A/N: Written for a challenge in the deviantART "The Dragon Ages" group. The prompt was "What if..?" So, here's what I came up with. Enjoy! Oh, and BioWare owns all, of course.

You know what really gets my heart racing? Reviews. Serious pit-a-pat. So won't you help a working mom get a little cardio workout? )

14 Bloomingtide, 9:25 Dragon Age

Alistair entered the dining hall with plenty of time to spare before the midday meal was served. He had learned very quickly that Grey Wardens would leave precious little food behind for him if he arrived on time or, Maker forbid, late. Alistair didn't eat nearly as much as these bottomless pits he was surrounded by, but he was a growing boy, after all. He needed to keep himself in peak condition if he had any hope of following in his mother's footsteps.

Speaking of his mother, there she was – she had saved a place for him near the head of the First Warden's table. Alistair grinned. This was a welcome surprise; Fiona lost herself in her work so often that she frequently requested a tray be sent to the laboratory, or even forgot to eat altogether until her stomach began to make some truly bizarre noises. Her back was to him; she hadn't seen him yet. Alistair's smile turned devilish; he slowed his pace and quieted his steps.

Alistair drew close behind his mother, still grinning. But as he reached slowly toward her waist, Fiona said wryly, "Tickle me, Alistair, and son or no you will find yourself on the business end of a lightning bolt."

Alistair grunted in disappointment and flopped down into his seat. "Andraste's knickers! I was quiet, I know I was!"

Fiona turned a loving smile on him. "My dear boy, you have many wonderful qualities, but stealth cannot be counted among them."

"Hello, Mother. Nice to see you out of your cave." Alistair leaned over and kissed his mother's cheek.

"It's rather nice to be out of it. How did your lessons go this morning? Galen says your shield work has been improving immensely."

Alistair flushed with pride. "He did? I thought I was getting better, but Galen's more the 'actions speak louder than words' sort, which can be hard to interpret sometimes."

First Warden Myron clapped Alistair on the shoulder as he passed. "Well, according to Galen, you knocked him on his ass today. I'd say that leaves little room for confusion." He took his seat and fixed his serious gaze on Alistair. "You look to have the makings of an excellent warrior, young man. When the time comes, I daresay we will be more than happy to welcome you among our ranks."

Fiona said, "Now Myron, we've discussed this. There's no need to rush Alistair into any decisions, he's only fifteen." The glare she turned on the First Warden belied the casual tone of her words.

Alistair took his mother's hand and squeezed it gently. "It's all right, Mother. I won't be swayed by a bit of buttering up." Fiona smiled as all of the table's occupants chuckled at Alistair's words.

A short time later, Alistair was too engrossed in his meal to notice the unfamiliar elf that raced silently to the First Warden and placed a sealed note in his hand. But as the table fell silent around him, he looked up and saw the troubled expression on the First's face. Alistair waited – if Myron was going to share, he would; no point in asking him.

The First's gaze flicked momentarily over Fiona as he said, "It appears that Maric, the King of Ferelden, took ship to the Free Marches some time ago, but is long overdue and no sign of the ship has been found. He has been officially declared lost at sea, and the Landsmeet is convening shortly to confirm his successor."

Alistair remembered the cynical tones of his tutor as he explained Ferelden's odd system of governance – they had a king, but it was not necessarily a hereditary title; the other nobles of the land had to elect the next ruler in a majority vote. "So, it will probably be Maric's son – Cailan, right? Though it's not a guarantee."

"Correct, Alistair. Theirin blood has been on Ferelden's throne since the days of Calenhad, but Cailan is rather young, and hasn't had an opportunity to prove himself as his father did. It's never safe to assume that you know what the Landsmeet will do," Myron said.

Fiona stood abruptly. Alistair blinked in surprise; his mother was white as a sheet. "Please excuse me, First Warden. I am not feeling very well; I think I will retire to my quarters."

"Mother? Are you…."

"It's all right, my dear. Finish your meal. I'll be fine." Fiona spun on her heel and swept from the room.

Myron watched Fiona depart, and then turned his gaze to a confused Alistair. "Go ahead and eat, young man. Give her a bit of time. Then I expect she'll want to speak to you."

Alistair returned to his meal, but with no appetite. The First Warden's words had only deepened his confusion. What in the Maker's name had upset his mother so? He intended to find out.

~o~O~o~

Fiona was not the least bit surprised when the soft knock sounded at her door. She did not turn from her window as she said, "Come in, Alistair."

Alistair closed the door swiftly behind him and crossed the room to his mother's side, pulling up a chair to accommodate their height difference. He knew something was amiss; nevertheless he was shocked to see reddened eyes and dampened lashes. He put his hands on her shoulders and gently turned her to face him. "What's going on, mamae?"

Fiona smiled at the endearment. He had come across it in a book on the Dalish several years ago and thought it beautiful; he used it whenever he thought she needed cheering up. "Missed opportunities, my son. We so rarely know that the last time we see someone will be the last time. So many things that should have been said…."

"Said to whom? Maker's blood, what is this about?"

She removed Alistair's hands from her shoulders and held them in her own. "It's about your father, Alistair."

That was just about the last thing Alistair had expected his mother to say. "After all this time, all the I'll tell you when your older-s and the I can't talk about it-s, you want to discuss this now?" Alistair scoffed. "Next you'll be telling me my father was King Maric."

Fiona said nothing, merely tightened her hands on his. Alistair's jaw dropped and his stomach began somersaulting. "No."

"Yes. I'm sure you've heard mention of the mission I went on in the Fereldan Deep Roads? Maric accompanied us on that mission." Fiona sighed. "I could hardly stand the man at first, but he just had this way about him…."

"So you… in the Deep Roads?" Alistair shuddered. "Mum, that's just… creepy."

Fiona exhaled a surprised huff of laughter. "I guess you had to be there."

"No, that would be even more creepy." They looked at each other for a moment before bursting into laughter together – a laughter that quickly died out.

"I'm so sorry, Alistair, for not telling you sooner. I didn't want to burden you. Having me for a mother is bad enough…."

"Stop right there," Alistair said. "You're certainly not the most – conventional of mothers, but even with your focus on your work, you've never once made me feel neglected or unwanted. You think I don't know that the Wardens tried to force you to give me up?" Fiona's eyes widened at his words. "But you didn't, and you made a home for me here among the Grey, one I have never regretted." Alistair sighed, "And I can see why you wouldn't want to saddle me with the whole 'bastard prince' thing."

Fiona's voice was quiet as she said, "So, you… don't hate me?"

"Well, the timing could have been a bit better, but – Andraste's ass, mamae, I couldn't hate you if I tried." Alistair thought for a moment. "Is this why my tutors had me study Fereldan history and culture so much? It did seem rather strange at the time."

Fiona shrugged. "It seemed appropriate."

Alistair's gaze dropped. "Did he… know about me?"

Fiona gently grasped his chin and returned his eyes to hers. "Yes. I've sent him letters about you regularly, through Duncan."

"The Warden Commander of Ferelden? He knows?"

"I should say so. He was on that mission too, remember?"

"Right. I bet he thought it was creepy too."

"Indeed."

~o~O~o~

Wintersend, 9:30, Dragon Age

Duncan was seated at his desk, reviewing some incredibly boring papers, when the knock sounded at his door. "Enter," he said, without looking up.

"Warden Commander?"

The voice was strangely familiar, and yet…. Duncan looked up, into a face that was even more strangely familiar.

The ghost held out what appeared to be sealed orders and said, "I'm Warden Alistair. I've been assigned to your command, ser."

Ah. That explains it. "It is good to see you Alistair. I've not seen you since you were a child." Duncan took a deep breath and smiled. "So, you decided to become a Warden after all. The last letter from your mother implied that you had changed your mind."

"Mother told me of her dreams, and now I've seen them myself. A Blight is coming to Ferelden." Alistair fixed Duncan with a level gaze. "I must do what I can to defend my father's country."

Duncan returned Alistair's gaze unflinchingly. "I see." He smiled. "As if your face and your voice weren't enough to confirm your parentage, you appear to have inherited Maric's spirit as well. Good. That will be needed for what is to come."

Alistair bowed his head respectfully. "Thank you, Duncan." He looked up. "May I ask a question?"

"Of course."

"Does King Cailan know about me?"

Duncan said, "I don't know, Alistair. If he does, he's never mentioned it to me. Though I daresay if he doesn't, he'll have a few questions once he sees you." Duncan rose from his seat, crossed over to Alistair, and clasped his hand. "Welcome to Ferelden, Warden."

~o~O~o~

A Hut in the Korcari Wilds

Alistair looked out across the swamplands, engrossed in his thoughts. The events of the last few days were nearly incomprehensible. King Cailan, his brother, was dead. Betrayed by his most trusted general. He and the Cousland girl were the only Grey Wardens left in Ferelden – in the midst of a Blight.

Cailan must have known that Alistair was his brother. He couldn't think of any other reason for Cailan to assign him to light the beacon. He had kept him out of the battle deliberately, just in case the unthinkable happened – which it did. Alistair silently thanked the Maker that his brother had more sense than he appeared to.

He would not squander this chance – the only gift his brother could give him. He would use those treaties to gather an army and defeat the Blight. He would find a way to recover the supplies for the Joining from the Warden compound and create more Grey Wardens. He would do whatever it took to save his father's beloved country from destruction. His parents would not regret his conception.

Even if it was creepy.