A/N - So, this epilogue has been floating around in my head for a long time now. I had most of it written well over six months ago, but it never seemed complete. A real-life moment a few days ago gave me some much needed inspiration to complete it. And so, here it is!

A special thanks to Antgirl89, and she knows why!

Disclaimer: I still do not own Dragon Age or its characters. Bummer that hasn't changed.

Neither time nor motherhood had slowed the unceasing force that was Marian Hawke. Half-dragging me, she moved with purpose, driven onward, as we crossed the threshold of her home. Glimpses of a foyer, sitting room, and library sped through my periphery as she led me by the hand down along a narrow hallway. She stopped me abruptly at a closed door, and her voice sounded like a bell, clear and exultant, "Merrill...all's well."

The door creaked open, barely to a finger's width, and the heavy Dalish dialect carried unmistakably through the air, "What of the intrud..."

The words halted awkwardly as the door swung further, her eyes falling upon my face. She was quick to recover, "Welcome, Anders."

Nodding, I bit the side of my cheek, an effort to halt my visceral response. There was no friendship between myself and the elf, but I would keep it civil, if for Hawke's sake alone. After all, I had no right to complain about the company she kept after being out of it for so long. "Hello, Merrill."

Marian's voice interrupted my thoughts, "Thank you for keeping an eye on him."

Merrill nodded, sighing in relief. "I think that I will skip my visit today, Hawke. There has been enough excitement, and the two of you, I'm sure, need to catch up."

Stepping out of her way, I watched as she moved down the hall, disappearing behind another door. Squawking, a howling almost, interrupted across the open threshold, and Marian's smile lit in my direction. She tilted her head towards the noise, "He's always a bit cranky, especially when woken up from a nap."

Awestruck, I followed her into the sanctuary, the glorious woman before me moving with amplified grace and confidence. Marian had never been awkward, but now, every action was deliberate and fluid. My eyes moved with her form, towards a bassinet, and my heart hammered in response. For months and months I had dreamed of this moment, of the god-given gift that I had no claim to. The light, the beacon that had called to me through a fog of unrelenting vengeance and murderous hatred—my son.

She bent slightly down, cooing and soothing as she did so, lifting the boy into her arms. I've never witnessed something more beautiful in my life, and I've seen all things of the sort both ethereal and commonplace. I still couldn't bring myself to admit that the angelic tot she held was my offspring; it was so much easier to assign his majesty to the goddess who brought him into the world. He was a masterpiece, perfect and sublime, something that could not have come from the broken mess that I was. My child…could that even be possible? There could be no doubt, as I took in the familiar long eyelashes and sandy blonde hair that were a dead ringer for my own features. My heart swelled to the point of bursting, my pride at both his existence and his mother's care growing with each moment I stared at him.

Her words were soft, meant to reach me but not jar, "Would you like to hold him?"

Such a simple query, and yet it left me completely speechless and at a loss for oxygen. She brought him to me, closing the distance between, sensing my inability to respond. Softly, almost apologetically, she offered, "I know it's a silly question."

My hands moved of their own accord, out towards my salvation, reaching and grasping for the only thing I had dreamed more about than the woman standing in front of me. His eyes looked at me, hesitant, and then his little cherub fingers reached for my own. If I weren't already head over heels, now the boy had me securely wrapped around his pinky.

Lifting him gently, he stared at me, surely taking in the foreign features, eyes full of intrigue and judgment. Somehow, my tongue finally found its way to movement, "He is so amazing, Marian."

The pleasant sigh that left her lips didn't escape me, "I agree. Carver is the best of both of us."

Happy tears threatened to fall, but I managed to restrain them as tiny digits probed my beard. Then, the most innocent of sounds, a giggle, as my son pulled at the stands. A minute sensation of pain reached my brain, but I dismissed it, still fascinated by the embodiment of pure joy in my arms. My ears registered Marian's chuckle, and soon my own laughter joined theirs, as I reveled in the shared moment. Eyes wide, my boy continued his exploration, entertaining himself for several moments with my nose and teeth, before he began to howl. I looked to Marian in a panic, and she smirked while shaking her head, "Your son has my appetite."

She took the crying child out of my arms, settling herself down on a nearby couch. With her left arm, she cradled Carver in the crook of her elbow while effortlessly unfastening the top of her garment. Exposing her breast, she offered it to the hungry babe, and he eagerly accepted, latching onto the nipple while slurping loudly. Shame, sudden and heavy, weighed upon me—the realization that I had missed so many blessed moments like this one gnawing at my conscience. Voice low and remorseful, I murmured, "I'll just step outside."

Her eyes flew up, pinning me on the spot, "Stay."

I wanted to argue, my contemptuous brain screaming that I should not be witness to such an intimate moment, but her face said it all. Uneasily resigned, I moved opposite the room from her, trying to keep some distance. It was crime enough that I was an absentee father, but somehow, and even more disgustingly, I found myself fighting my most base of desires. Locking my eyes to the floor, I struggled back and forth with the truth: I was an interloper, someone who had no right to be here; but, I had never seen anything as intoxicating as the woman I love feed my child. Parts of me, long dormant, stirred to life in pleasantly uncomfortable ways, and it took all my restraint to remain still, teetering on bolting from the room, as fear that I would lose control overtook me.

"Marian..." I pleaded.

Our eyes met again, and I could see a reflection of my own inner turmoil: a swirling mixture of hunger, love, and need. She sighed deeply as she turned her upper body away from my view, placing her back towards me. Her words were hesitant, stumbling, "I am sorry, Anders. I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable. I just...I don't want you to be away from him." She paused, pulling in a breath, "Not for even one more moment. I could stand it no more."

The ferocity in her voice, the sheer determination in it, shook me to the core. I grasped for the right words, "It was not my comfort that concerned me. I'm..." the sigh escaped my lips, self-loathing in each breath, "...wholly unworthy to be here with you both, and yet, the Maker has somehow granted me that mercy. I thought I was ready to face you and beg for your forgiveness. I was ready to accept every harsh word, every bit of rage that you would throw at me. And yet, you have openly welcomed me, like not a single day has passed, without even a word of apology."

She cut him off, rebuking him for his feeble rant, "Is that what you wish? That I would yell at the top of my lungs, cursing the day we met?"

"It would be exactly what I deserve."

She shook her head silently, still defiant, as I continued, "For the last three hundred and ninety-six days, I have done everything in my power to right the wrongs that I have committed. I have cried, begged, and groveled for forgiveness from absolute strangers, men to whom I owed no allegiance. Should I not do the same for the woman who knows me better than any other?"

In that moment, I noticed the tremble of her shoulders, and the slight hang of her head, as the mighty pillar that she was bore another load. She had always been my strength, and in my absence, had been our son's. A lesser woman would have crumpled under the weight, but she was not one. She turned to face me, a resilient smile shining on her lips as she touched them to the forehead of our son. "No, Anders. Here you will find no angry words. I need not your apology; I forgave you long ago."

Silence passed, as I found myself unwilling or unable to compete with her tenacity. Cradling Carver in one arm, she reached out to me, motioning with the fingers of her free hand. The sight of her, the center of my world, beckoning to me after all the years and all the heartache—she was still my port in the storm, still my oasis in the desert of life. The gesture was simple, but it struck me deeply, and the façade that I had so carefully built toppled. Moving before her seated form, as tears streamed down my face, I tried and failed to explain, "But, it is from you that I must seek amends. I betrayed you in horrible ways; I used you to get what I needed. All that you ever did for me was for my own good, and I repaid you in pain."

Velvet digits brushed my own, intertwining amongst them, as shame and guilt racked my body. My knees collided with the wooden floor, and I buried my face in her lap as my sobs continued uncontrollably. Her fingers moved from my hand, finding my face, as her words sought to guide me through the onslaught of chaotic emotions, "No tears here, Anders. I would not change a single thing that has passed between us, be it good or bad, lest we not have our wonderful son. Carver is worth it all."

I nodded, words unable to express just how much I agreed with her. Leaning forward, she brought her forehead to rest against mine, speaking softly, "You cannot continue to seek forgiveness from everyone while still punishing yourself. It is time for you to have mercy on you. Let it go."

Time stretched as I listened to the melody of a mother and son's breathing, the rhythm soothing the ache that I carried, both physical and emotional. Quieting, my soul relaxed for the first time in what seemed like years, a peace that I had long forgotten existed.

My ears had barely caught the sound of a small yawn that passed Carver's lips when Marian spoke softly, "He reminds me so much of you…"

The chuckle escaped my lips, before the words left, "Funny…I think he favors you."

"Really? I see nothing but your features."

"Those plump cheeks and pointy ears are all Hawke."

Her smile reached her ears, "I guess so…but those hazel eyes. They are unmistakably you."

I nodded as our son slept quietly between us, his eyelids closed. "He snores like you, that's for certain."

Groaning, she nudged my shoulder as she motioned with her head towards the bassinet. "Seems like your son wants to finish his nap. Would you like to put him down?"

Nodding, I stood up, and ever so gingerly lifted Carver from his mother's arms, and quietly settled the boy into his crib. My finger traced his cheekbone, another feature of his mother's, when I heard her words, "I promise that he won't disappear."

Smiling, I turned to her, and she continued, her voice wistful, "I remember when he was a newborn…I would put him in his bed and be afraid to turn away. I was worried that I was dreaming."

"Is that what this is then? A fantasy?"

Her eyebrow raised slightly, a tell of hers that I remembered all too well. It meant that she was taunting me, but only just so. "What do you think?"

"It's no dream. But, it is what I would call heaven."

A mischievous smirk danced onto her face as I paced towards her, coming to a stop in front of her. Lust and honesty clouded my words, "There is only one thing that I fear, Marian. And that is your rejection."

Her unsuspecting gasp satisfied some deep need within me, and it took all my restraint to keep from pouncing upon her. Her voice trembled as she spoke, "I have not turned you away yet..."

"That is true. But we really haven't spoken about us," innuendo flooded my tone upon mentioning the innocuous pronoun.

Barely a whisper, she murmured, "There is so much to discuss…"

"Yes there is...and I am willing to talk first, if that is what you desire."

Stepping into my personal space, Marian made no question about what she wanted. "No, Anders. I do not wish to speak first. There are other things…"

She grabbed at my hand as she slid backwards towards her bed, mimicking the familiar, hypnotic movement that she had made so many nights ago in Kirkwall. I gave in to her then, and I would gladly give in to her again, now. But, I had to hear her request it; there would be no mistaken motives here. My heart simply could not handle that crushing blow.

We landed gently on the canopy-covered bed, and I hovered over, whispering, "Tell me, Marian. Whatever you want or do not want, I will give you."

Her voice was small, quieter than I had ever heard. "Do you intend to stay?"

The anxiety in her tone and the timidness of her words brought tears to my eyes, and only the most direct of answers would do. "Yes."

"That is all I need. Please Anders...love me."

Adrenaline and desire surged through me at her request, and I could feel the energy emanating from our entangled form. I reached blindly for the sash that held back the bed curtains, cocooning us in against the world. Simultaneously, a small cry, and then a loud scream pierced the moment; Marian responded instantly, pushing me back.

I groaned, "Maker...you've got to be kidding me..."

Marian laughed, her eyes bright and dancing, "Welcome to the joys of fatherhood, my love."