wet, not festering? It helped, for lack of a better explanation.

The conversation for the most part had been...straightforward, brief between them, and it was obvious it bothered him. The Deep Roads were no longer a threat on their lives, and so when had it been a better time to just...talk? They had so little time left, after all.

...so where had this come from? This...confession. Surely she'd spaced out at some point during his filling the silence...but then again, she'd also come to notice his preference for just...blurting out the most heartfelt things at random.

He was soft like that. It broke her heart.

"But that is all I can be. You know as well as I that I should not have even been that much." Fiona sinks her arms further into the creek, hardly wincing as one of her hastily rolled up sleeves dips down and soaks itself in the running water. She needed to choke this horrible itch before it became too much...