#*fiona voice* au revoir

[inquisimer]

wip wednesday

thanks for the tag @dreadfutures :3 a lil start to a backstory fic for Neria, that will go somewhere....eventually

tags below for wip whenever because it's pretty late on wednesday💜

~~~

"It is time."

Duncan kept his voice gentle, laying a hand on Fiona's arm as a slip of a serving girl entered the room. In her arms was a tiny bundle, with bright green eyes and the smallest of noses just showing from her swaddle. Aside from the pointed ears poking out on either side of her cap, she was a perfect match to the babe Fiona held tight to her breast.

When Duncan spoke, the mage tensed. Her fingers tightened around her son.

"Perhaps...perhaps I was mistaken." She chewed on her bottom lip, eyes darting everywhere but at Duncan and always coming back to the baby. "I—it would be safer, traveling together--"

Her fellow Warden watched her fumble sadly, somber until she trailed back to silence.

"I cannot, can I?" she asked softly. Duncan shook his head, wrapping one arm around her shoulders and slipping the other beneath her cradled arms.

"No," he answered simply. There was nothing better to say.

Fiona clenched her eyes and jaw, then dropped her face, murmuring Orlesian fast and low against her son's head. When she looked back up, her gaze hardened to that of the woman who had made hard choices to keep her convictions—and would do it again, if needed.

"Take him," she whispered. "Keep Maric's promise for him."

"I will," Duncan vowed. The weight of a child in his arms was a bit foreign, but he shifted young Alistair securely into the crook of his elbow as Fiona pressed tear-salted kisses to his cheeks.

"Au revoir, Duncan," she murmured.

"Maker go with you."

Once she'd left for good, Duncan steadied himself with a deep breath and turned to the serving girl. He gestured with his chin to the elfkit she held.

"This is the one?" The servant nodded, scurrying forward at a gesture and laying the second babe in his free arm.

Only a few days in this world so far, and yet she did not fuss or cry at the absence of her mother, or at being passed about like a hot potato. She was lighter than Alistair, smaller, and her too-large eyes stared knowingly up at him.

"Does she have a name?"

The serving girl stuttered out uncertainties until Duncan waived her off. She scraped and bowed her way out of the room, leaving the Warden to settle his new charges in their wicker traveling bassinet.

"No matter, young one," he told the elf, tucking a blanket securely about them, "We'll find something that suits you."

Having nestled the babes to his satisfaction, Duncan slung his waterskin over his shoulder and hooked his thick cloak atop his armor. His horse waited at the stables, fresh and tacked for the surely frigid ride to Redcliffe. He lifted the bassinet and, giving it one last reassuring glance, pinched out the final candle. He plunged the chambers into darkness and left the palace, and Denerim, behind.

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