An old Enchanter's Regret

The streets of Denerim were bustling with activity as the people strolled to and from the market. Any traces of despair they might have felt ten years ago was replaced by cheerful faces. While children played happily near their homes, laughing merrily and chasing each other through the streets. It was difficult to imagine a city in shambles after having been nearly destroyed by the archdemon and its darkspawn during the Fifth Blight.

Ferelden's recovery is going well... The thought brought a small smile to Fiona's lips as she walked through the crowd, her head mostly hidden by the hood of a cloak. The smile then faded upon recalling why she was in the city. Why she had made such a long and perilous journey all the way from Orlais. For she knew peace here wouldn't last long thanks to the war currently being waged between mages and templars. A war that cost her and many others greatly.

Green eyes gazed up towards the royal palace in the distance—her destination—as another feeling settled over her heart. Guilt lay heavy as a boulder over her ribcage, brought on by mistakes of the past, yet laced with a sliver of eagerness from the present. Nerves threatened to get the better of her, but the Grand Enchanter restrained them the best she could, hiding them behind a facade of confidence as she approached the gates.

One of the guards greeted her. "State your business."

She reached for her hood with pale hands, pulling it down to reveal boyish, snow-white hair and pointed ears. "I am former Grand Enchanter Fiona and I am here at the king's request."

The guard nodded stiffly. "Yes. We were told you were coming. Please follow me."

Fiona was led through the courtyard to the palace doors, and as they entered, anxiety gripped her once more. But it was not the prospect of seeing Ferelden's monarch that filled her with uncertainty and regret. It was the memory of that little bundle she'd once held before abandoning it to its fate. A baby left without a mother due to a cruel twist of fate.

She swallowed the pain, shoving it deep inside that old, beaten box that was her heart and trekked after the guard through the castle's great hall.

.x.x.x.x.

"The Chantry will not look kindly upon your willingness to help apostates, Your Majesty," the Revered Mother of Denerim spoke, a seemingly permanent scowl over a wrinkled face.

"That's the third time you've come to bark at me over this, Your Reverence. My decision stands. I won't abandon them." Alistair regarded her sternly from his seat on the throne, unfazed by her disapproving glare. He was clad in a fine brown gambeson, trimmed in white fur. Long, dirty-blond hair nearly touched his shoulders while a neatly trimmed beard covered a square jaw. His youthful features carried the lines ten years of rebuilding and ruling a country brought, but kindness yet remained in his amber eyes.

"But going as far as using your soldiers to protect them… Your meddling will only make the faithful question your motivations."

"And what's your alternative?" His tone held an edge of irritation. "Should I just let women and children get slaughtered like animals simply because they're mages? Yeah, I don't think so."

"I understand it is a difficult situation. But this is a Chantry matter, sire. It should be left to us to handle."

Alistair lifted his chin, his eyes hardening. "The Chantry failed to keep the peace and now battles between mages and templars are raging over The Hinterlands. My people happen to be caught in the middle of it all, so I'd say that makes this my problem too. Or do you disagree?"

"But…" Her glare faltered. "Your Majesty…"

"Are we done talking about this? Nothing you say will change my mind."

She sighed in defeat and bowed before him. "I have spoken my piece. I only hope this does not bring dire consequences for you later."

"Heh…" He let a corner of his lips curl up into a wry smirk. "If the Chantry gets angry with me over this then so be it. It wouldn't be the first time I get scolded by the mothers… as you well know."

"Yes… I suppose I do," she muttered awkwardly.

The sound of the doors to the throne room opening resonated throughout the chamber, interrupting the awkward pause. A guard stepped inside and brought both arms to his chest, bending deeply at the waist. "Your Majesty."

Alistair's annoyed stare went to him. "What is it?"

The guard glanced towards the Revered Mother, seeing the tension in her posture. His attention then returned to the king, whose mood seemed just as poor. "Your uh… guest is here, sire."

He sighed and scratched the back of his head. "Ah, good…"

The Revered Mother bowed once more. "I should take my leave then. Good day to you, Your Majesty."

"And to you, Your Reverence." He offered her a polite nod, then watched her totter away while the guard held the door open for her. Alistair sighed inwardly, relieved to see her leave.

.x.x.x.x.

This was the same bench by which she and Duncan had waited for their audience some thirty years ago. It was a strange sense of deja vu. Back then they'd sought the help of the king just as she was doing now, only this was a matter that affected many who were now depending on her.

The sound of footsteps had her turn her head to see the figure approaching from the direction of the throne. She hid behind the hood as the old Chantry woman passed her by. She was grumbling something about rebellious kings and troubling times, all the while shaking her head and paying no attention to her.

Soon after, the same guard from before came for her. "This way, my lady."

With a nod, Fiona rose to her feet and followed him. The pressure in her chest returned full force, growing the closer she came to those double doors. They were opened for her and she paused when her eyes landed on the man seated at the throne. She anxiously licked her lips and walked forth. Her steps echoed in the grand room as she crossed the distance, using the opportunity to take in his appearance from afar. Maker, he looks so much like Maric...

"It is… an honor to be here, Your Majesty." Her voice quivered against her will as she came to a stop before him, bowing to him. "Thank you for reaching out to us."

"I'm glad you made it," he replied, offering her a sympathetic smile. "I hope you didn't have too much trouble on the way here."

Fiona straightened, forcing a slight grin of her own. "Do not worry, sire. I am not as frail as I appear."

"Heh… so I see," he chortled, the response reminding him of Wynne. Maker, how he missed their late mother-figure.

"Forgive me, sire." She wrung her hands, glancing over the shoulder. "But was the Revered Mother of Denerim the one who just walked out?"

"Yes… The Chantry isn't happy I'm helping the mages." The king chuckled wryly, visibly tired of the arguments. "She'd be spitting hot coals for sure if she'd known you were coming to see me."

"She's right… in a way. You risk much by helping us."

"My wife and I risked everything to save these lands from the Blight. I won't let hatred rule over them for as long as I am king," Alistair declared vehemently. "I'm sure the rest of Ferelden will see it the same way one day... Which brings me to why I invited you here. I heard the templars were hunting you and your people."

"They are… it has become difficult to keep the others safe. We have been traveling constantly because of this. Always on the run… But we knew it would be difficult from the moment we broke from the Circles." Fiona's brow furrowed into a troubled frown as her nervous hands clasped her skirt.

"Things that are worthwhile are often not easy to obtain. It's a struggle I'm all too familiar with." He spoke somberly, his words carrying the weight of past experiences. "Which is why I want to offer refuge… so long as you're willing to avoid engaging the templars and seek peace."

Remorse settled over her as she gazed at him, her heart twisting painfully in its cage. To think the baby she abandoned long ago would turn out to be such a kind and just man. Maric wanted the boy away from the throne and its trappings. But it seemed he became the king Ferelden needed in the end.

"We never wanted this to escalate into a war when we rebelled against the Chantry. We only wished for our freedom," Fiona said quietly, smiling sadly at him. "So I accept your terms, Your Majesty. I only want to keep my mages safe. Especially the children."

He nodded. "Then you're welcome to stay in Redcliffe with Ferelden's free mages. You can help lead them and keep them grounded throughout this mess."

"Thank you, Your Majesty. This means a great deal to—"

A door at the side of the throne room opened and a little girl ran in, drawing their attention away from their conversation. "Papa, Papa!" she chanted excitedly, gripping a piece of paper in one hand and the skirt of her purple dress in the other.

"Princess!" an old man called, hobbling with a cane after the child. "Maker's breath…" he sighed as she climbed the steps to the throne and out of his reach.

"Hey!" Alistair picked up the bubbling girl, then sat her on his leg. "What are you doing making Uncle Eamon chase you around the castle? Shouldn't you be studying?"

Fiona could only stare, lips parted in astonishment. She was adorable. Probably around eight or nine years old, with large blue eyes and long, blond waves. That's my… My grandchild?

"Uhm… I'm sorry…" the princess muttered bashfully, then presented him with the piece of paper. "B-But Mommy sent this..."

A mixture of sadness and relief crossed over the king's features as he carefully took the letter from her tiny hand. "Oh…"

"I apologize for disrupting your audience, Your Majesty," Eamon said with a sigh. "A raven came and I couldn't keep her in the study after she found out who it was from."

"It's fine…" Alistair gently stroked his daughter's hair, smiling tenderly at her. "Go with Eamon, my dear. I still have to finish talks with the nice lady over there."

The child pouted rosy lips. "But… we always read Mommy's letters together."

"And we will. Just be a little patient." He lifted her and set her on her feet. "I'll keep the letter for now. Wait for me and we'll read it as soon as I'm done here."

"Promise?" she pleaded.

A chuckle escaped him while petting her head. "Yep, I promise. Now, go on."

"Yes, Papa." She gave him a toothy grin, then a quick courtsy before running back to the old man, waving at Fiona in passing. Eamon gently took her hand and led her out, closing the door behind them.

Alistair turned an apologetic smile to the mage. "Sorry about that. She's as high spirited as her mother."

"It's… quite all right, sire," she replied softly. "You have a gorgeous daughter. It shames me that I don't know her name…"

He rose from his seat and descended the steps to her, standing almost three heads taller. "Her name's Eleanor… after my wife's late mother."

"I see… it's a beautiful name." She tilted her head, knitting her eyebrows. "Is the queen… traveling?"

"She is…" he uttered, then smiled weakly. "Anyway… It's been decided then. Your mages can live in Redcliffe. The sun will set soon and it's dangerous to travel at night. You're welcome to spend the night in the castle."

"Understood…" Fiona bowed to him. "Thank you very much, sire."

"You're welcome." He placed a hand on her shoulder, surprising her. Then he addressed the nearest soldier standing guard in the room. "Please show the Grand Enchanter to one of the guest rooms and have a servant tend to her."

He put a fist to his chest at the command. "Yes, Your Majesty."

"Rest well." Alistair offered her one last, faint smile, then stepped to the door through which his daughter had left.

"You as well, sire…" Fiona whispered with concern, seeing just how quickly his mood changed. She'd heard the queen had been absent for a while, but not exactly for how long. Motherly instincts rang in her ears, telling her to comfort him. To go to him and hug him and tell him everything would be all right.

Her hands closed into fists. If only she hadn't left him all those years ago. If only she could have remained with him. To raise him and watch him grow. But then again… seeing who he was now... Perhaps it was best she'd stayed out of the picture all along. Ferelden would have never accepted him as king had they known of his elven blood.

"This way, please." The guard pulled her from her anguished thoughts, gesturing for the guest wing. In the opposite direction.

.x.x.x.x.

Hours later, Fiona neared the only window in her room, gazing to the moon above. Nostalgia filled her as the past came to visit her once more. She'd done much, from being a Grey Warden to becoming a Grand Enchanter. And now, she was leading the mages to freedom from the Chantry's clutches. These were things she felt proud of, of course. But there was much she still regretted in her life.

"Maric… if only you could see what a good man your son has become," Fiona murmured wistfully to herself. She released a soft breath and looked towards the gardens below. A puzzled expression then dawned on her at what she saw.

Lying on the ground was the small body of a child, curled up near the rose bushes.

"That's…" she gasped, and without hesitation, headed for the door. Hasty feet took her through the hall and down spiraling stairs, worry driving her on. An array of excuses and explanations rushed through her head as she went, but thankfully, no guards were posted along the way.

"Child!" Fiona called, bursting through the gate leading to the garden. She knelt next to her, placing a hand on her shoulder. "P-Princess, are you—"

"She's all right. Just sleeping."

Her head snapped to Alistair as he trudged towards them. She swallowed, confusion etched over her features. Her concerned stare fell over the girl, listening to her even breathing. "Why… Why is she out here like this?"

"My queen loves roses… even bathes in them." Alistair took a knee beside the mage and ever so gently gathered the child in his arms. A weary smile spread over his lips as he stood. "So sometimes.. when we receive a letter from her, Eleanor comes to the garden at night… to this same rose bush."

"The scent reminds her of her. It comforts her," Fiona said with gentle eyes as she too got on her feet.

"Yes… I should probably tell her to stop, but I can't bring myself to do it." He chuckled lightly. "Heh… At least she makes it easy for me to find her."

Fiona wanted to be angry at the queen for possibly abandoning them, but found it would be hypocritical of her. Instead, she at least wanted to know why. The woman was the fabled Hero of Ferelden. There had to be an explanation as to why she would set out and leave her kingdom and her family behind. "If you don't mind me asking, sire…" she ventured. "Where is the queen? How long has she been gone?"

"Three years…" he replied in almost a whisper, eyes shifting from his daughter to the old mage. For some reason, he was compelled to tell her how he felt. How sad and angry he was at not having Everil by his side. It was odd… but perhaps he did see much of Wynne in her.

"That long…" She placed a hand over her heart, gazing up at him with sympathy.

Seeing that look on her face let him see what she was probably thinking. Many had questioned Everil's motivations for leaving. Some lords even suggested he remarry, for apperamces alone. An idea he shot down so fiercely that no one dared repeat it since. They wouldn't understand. They couldn't. But this caring woman may.

He cleared his throat. "You're aware that she and I were… Uhm are… Grey Wardens, right?"

"I had heard…" She cast her eyes down, her heart twisting with the first-hand knowledge of how much he'd suffered and sacrificed because of it.

Alistair paused for a moment, glancing at his daughter's slumbering form. He adjusted her and nuzzled her hair, as if ensuring she was still asleep. Then he spoke quietly to the mage. "Grey Wardens don't live long, you see… Everil and I probably have twenty years left, tops. She's searching for a cure against the taint to extend our lifespan."

Fiona's eyes went wide. It was true the taint could be cured. She'd even been cured of it herself. But she couldn't remember how it happened and there were no records of it. Still, the queen was searching and had searched for three years, a long time to be apart from those she loved.

"I know she's doing this for us, but it kills me that she won't even tell me where she is." A dry chuckle left him, his voice hinted with frustration. "I guess she thinks I'll send someone to bring her back… which is probably true at this point, honestly."

"I see… You miss her…"

"She sends letters but we still feel her absence… I think of her all the time…"

"You love her so…"

"I do…" Alistair gazed upon his daughter, gentle fingers brushing her golden bangs. "She and Eleanor are everything to me."

Her eyes softened and she couldn't help but place a hand on his arm in an effort to comfort him. "She's the Hero of Ferelden. I'm sure she'll be successful and return to you soon."

"I know she will…" He mustered a confident smile, finding her touch somehow reassuring. "And we'll have many more years together after that."

Fiona's smile broadened. She couldn't hold him or be the mother he needs anymore, but at the very least she could be here now. She only hoped his decision to help the mages wouldn't bring more problems to his life. And that she would one day be able to tell him her most painful secret.

"Papa…" Eleanor whimpered in her sleep, snuggling closer to his chest.

Fiona gazed lovingly at the child, yearning to hold her as he was.

"I should go tuck her in before she catches a cold." Alistair hopelessly shook his head. "I swear... she has me wrapped around her little finger."

An idea occurred to her. "May I suggest something for her, Your Majesty?"

He nodded. "Of course."

"Perhaps if you cut fresh roses for her room or leave a bottle of rose oil by her bed, she'll be able to sleep with her mother's scent nearby."

"Hey…" Alistair's brows shot up. "Why didn't I think of that?"

She chuckled lightly. "I am an old woman. Such things come easily to me."

"Well, thank you. I appreciate the advice." He grinned widely, suddenly appearing much younger. "You know... for some reason I felt comfortable talking with you like this. Kind of like talking to a mother. I hope we can do it again someday."

"So do I, Your Majesty..." she said softly, trying to hide the sadness his words caused.

"Good night, Grand Enchanter." He dipped his head to her.

"Good night…" She bowed to him as he spun about and walked away. Pain stabbed at Fiona's chest, tears threatening to form as she stared at his retreating back. "Son…"

It would probably be the last time she would ever be able to speak to him this way. She wouldn't have the opportunity to get to know her grandchild and watch her grow. Still, she found herself fortunate for having seen them. Now, she had to focus on her present. On protecting her people and on seeking an end to the war.