Dragon Age Inquisition: Farms and Estates

Promises

Fiona's office was on the tower's second floor, just one door away from the main stairwell. It was remarkably simple, with only two narrow windows and plain, comfortable furnishings. She had hung tapestries over the stone walls, turning a cold grey room into a much warmer, richer space. As Alistair closed the door behind them, the High Enchanter flicked her fingers and lit the fire; it flared to life with an ease that almost made Alistair jump.

Fiona stared at the blaze for a moment, then turned to him, her shoulders stiff and her expression strained. "I am afraid I do not know what to say."

"Yes, I figured that out from the three decades of silence," Alistair said. He hated the bitterness in his voice; it felt perilously close to whining. "You can't be that surprised. You must have known Naia would tell me."

Fiona let out a soft, unhappy chuckle. "I suspected, yes. When no word came from you, I concluded that you wanted nothing to do with me."

"That's, ah, fairly accurate," Alistair conceded. "So is that why you never said anything, even after you told Naia? Because you wanted nothing to do with me?"

Fiona turned her face away. The firelight illuminated her delicate profile, made the silver strands in her dark hair shine. "I—I did not know how to approach you after Redcliffe, and I still believed it best that you not know. I suppose I allowed myself to hope she might take pity on me, or realize that it was not her business."

Alistair felt his temper rise, sending heat to his face, making his muscles tense. "You made it her business when you told her you were my mother!"

"You are right. I did. It was a mistake." Fiona met his gaze, her face pale but composed. "You have every right to be angry, Alistair. But perhaps you can understand why I made the choices I did?"

Alistair took a deep breath, working desperately to reach for some calm. "I understand some of it, at least," he said, trying to be fair. "You had to go back to the Circle when you weren't a Warden any more—I know you couldn't have raised me yourself. But why tell Maric to lie about who you were? Who I was?"

Fiona sighed. "I did not want you to bear the stigma that would have come with having an elven mother—a mage, at that. I though that Maric could give you a good life, an easier one, if everyone thought you were fully human."

"I was a royal bastard, Fiona. An easy life was never going to be an option," he said quietly. "I was lucky the Wardens wanted me, or I'd probably be a lyrium-addicted wreck right now." Or one of those dead Red Templars. That's ... disturbing.

"I told Maric to keep you away from court, but I never told him to send you to the blasted Templars." Real anger flashed in Fiona's face. "Duncan should have come for you earlier. He should have gotten you out before making you a Warden was the only option."

"Wait. Duncan? Duncan knew you were my ... of course he knew." Alistair momentarily wondered if he might throw up. His mentor was long dead, sent to an early grave by Loghain's treachery, but even so he felt betrayed. And stupid. Duncan had always claimed he'd conscripted Alistair because he was impressed with Alistair's performance at that long-ago tourney. How could I have believed that? I wasn't the best warrior there by any stretch, and I knew it.

Fiona's face fell as she watched him wrestle with this new knowledge. "I am sorry. Duncan was a friend, and he made me a promise, and ..."

All of the Kingly reserve Alistair had worked so hard to build up seemed to abandon him all at once. "I am so blasted tired of promises!" he exploded. "I've had too many secrets kept from me because someone made someone else a promise once upon a time. Just once I'd like someone to realize that they made a bloody stupid promise and decide to tell me the truth after all."

Fiona opened her hands in a slightly helpless gesture as Alistair fought to calm himself, to catch his breath. An awkward silence fell between them; the crackling of the fire in the room seemed almost painfully loud.

"Why Naia?" he asked abruptly, crossing his arms across his chest. "After all those years of never telling me—why did you tell her?"

"It ... slipped out." Fiona winced at Alistair's scornful expression. "I realize how foolish that must sound. But almost everyone who knew the truth was dead, and I—after seeing you at Redcliffe, I could not stop wondering about you. If you were well. If the crown was as difficult for you as it was for your father."

She shook her head with a little laugh. "And then your friend came to Skyhold, and she was so furious with me about the problems I'd caused you in Redcliffe. I could see how close you two must be." She dropped her gaze to her hands. "I—I suppose I could not resist the opportunity to talk with someone else who loved you."

Alistair's heart twisted in his chest. Love me? You don't even know me.

He almost said those words out loud—almost told Fiona that if she'd loved him, she wouldn't have ignored him for thirty-five years. But then he saw the tears gathering at the corners of her eyes.

"I have thought about you every day since I left you with your father," the mage continued, wiping her eyes with her thumb. "The choices I made—I made them to protect you, because I thought my absence was the best and only gift I could give you." She took a deep, shuddering breath. "Perhaps I was wrong. I am sorry, if I was."

It was such a thin, small apology that Alistair almost laughed. But Fiona's obvious distress stopped him. There was no apology, no conversation, that would change the choices she had made—or the ones he had made. This is hard for her too.

"I don't know if you were wrong," he said quietly, after a moment. "I would have traded a great deal to know I had family. But who can say what would have happened if I had known—if others had found out? The Landsmeet probably wouldn't have accepted a half-elven King." And would that have been a good thing, or a bad one?

"Your father had that same look in his eyes when he talked about being King." Fiona's voice was both warm and sad. "Given a choice he would not have worn the crown, I think. But Ferelden needed him, and he was too good a man to turn away."

"I—perhaps sometime, I can hear more about how you two met," Alistair suggested tentatively.

Fiona nodded, some of the tension easing from her face. "Of course. I would like that."

Whatever she was going to say next, however, was interrupted by frantic shouting from the stairwell.