Chapter Text
She stands in the garden of Skyhold, listening idly to the chatter of the people around her.
Her wounds from the last battle ache—the healers are stressed and overworked, and so despite their best efforts it will be many days still before she can travel. Kieran is playing chess with the Commander—he has taken a shining to the game, much to Morrigan’s amusement.
“Well hello,” a familiar, Antivan voice says, and she turns. There is Zevran, leaning against one of the pillars of the gazebo, wearing battered leathers, two daggers visible behind him. His hair has now grown to the length that he wears it in a braid.
“What are you doing here?” She demands, bewildered. “Aren’t you supposed to be keeping her from doing anything stupid?”
“I go wherever my love requests,” he says, placing a hand over his heart. “Including, as it happens, to serve as a distraction while she sneaks up on you.”
Morrigan rapidly spins around, just in time to spot the Grey Warden. Marsha Tabris stands behind her, grinning from ear to pointed ear. Her dark hair is still in that series of braids, her skin is still dark and smattered with freckles, and her eyes bright and amber. She now wears a single earring in her left ear—the one that Zevran had given her, all those years ago. One of her daggers is the same—Fang, she recalls Marsha calling it, having belonged to her mother.
“Marsha,” she begins, but Marsha cuts her off by throwing her arms around her in a hug.
“I’ve missed you so much!” Marsha tells her, backing away with a smile. The years have marked her friend—there are lines around her eyes, scars on her cheeks. But her smile is as young as ever, and Morrigan can’t help but smile at the sight. “When Leliana told me you were here, I couldn’t believe it!”
Morrigan laughs, despite herself, caught up in Marsha’s enthusiasm. “Zevran!” Marsha calls, turning to face her lover.
“Coming, amor,” Zevran calls fondly. Marsha holds her hands out, and Zevran produces—a child?
“Morrigan,” Marsha says, cradling the baby in her arms, smiling widely. “Meet my daughter. Adaia Tabris.”
Adaia—that had been her mother’s name, Morrigan remembers.
“You—you had a child?” Morrigan can’t believe it—she knows the odds are slim, for a Grey Warden.
“That was my reaction!” Marsha laughs, but the smile she has is warm and loving—Morrigan wonders if she has ever looked like that, when she thinks of Kieran. “Adaia,” Marsha says, addressing the child, “Meet your Aunt Morrigan,” she then hands the child to Morrigan, who takes her, although she has never held a child other than her own.
The child is small, with Marsha’s eyes and Zevran’s blond hair. Her ears are definitely elven, and she cooes up at Morrigan when she sees her.
“I should call Kieran,” she whispers, as she stares down at the child. “He would love to meet you.”
“And I can’t wait to meet him,” Marsha says, taking Zevran’s hand.