Alistair/Morrigan, demon baby

In truth, he never actually expected to see her, this child of his he so unwillingly helped create. And yet here he is, holding his newborn daughter at a distance, fully expecting her to start breathing fire or to sprout wings.

She was actually quite normal looking for a demon baby. He was disappointed.

Morrigan sighed at him. "Well?"

"Uh, she's sort of red. And, um, scrunchy."

And she was quite tiny, too, even if he thought the small poof of black curls on top of her head was adorable.

Morrigan looked like she might hit him if she wasn't so absolutely exhausted.

"I mean, this is a demon baby! Shouldn't she have horns? Scales? Breathe fire?"

Morrigan rolled her eyes. " 'Tis not some demon child! She has the spirit of an Old God in mortal flesh! It won't be until she matures before the Old God takes form. Why? Were you expecting me to give birth to an Abomination? Perhaps you expected a fully-formed dragon to come out of my womb?"

In some ways, he wished the baby had been an Abomination. At least then it would have been easy to hate her. And it *is* difficult to hate this child in his arms, his own flesh and blood.

The baby coos at him softly, and he knows he is done for.