A quick thank you to all those who added this story to story alert, and to the lone reviewer. Don't be scared to review! It actually reminds me to post! I hope you like it!

The woman standing over him was familiar. Very familiar, though she'd changed enough to make him wonder. What he remembered was a tall, cold, pale woman, her hair tied back, wearing clothes that showed an almost indecent amount of skin (scratch the almost bit; every time he looked at her he asked the Maker and His Bride for forgiveness).

This woman wasn't quite so pale. While the clothes were the same, now there was a hood that shadowed her features slightly. Her hair was longer and ten years had taken a vague toll on her. She was still beautiful, though.

Her eyes were still cat-gold and cool as she stared down at him with a fair amount of disgust. "Are you sure we need him?" She asked the room. "He's a drunk, a worthless drunk."

Alistair would have had a witty retort to throw back at her, but his brains were effectively turned to mush, so he settled with what he hoped was a withering glare.

"He is," a voice from across the room, out of his field of vision, agreed. "But Fate had a plan for him. He's drunk but he's still a fighter, see?"

"A sell-sword," Morrigan protested, turning to look behind her. "Not a knight. Not a Templar."

"It doesn't matter. Time will help him get back to who he was. This will offer… closure." Morrigan snorted in amusement.

"The knight I knew is far cry from this lump. I remember when he would have woken to the smallest noise in camp." She sighed almost mournfully and then scowled. "But he's either drunk or hungover right now. He's not even able to stand or speak."

"I can fix that." Alistair blinked furiously, his head pounding awfully as a small figure stepped into his field of vision from behind Morrigan. The child was no older than ten, but no younger than nine, and a cloak, coupled with Alistair's blurred, doubling vision, made his features obscured. Alistair felt a small hand on his shoulder and strange warmth spread from the touch. "I'd get out of the way, Mother. He'll be a bit sick for a bit." Out of the corner of his eye, Alistair saw Morrigan step back several steps…

And then his vision cleared sharply and his stomach heaved. Scrambling to his feet and stumbling across the room to the window, he leaned out of the window and puked out all the contents of his stomach. Heaving violently for minutes on end, he finally slumped, clutching the sill of the window.

"That was entertaining." Morrigan said cheerfully. "Well now, Alistair, I do hope you haven't forgotten me." Alistair turned, startled by the clarity of his vision. It was a luxury he hadn't had for several months. Morrigan stood there, still beautiful and young looking. Ten years had done nothing to her looks.

Next to her stood the child. It was difficult to tell whether the child was a boy or girl. The child had an androgynous beauty that made it nearly impossible to tell. The child's eyes were yellow, like Morrigan's, but the hair on the child's head was the same dark blond as Alistair's. A small, amused smile graced the child's features.

"I greet you, Father," the child said mildly.

"You're…" Alistair rasped, his throat dry.

"This is your son, Alistair," Morrigan said, her long fingered hand resting on the child's shoulder. "Urthemiel."

"Why are you here?" The former Grey Warden asked weakly. "You said I would never see you again. I was looking forward to that." Morrigan laughed, a surprisingly deep, rich sound.

"I too was looking forward to that. But it appears Urthemiel has different plans," she chuckled.

"You will come with us, Father." The godchild said softly. "We will leave Orlias, and seek a Dalish clan. From there, we will head to Denerim." Alistair stared at the child. His voice was like any other child's, but it rang with hundreds of thousands of years of maturity and power. This was no child. In all likelihood it never had been. Morrigan had given birth to a god.

"Why?" Alistair asked angrily. "Why do I have to go with you?" Urthemiel sighed rather impatiently.

"I will explain. And once we reach Denerim, all will be made clear. But you must go there with us. Alright? Yes? Good. Then come." With that, the child turned on his heel and stepped out of the room, leaving the two former comrades alone.

"So, that's him then?" Alistair said dryly. "The godchild?"

"Yes," Morrigan said quietly. "Remarkable, isn't he? Only nine and he possesses more knowledge than I." Alistair frowned. "And more common sense then you ever will in your lifetime." Alistair rolled his eyes.

"There it is. The insult I've been waiting for." Morrigan smiled indulgently.

"It was only a matter of time, Alistair. I was just waiting for it to be a surprise," she said. "Well then, we shouldn't keep our child waiting, should we? Get your gear and come."

--

At camp that night, Urthemiel watched the man who had, with Morrigan, given him life. He had had a beard and long hair when they found him, but he combined efforts with Morrigan and convinced him to get a haircut. He was now recognizable as the man from Morrigan's memories: a handsome, sarcastic, compassionate knight who loved passionately, and hated passionately as well.

The boy sighed. When he touched Alistair, he had felt echoes of memories and feelings from the past. The bitterness and pain Alistair had felt in the months after Andrull's "betrayal" had all but disappeared. He had healed from his wounds, to an extent, and now all he needed was forgiveness from the woman he loved, and a chance to forgive in turn. Drunkenness seemed to only be a habit now, with no real purpose or satisfaction behind it.

The man sat next to him, gnawing determinedly at a large piece of cheese. His shield and sword were strapped to his back, and his armor shone from its recent polish. Morrigan sat on the other side of the fire, tending to meat of questionable origin.

"So," Alistair said abruptly, surprising Urthemiel out of his reverie and tossing him a chunk of cheese. "You're a god, are you?" Urthemiel smiled slightly.

"Kind of. I can't exactly breathe fire, or turn water into ale for you or Oghren. But I can use magic, and I remember." He took a bite of the cheese and, as he chewed, looked at it with surprise. It was good.

"Remember?" Alistair asked interestedly. "Remember what? You're previous life, before the sleep and the Taint?" Urthemiel nodded.

"But it's not as if I did it. It's like seeing it through someone else's eyes. Very strange, fantastical memories of flying." He took another bite of the cheese and chewed slowly, staring into the fire.

"What's the first memory you have?" Alistair asked curiously. Morrigan scowled.

"Why do you ask such questions, Alistair? What does it matter to you?" She jabbed at the fire with a stick, sending sparks up to the heavens like fireflies.

"It matters!" Alistair protested. "It matters a lot…" He looked sheepish and embarrassed. Urthemiel smiled.

"It's no trouble. My first memory is being in Mother's womb." He smiled at Alistair's stunned look, then blinked as his father scowled.

"You're making fun of me," he muttered. Urthemiel shook his head.

"I'm not. My first memory is dark and warm, with Mother saying 'wake up.' I can only assume it's the womb. Unless you have a more plausible explanation?" Alistair stared at the boy helplessly, and Urthemiel laughed. "I thought not. That's where I learned of you and Mother, of Leliana and Sten, of Wynne and Zevran." He glanced at his father. "And of Andrull, of course." Alistair sighed sadly.

"What did you think of her?" Urthemiel smiled at his father.

"She's beautiful. She's smart. And she's innocent, regardless of her actions. And…" He bit in inside of his cheek and then committed himself. "She loved you. Very much." Alistair flinched and his jaw clenched.

"I think I'll go to bed early," he said weakly, standing. "Good night, Urthemiel. Good night, Witch," the knight said.

"Good night, King of Fools," the golden eyed witch said.

"Good night, Father," the godchild said quietly, and the knight stooped into his tent and, the minute they could no longer see him, held his head in his hands and thought of the Dalish elf who loved him.