Work Text:
“Tis most unusual,” a voice said from behind Fiona said.
The former grand enchanter turned around.
The door to her bedchambers was now ajar, and a woman in a most impractical looking outfit, a low purple blouse, and raggedy black skirt, was leaning against the doorway.
“What is unusual, Lady Morrigan?” Fiona asked boredly, looking back to her letters, trying to busy herself.
“Today, my son, Kieran told me he met his grandmother. I was fearful, of course, for Flemeth’s arrival at Skyhold would bode nothing but ill fortune. But the woman he spoke to me of was not the Flemeth I knew.“
“How interesting.”
“The woman he described, was, in fact, you. Now, I am certain that, whether she bore me or not, Flemeth is indeed my mother. Which would mean, were you truly Kieran’s grandmother, as the boy claims, you would have to be Alistair’s mother.”
Fiona stayed silent. She looked back up to Morrigan again, and waited.
“I was certain twas idle childhood nonsense. Wishing for a connection to something larger than himself. His fool of a father told us his mother was a serving girl at Redcliffe Castle. You were in the Wardens at the time when he was born. You could not be his mother.”
“But the Inquisitor told you I knew King Maric,” Fiona whispered.
“She did. You are his mother then?”
Fiona closed her eyes. “I am not his mother. A mother raises her child. I bore him. But I am not his mother. I wish I could have been.”
Morrigan let out a tisking noise and crossed her arms. “Do not be a fool,” she began, “I considered giving up Kieran when he was young. To protect him from Flemeth, and others who wished to harm him. Leaving him at a Chantry orphanage, tis the only thing such places are good for. Had I done that, I would be no less his mother than I am now. You are still Alistair’s mother. Why you would wish for a simpleton for a son, I am uncertain, but you are his mother…And you are Kieran’s grandmother.”
Fiona swallowed and nodded. “I am.”
“Tis good he has a grandmother who seems to care for him then.”