First and last disclaimer: Dragon Age does not belong to me.
Please note that this is a compilation of my Dragon Age inspired pieces.
They will hold the same characters, but may jump around in time.
Here Comes the Rain
Though we may travel as one, there are always two camps made for the night: one for us and the other for Morrigan. It had started and remained that since the battle at Ostagar.
The quest was ours to begin with. Morrigan was almost a mercenary, in the simplest terms, who had joined only out of Asha'belannar's insistence. It's your necks, not mine. Her world started and ended in her domain of the Korcari Wilds, and the blight affecting all of Thedas could not make Morrigan turn even her head in response.
Her separate camp proved this aloof detachment.
This night, we stopped to camp on the outskirts of the Brecilian forest. As usual, she waited for us to unload first, and then chose her own spot away from us. Together, yet apart.
Shaking off my thoughts, I blinked away from the camp fire and saw its twin some meters away, where our lone witch was spending her time by candle light. Nearby her semi-supine figure, my Halla was grazing contently.
Feeling sudden moisture on the top of my head, my eyes took to the murky dark sky. My nostrils flared when a rain drop fell from my brow to my nose as I stated, "This will be a downpour."
"Sodding weather," Oghren grumbled, standing up from a crate he had been sitting on, "A dwarf can't live on cold, ruddy bread forever." He scratched his rear, approached the fire, and retrieved from it a slab of hastily cut venison that was skewered on a stick.
Wynne dusted off her robes, remarking, "It would do you much good to stand in the rain shower for half an hour."
"What are you trying to say?" Oghren fished out a brown package from his pack and, licking stray granules of salt off his fingers, proceeded to preserve his red meat.
"Exactly what she means. Just stay downslope from camp when you do," Alistair wrinkled his nose. I pulled away. Dumping my possessions in the tent, I leisurely began strolling. My feet pointed to the direction of the other fire.
As I expected, the rain began to pour. The plip-plop of the drops pattering on the hard trodden earth drowned out Wynne's explanation of the necessity of soap and caused my companions to retreat to their tents' safety with yelps and angry grunts. I kept walking, reveling in the cool air.
At times like these, a bystander would have wondered if we were one party. One party sans an individual? Hunters with vultures following our trail? Without my transit between the separate encampments, we would surely be distinguished as two.
She was one of us. She was not. And she was definitely not a part of Bodahn and Sandal's caravan.
"Aneth ara, Da'assan," I patted the Halla in greeting when I reached him. It belled low from its chest then put one assured leg forward to reach more grass.
Morrigan looked up from under the cover of her fur construct, shielded from the weather. She was propped up against a bundle of pelts as a back rest, with a leather bound tome spread across her lap.
"Suledin," She acknowledged my rain drenched figure, eyes returning to her page. Her revealed sternum rose and fell to her even breathing.
"Morrigan," I nodded, studying her.
She did not respond.
"You are not under any obligation to remain with us," I tried. Whether it was a stated a fact or question, I could not say. My tone remained neutral and my face did not reveal any accusations or curiosity.
"That is an odd observation to say, Dalish. I could say the very same for you." Dalish, not Warden. I had been Dalish for so long and Grey Warden for only a fraction of the time. Nevertheless, here I was, surprised by the name. Morrigan continued, "The Wardens are no more, yet you are still here."
Why was I here? "I've broken tradition by my mere presence here," I thought aloud. So… "Here, I remain." Our Dalish people were the last fragments of the statue that was once Elvhenan and I one of its many chipped pieces.
The sound of a crisp paper turning to the other side. "Breaking tradition keeps you here? Not out of "darkspawn threaten us all"? Surely you jest. Even Oghren stays..." She blanched as if she didn't want to even fill her mind with thoughts of the dwarf. "For reasons far bigger than that."
I felt the rain trickle along my jaw and off my chin. There was no welding stone to stone lest you wished to reform the formation from scratch. "I suppose," I agreed absentmindedly. Yet, "I don't know; were it just a few months ago, I would not have cared for the fate of Ferelden."
"Likewise." A page was turned.
"But?"
"Do not be foolish," she quelled the questions in my heart, instantly. "'Tis nothing more than what you already know." Let's not talk about such things. Let's not talk about why.
"Ah," for 'Why is there the gap between you and the rest of us?' "I see," for 'Why are there two campfires?'
I felt like a fool, but I did not pursue the conversation further. An uncomfortable silence came about between us. Morrigan exhaled to shatter it. "If you have nothing else to say, please take your brute with you and leave me to my peace. That flea ridden dog eats enough of my herbs, as it is. I cannot afford your mount to do the same." She waved me away with her hand.
Da'assan pawed the ground in indignation, but did not move. I smiled sheepishly. "I believe you may have offended the 'brute.' It will not eat your supplies, though I will have a word with the dog."
Morrigan warily glanced at the Halla but replied, "Good." He snorted and trotted a few inches away.
I turned to leave, but my questions burned in my throat, stopping me momentarily.
Morrigan?
Morrigan, what is your purpose here?
Morrigan, enigmatic, beautiful under the rain. Is there something you aren't telling us? Why, Morrigan? Why Morrigan?
Flawed.
"Morrigan, will you not camp to closer with us?"
"With Oghren's lewd stench and Alistair's wit?" She deadpanned.
I let out a chuckle with the breath I did not know I had been holding and a cloud of mist forms.
Morrigan's eyes twinkled ever so slightly. "Is this what you ask these questions?"
"Perhaps." She was just like the rest of us. "Are we not friends?" We were all witches of the Wilds, tainted elves, foul-smelling dwarves, sinners amongst the righteous, misfortunate righteous amongst the sinners, lost souls.
Her smile disappeared as she racked her mind for answers. I wondered if that was the right question to ask. "Friends," the witch repeated, her candle illuminated face turned away from me. "Friendship has nothing to do with whether or not I support your cause. I stay because it suits me so and not because I need your or their company."
By this time, I was completely drenched, but I overlooked it. I pushed back my matted red hair, and wiped my face with the cloth tunic I was clad in. "I enjoy your company."
Snap. Morrigan closed her tome and sat up. My eyes made contact with her incensed molten gold ones. "Suledin," She began, with a tone that started to bite, "there is-"
"Well," I interrupted. I found my way back to her earlier observation of me. "I cannot return to my people empty handed, I guess-"
She stood up, "-no point in enjoying your-"
I spoke louder. "-I intend to be a Warden to its full extent, though I may have been forced into the role."
She stopped.
Under the now heavy rain, I did what I could to wring the water out of clothes. "Good night," I greeted. Feeling her golden eyes burn into my flesh, I trekked back to my tent. It followed me until I disappeared under my tent's flaps.
"…-company, with what I intend to do," Morrigan finished. She looked at the Halla that Suledin had left behind, and inattentively stepped out into the rain to feel for its antlers. He snorted once again, but let her hands roam its keratinous sheath. "Good night, Warden."
A/N: I ask for and am grateful for constructive reviews: I'd love to hear what my readers take away from my writing and what I need to do to improve myself.
Thank you in advance for reading.
