Update 2015/05/17: The sequel "As the witch joined the Game" is now starting; first chapter released today (s/11254219/1/As-the-Witch-joined-the-Game).

Update 2014/11/17: My good friend and fellow writer Magdelope felt inspired by this one and has created a beautiful 'add-on' to this story, which you might be interested in if you enjoy this story. Not going to say too much, but this: it contains smut...beautiful, lovely, yet tasteful smut! The glorious result can be read under the ff-link followed by s/10832339/1/What-they-deserve or by checking Magdelope's profile and searching for 'What they deserve' - you SHOULD check it out! Well, and the usual reminder: fanfic-writers are suckers for feedback... Just saying ;-)

This is the sequel to 'An exception to the Rules' (you SHOULD read that one first, otherwise this one might not make sense at all to you...), set roughly three years after the beginning of the Morrigan/Leliana-romance depicted in there and coinciding with events ofDragon Age , if you haven't playedDragon Age: OriginsorDragon Age II: a) Shame on you! b) This will contain several spoilers.

The story may contain implications of sex, violence (both non-explicit) and character death, as well as some possibly disturbing imagery considering Leliana's past. Though this, too, is non-explicit, it is not actually 'nice' either…and thus not suitable for children. So remember to check your age before reading!

DISCLAIMER: I don't own any of this characters (they all belong to Bioware, which is a good thing) and I don't profit in any way from this story – it's just a little fan fantasy.

Back in the days, six years earlier…

"…and they lived happily ever after." Leliana finished with a smile as she looked into the faces of her audience. Exhausted, worn out, tired – but still far too tensed to go to sleep.

"Hopefully something that can be said about us after tomorrow." Alistair sighed, staring into the campfire.

"Never mind him," that was Wynne's voice. "It's a beautiful story, Leliana, surely something to lift out spirits in these dark times."

Leliana smiled at the old woman. She liked Wynne. She hoped to see her again when the final battle was fought and this was all over. As she looked around the campfire she realized how she hoped to see them all again afterwards. Alistair, Elissa, Wynne, Zevran, Sten (who was standing there rather indifferently), even Oghren…

…and then her eyes fell upon her. She was surprised to even see the witch here, listening to her story. It was rather untypical of her. A good sign?

Truly, our journey does come to an end. And everybody knows that this might be one of our last hours together.

When Morrigan noticed the bard's glance, she frowned.

"'Tis ridiculous, you know", she said in an acid tone.

Alistair rolled his eyes. "And here we go again…"

The witch ignored him. "All your tiny little love stories do end like that. '…they lived happily ever after'."

"And what is wrong with that?" Leliana replied – and instantly bit her lip.

Why did I even ask? I already know this will end up badly…

"Well, 'tis quite revealing, I think. All this time you keep preaching about love as if it were a thing of such significance and importance. Yet when I hear your little stories, everything is about the passion of the chase, the first kiss…and then: 'happily ever after'. Now, 'tis curious how the actual romance is little more than a small half-sentence at the end, is it not? A mere appendix, nothing more." The witch stared at her, challenging.

"It's not like that, not at all!" Leliana protested.

"Oh, then do enlighten me: Why aren't there any famous stories about peoples' happy relationships? If this…sensation were something to actually last: Why is there no single story about the wonderful, lucky life of lovers?"

"That's not true! There are such stories!"

A wolfish grin appeared on Morrigan's lips. "Oh, 'tis true. I forgot about those. Do remind me, bard: What does happen in stories like that? How might they end?"

There was an uncomfortable silence. Leliana knew what the witch was getting at, but she wouldn't give her the satisfaction of saying it.

But, of course, someone did.

"Somebody dies." Sten's voice. Naturally.

Leliana sighed – and Morrigan's grin only grew wider.

"Oh yes, thank you of reminding us, Sten," she said coldly, knowing only too well that the sarcasm was lost on the Qunari. She turned back to Leliana. "So, somebody always dies, then. Such a curious thing, that the only two kind of love stories ever told are like that, don't you think? Now, I do not know much about love…"

"If you feel the urge to learn: We might still have a few hours to live," Zevran purred, but Morrigan ignored him.

"…I do not know much about love, but if the only two things significant to it are some little kisses and a tragic death, I do not see the appeal. Do you?"

Leliana could feel the others' eyes fixed on her, but she only stared at Morrigan – for once she was at a loss.

What could I say? She doesn't understand and she doesn't even want to understand. She is twisting and turning it just to prove her point.

Of course Leliana could start arguing how a good story needed an arc, a conflict, something exciting and how a couple's happy life would not qualify for that. She could point out how utterly unrelated the witch's observation was to real love. The effort would be in vain, though. Morrigan had an opinion how love worked and why it was a weakness and she would not be swayed.

I pity you.

So Leliana remained silent.

"I thought so." The witch rose up, victorious, and turned away towards her tent, only to stop in mid-movement for a quick look over her shoulder. "Sleep well, little Chantry girl. And dream of innocent kisses and a lover's death."

She turned away again.

"After all, 'tis all there ever is."

Chapter 1

Sparks

Now, tonight, in the year 9:37 Dragon…

Coldstonesrawkneesloudscreamsbloodeverywherethepainthestenchohmakerthepainthepainthepain.

Blink.

Too many impressions.

Blink.

Too much to take in at once.

Blink.

Her heart racing, she tried to focus on what was happening around her. Breathing in. Breathing out. Closing her eyes, opening them again.

Blink.

A cold stone floor. Chilling cold, she noticed as a shudder went through her bones. But that might have been fear as well, come to think of it…

(Calm down. Concentrate.)

She gave a start, almost too scared of the voice so suddenly in her head to really understand the meaning of the words. Calm down? Concentrate on what?

Blink.

Trying to move didn't turn out to be a good idea. The excruciating pain below her abdomen almost made her scream, but all she managed was a rasping sound, followed by a cough. Tears filled her eyes. What was…

(Concentrate. You know this. It is not real.)

The voice again. Unlike the occasional screams echoing through the prison (how did she know what it was?), the voice was soft and pleasant…and inside her head. She – obviously it was a female voice – sounded familiar. Soothing.

Blink.

But "not real"? The pain surely felt real. And the blood in front of her seemed as real as the tears. The pain made her body cringe, but moving was even worse. Trying to lift herself up – impossible. Her arms were weak, her knees raw as if she had been kneeling for hours.

Oh.

She closed her eyes. Memories flashed in her mind as she understood, recalled what had happened. What had been done here. What had been done to her. Panic was about to rise…

(It's done. It has been done a long time ago, Leliana. They are no more. You made them pay. Remember…)

This time the voice didn't make her startle again. It was familiar. And she could remember…things. Everything here felt familiar. The screams of the prisoners, the cold floor, the pain of her bruised and damaged body.

Blink.

She knew all this. All of this felt like memories, a déjà-vu or…

(A dream. Yes, that is exactly what this is, Leliana. A nightmare.)

She could remember now. And suddenly she recognized the voice as well. It was…

…my own.

It was a brief moment of disorientation when the voice and her thoughts re-combined into unison, but after that everything became less blurry. Leliana felt like herself again.

Well, more or less. She still was inside a dream. But now the bard's instincts started to work again, absorbing all the impressions around her while calming down her heartbeat.
So, the dungeon again. Her very darkest hours. Reminding herself that all of this was unreal, she took it all in. Even the nasty stench of dry blood (her own), sweat (also her own), urine (her own, she hoped…she buried some of the memories of what happened here as deep as she possibly could) and other fluids…everything rather fresh. The physical pain itself left no doubt which situation this was, which time of day.

Only that there never was any real 'time' here…nor was there something even remotely resembling a day.

It was not easy to stay calm again as everything in her tried to repulse the memories of all the agony and humiliation resurfacing right now. This had to be a moment shortly after one of the 'visits' of his men. Painful as it was, in retrospect these moments had been the…well, 'best' part of her days here. The time after they were done with me. Only their cruel laughter echoing through my head.

Fortunately, she knew this was not real. So all she had to do was break out of the dream. It had taken quite some time and she had required help to learn it – but she had mastered it nonetheless. As soon as she recognized one of those nightmares, she was able to leave it. A useful ability. All she had to do was concentrate and…

…and nothing happened.

What is going on?

It had always worked. She should be out of here now. She tried to push away the fear inside her, rising up again at the thought of not being able to escape. Instead she concentrated once more. Still: No reaction.

It should work! What is this?

It was then that she heard the steps approaching. Terror grabbed her – the fear of helplessness she had long thought gone. Yet here she was: She could not break free and she knew all too well what was about to happen now. Which time of day was next.

The worst.

The time with him. The pain his men caused her was nothing compared to what he would do in their 'private lessons' as he liked to call them. She almost threw up when she heard the key turning in the door to her cell and the memories of Raleigh's face returned. Those cold eyes, the seemingly soft voice, calling her his 'little spy' during his 'teachings'.

Why can't I leave? I can always leave when I know a dream for what it is. Why not now? What is different?

Another thought struck her mind. Maybe this was no ordinary dream. Maybe this was…

The moment the door made a creaking sound, she shut her eyes instinctively. She would not look into that ugly face again. Never again! Still, even with her eyes closed, there was an uneasy feeling of everything…closing in on her, as if the room itself might grind her slowly.

The steps drew closer, ever closer. Seconds passed. Moments. Maybe minutes. She could not tell. Nothing happened. No sound, no soft voice, no hands grabbing her. Still she held her eyes shut, but she could feel the presence.

A presence. Not his.

She couldn't even smell his bad breath, only some oddly familiar fragrance…

Her eyes flung open – and widened instantly at the sight of the dark-haired woman. No.

"You…you are dead," she whispered to the woman in front of her, that soft wonderful human being that used to be her lover...before she…

"You are dead, Marjolaine," she repeated, mostly to reassure herself of that fact again. But Marjolaine kept on smiling her lovely, enigmatic smile. Oh, had she only been aware of what was hidden behind this smile.

Nothing but greed, lust and poison.

But she had been blinded by the woman's sweet words and her soft touch. She had paid the price for that.

Marjolaine. The betrayer. This can't be good. Not at all…

The bard shouted at her former mentor: "This is not real!"

As if to emphasize that, the walls caving in suddenly began to tremble and, well, shine in an odd bright red – unnatural.

"You are dead, Marjolaine. Morrigan killed you! I was there. She killed you, she…destroyed you!" Her voice was shrill, no longer being controlled by her.

The sensation of the walls closing in got stronger; the room itself seemed to become smaller…ready to crush her. The light pulsated with each breath.

Helplessly she had to witness as Marjolaine stretched her hand out. She closed her eyes again hastily, squeezing them shut in the vain hope that it would make that all too familiar feeling go away when the woman's hand gently touched her cheek.

And then she heard the voice, uttering but one sentence.

"This will be your tomb."

Only that it wasn't Marjolaine's voice at all.

She should have recognized the touch, soft and yet insecure as if held back by fear of damaging anything. It was not the touch of her old love, but…

Oh please, Maker. Not her. Don't let it be her. She could feel the tears in her eyes even before she opened them – looking into Morrigan's.

"Not you, Morrigan. Please…" Leliana sobbed.

She would never do this to me.

But the woman just stared at her without any impression – any at all. Then she calmly repeated the words: "This will be your tomb." And again, this time whispering: "This will be your tomb."

The pressure became unbearable, as if the floor itself would burst upon and the ceiling crush down, smashing her. Everything was falling to pieces. Leliana screamed at the top of her voice, putting all the strength left in her in one blow at the woman's face. "No! Noooooo!"

…and then she did break out.

"You hit me!"

Morrigan rubbed her aching jaw. Hot fury rose in her as soon as the surprise at the girl's unexpected reaction was wearing down. How dare she?

"Blasted, you hit me, you crazy little – "

"Stay away! Don't you dare touch me!"

Morrigan halted in mid-movement, taken aback by the frantic outburst, uttered in that voice made for singing, talking…not shouting. She stared at Leliana incredulously – and at the dagger in her hand. Where had that come from? Out of thin air?

She tried to calm down.

Well, screaming back at her didn't seem to be a good idea under the given circumstances, she decided. A notion strongly supported by the dagger a few inches away from her face. Leliana might be in panic, but she sure knew how to use that thing. And her hand was steady. Remarkably steady.

She has just woken up from a nightmare in the middle of the night, obviously not even aware where she is. Still her hand's not shaking. Not even a little.

Morrigan had learnt that these hands could kill in the fracture of a second if necessary. The girl had been trained to do so – and in order to survive, she'd still do it despite her beliefs.

And to think that there was a time when I considered her the harmless one…

But then again: That had been years ago. Long before she actually came to know the girl. Long before those days at the stronghold had changed everything. Long before the first kiss…

She shook the thoughts away. After all, there were other matters at hand right now. Morrigan took a deep breath and tried to address the girl in a more soothing tone. Not exactly her favorite mode of speaking, but she had been getting quite good at it during the past few years as Leliana had assured her.

Well, not 'good', to be precise. 'You are getting better at it' had been her exact words. Those subtle differences in meaning could be important with the bard – or not. You never knew.

"Leliana, you were having a nightmare. 'Tis over now. Calm down," she managed and reluctantly added her least favorite word in the whole world: "…please."

That might have sounded about right – or maybe it was just coincidence – but a change in the girl's expression showed that she was becoming aware of the situation. She stared at the dagger in her hand – and dropped it immediately as she realized how she had held it into Morrigan's direction.

And then it went all too quick, in one fluent motion.

In one moment Morrigan had noticed the change in the girl's glance, in the next she felt Leliana's head pressed against her shoulders, while the girl stammered. "Maker! Morrigan, I didn't mean to…it…I…" The rest was drowned in the girl's sobbing.

Without even noticing, the witch laid her arms around Leliana – and there it was again: this strange, tingling sensation as she felt the girl in her arms, the blush filling her face and that curious feeling of her heart beating faster. Morrigan felt reminded of the first time this had happened…on that strange night at the keep near the Korcari Wilds.

It had been there in the Wilds that Morrigan had earlier found the girl in her final confrontation with Marjolaine, her former mentor and lover. Why the Warden had spared that woman's life in Denerim years before was still a mystery to her, but Morrigan – naturally – hadn't made the same mistake. Just as Marjolaine had been gloating in certain victory, the witch had finished her once and for all. Unfortunately, she had already poisoned Leliana. So it had been Morrigan's decision to either let the girl just die…or carry her to the next stronghold, hoping to find a mage who could actually heal her.

The witch had wondered for a long time why she had decided to do the latter and even more why she hadn't just left the keep after bringing the girl but waited for her recovery.

Well, in that fateful night it had all come together. Leliana coming to her room, the two of them arguing, Morrigan calling her a hypocrite for not being a miserable mess…and suddenly the girl's head on her shoulders, crying and talking about what had happened to her, telling Morrigan about her darkest hours – and revealing for the first time that the bard was in so many respects just as scarred and wounded on the inside as the witch herself. It had been the night in which Morrigan had realized that – despite all that she had been told for all of her life – she did not need to be alone. That there was someone who shared her pain, someone who could understand her. And that she cared for Leliana. That's when this had begun.

Whatever 'this' was.

Morrigan closed her eyes and took a deep breath. 'Twas was almost three years ago – and still there is this tingle when I hold her. What has she done with me?

Fortunately, nobody else knew about this. Naturally they had decided to keep their…relationship a secret. After all, Leliana would have had a pretty hard time explaining to her dear Chantry friends how she had ended up in bed with an apostate. And Morrigan had come to terms with the fact that it was impossible to get the girl to turn away from the Chantry…not without killing a part of her. Whether the witch liked it or not: the Leliana's faith was essential to her. From the bards's point of view it might even make sense. After all, it had been the Chantry that had been there for her after her darkest hours. And her willingness to believe in some creator, some greater plan to give life meaning had been the reason that this girl had found strength and purpose again.

That didn't make her beliefs any less ridiculous and naïve, of course. But Morrigan believed in facts – and it was a fact that Leliana had never been stronger than now.

Well, not exactly right now, of course…

The thought brought her back to the here and now. Back to the two of them resting in the remains of a roofless, long-abandoned hunter's shack for the night. Back to the small campfire making its sizzling noise while slowly glimmering to ashes. Back to herself holding the crying girl in her arms.

Morrigan closed her eyes for a moment and took a deep breath. She must have waited for a few minutes now and the girl seemed to have calmed down a little. Maybe it was time to ask the question. Unfortunately, Morrigan knew only too well which kind of dreams would upset Leliana like that. She could vividly recall the numerous times she felt the girl next to her, waking up in panic – sweating, panting, looking around frantically.

But that had been before she had told her that it was possible to recognize a nightmare while being in it and that there were ways to break out. Leliana had only been too eager to learn; actually she had asked her for training – asked her to inflict nightmares upon her, so that she could get better. It had been painful at first, naturally. Wynne had always been disgusted by Morrigan's nightmare spells – too cruel for the old woman, maybe. She would have been speechless to learn how they were actually being used for a good purpose. At least that was what Morrigan had told herself.

But whenever she thought about how the ordeal she sent Leliana – even if out of her own free will – was a good thing, something to make the girl stronger…it wasn't her own voice uttering those words in her head. It wasn't Wynne's either. It was the voice of another old woman, an old woman in a hut. Talking to a little girl, explaining to her why she should be thankful for that pain-without-scars that was inflicted upon her. A pain that would never, never go away.

Morrigan took a deep breath once more and tried to get rid of that thought.

We all have our demons to deal with – and sometimes the worst of them do not come from the Fade.

That brought her back to the matter at hand. So finally, she dared to ask what needed to be asked:

"Marjolaine? Or the prison?"

Leliana breathed heavily for a moment and then looked up. "Both," she managed before she rested her head on the witch's shoulder again. She wasn't crying anymore and her voice sounded a little firmer than before. Still…

Both! So the gates to her personal hell had opened once again for the Chantry sister. Won't the world ever let her find peace?

Then she suddenly realized that this wasn't a rhetorical question bothering her. After all, the girl should know to how to break out of nightmares like that. Why hadn't she simply left the dream? Why put up with this pain? Frowning, Morrigan looked at the girl in her arms, but Leliana didn't seem to move at all, her breath the only sign of life…and the soft pressure as she clung to Morrigan. The bard had told her that she hadn't had any nightmares for the past two years. That Morrigan's training had worked.

Has it? Or did she just say that to make me feel better? It sure sounded like something she might do.

"Morrigan?" That voice, that annoyingly/wonderfully sweet voice, broke into her thoughts. Leliana loosened her grip and looked her straight in the eyes. "Morrigan, you…you were in it as well."

"Me?" That took her by surprise. And it stung like a hot needle pierced into her flesh. She had a nightmare of her torment – and I was in it? Her thoughts raced, contemplating what kind of role she might have played in there, but there was only one way to find out…if she actually wanted to know.

Some doors are better left unopened.

It did not help. Naturally. Criosity got the better of her. "Tell me," she stated, sounding much less agitated than she felt, "Tell me all about it."

And so she did. From the first uneasy sensations and the panic at realizing where she was to the pain which was both: a memory as much as an actual feeling inside the dream. And about that moment when suddenly Marjolaine had turned into Morrigan, when it had been her voice torturing the girl.

There was a silence afterwards. Leliana looked less exhausted, but for once the bard seemed at a loss, not knowing whether she should say any more…or had already said too much. However the girl might feel, it was worse with Morrigan. The idea of herself as being someone else's nightmare was by no means a new notion to her. On the contrary: She was rather sure that she haunted the thoughts of many people who had the displeasure to meet her on a bad day or stand in her way.

Never, though, had she considered herself part of Leliana's subconscious fears or nightmares. Well, never since that night at the keep three years ago anyway.

'Tis not right! The voice in her head sounded almost angry. For years now I have been trying to clean the mess that this woman has left in Leliana's soul – me, who is not good at…well…being good – and what do I get? I get thrown into the same pot with that very woman – and a dagger held at me!

There was a dark cloud rising up in her mind – an all too familiar cloud – at those last thoughts. So she did what she always did when it threatened to overwhelm her: taking the offensive.

"Well, there is something curious about this. I wonder: Why did you not leave the nightmare as soon as it had been revealed as such? Why did you not break out?" she asked, the reproach visibly weaved within that question.

Leliana looked at her and Morrigan could sense the bard's fear as she recalled. "I couldn't, Morrigan. I just couldn't."

"But you should, girl! It can be done, as I have taught you. You know how it works by now, do you not?"

Leliana shook her head. "It's not like that, Morrigan. I wasn't weak. I saw the dream for what it was. But it was like I said: I just couldn't break out because…" She paused for a moment, trying to get the words out before they escaped her. "Because it wasn't a normal dream, Morrigan. It was like…"

No! Not this.

"No." Morrigan stated as the dark cloud grew thicker and thicker, her actual voice like an echo of her thoughts. "No, we will not have that discussion again. I will not have that."

They had been over this numerous times, but never – not once – did they reach any kind of common ground here: Leliana talking about visions, about the Maker talking to her – and Morrigan trying to fend off that idea without hurting the girl too much (which was quite an achievement, considering how utterly ridiculous it was).

"You can't just ignore it like that, Morrigan," Leliana looked saidly, "Whether you want to believe in my visions…"

"…your dreams…"

"…my visions being sent by the Maker or not." The girl's voice was growing more defiant (…and the dark cloud became a fog, all around her…), "But you cannot deny their significance."

"Significance? What significance, I dare ask? You had a bad dream about the Blight, yes. So did numerous other men and women! They, however, did not misinterpret their mind's simple and natural cry-out born of fear as some religious epiphany."

Leliana's face hardened, resulting in a rather asymmetric combination with her soft and ever-melodious voice. "They didn't end up fighting side by side with the Warden, Morrigan."

"No, they did not. They ended up dead or worse at the hand of the darkspawn. 'Tis rather surprising – is it not? – that your beloved Maker would not have the common decency to give them such a simple command as 'Go, leave your farms.'"

"You are missing the point, Morrigan. It is not about why He does something and refrains from doing something else. The important thing is what He did. My vision brought me to the place I had to be, allowed me to do what I had to do. So it did have meaning. And if there's any meaning in this one, too…"

"There is none!" The dark fog of the familiar feeling was engulfing Morrigan by now and she reacted just as habit told her to: lashing out furiously. "Wake up, foolish girl, 'tis a dream, nothing more. The only meaning enveloped in this is that you keep trying to put a meaning into it. For all your Chantry teachings are not enough for you – no, you have to be the one having visions, the Maker's favorite pet because that does convey meaning. And 'tis much easier, is it not? Easier than admitting that 'tis as simple a reason as this: you could not leave that nightmare because you were afraid of your past and, after all these years, still let fear paralyze you." The spate of words came out far too easy. And Morrigan hadn't even finished before starting to regret it.

No, I didn't want to say any of this. It is not even true. It's the dark cloud, not me.

But the words had done their job. Leliana just stared at her silently, her face expressionless, but the way she looked at her…

The girl rose up, turning away from the witch.
"Leliana, I did not…"

"Yes, you did. Don't speak anymore."

The girl's voice was trembling and Morrigan wanted to stand up, put her arms around her like she had done so many times, but Leliana was moving away into the dark.

"Where are you going?"

"Out."

"'Tis the middle of the night!"

"I need to take a walk to that stream nearby. Cool my head. Think about this."

"I could come…"

"No." The girl stood still for a moment. Her head turned around and from the tone of her voice Morrigan had expected to see tears, but there were none. "Give me just a few minutes." Her voice sounded firmer now. Colder. "I'll be back soon enough. It is my time for taking watch anyway, no? Try to find some sleep, Morrigan. I hear there is no harm in that. Nor meaning." And with that she vanished into the night.

The tension went out of Morrigan's body as if she suddenly slumped down. That had been a mistake and she knew it. Yes, she tended to act like that when it came to discussion with other people, but Leliana…

I did not want to hurt her.

But she had, hadn't she? And though she knew that this wasn't beyond repair and that it would be done with in the morning when both of them had found their senses, it wasn't the way it should be. She had met the dark cloud in her mind all of her life, ever since her first actual memories of Flemeth. Her mother had been very inventive when it came to use that old familiar feeling, but by now Morrigan had hoped to be able to find another way to deal with it than taking it out on other people, hurting other people to protect herself from it.

The dark cloud, which was not choking her right now, but would return the moment she thought about Leliana's nightmare too long.

The old familiar feeling.

Fear.

Leliana sighed as she felt the cold water of the little stream dripping of her face. She stared up to the familiar constellations of the stars on this bright summer night with not a cloud hiding any of them. Vague memories of her mother came to her mind, showing her the stars, explaining their meaning. But then again: She had been rather young, so her memory might as well be playing a trick on her. Perhaps it hadn't been with her mother, but with Lady Cecilie. It had been long gone anyway, hadn't it? So much had happened since then. So much had happened in the last years.

And something had happened tonight.

She wasn't really angry with Morrigan. Those things she had said – they had been painful to her, but not so much after she had seen that spark in the witch's eyes. She knew that look. Morrigan hadn't meant what she said, she had just tried to hide that she was afraid. Afraid of that dream.

Just like me. Well, not completely like me…

Naturally, Morrigan didn't believe that it had been the Maker speaking to Leliana again. The bard wasn't even completely sure herself. She just knew that this dream had been…different.

Maker or not: Morrigan knew only too well that dreams did hold meaning – at least some did. And it had been written in Morrigan's beautiful features that she understood. This one was different from the other nightmares because there was a reason why she hadn't been able to break out of it: It was important for her to see it all…to the end. But why was it important? What was the meaning? Those were the logical questions. And logic was something the witch understood.

So she must have seen the possible implications as well.

'This will be your tomb' – it was a warning, obviously. And it was the crucial part of the dream because it had been the only words spoken.

So far, so good. But that wasn't the hardest part, was it? The one that scared her…and me.

What? What would be her tomb? This was where it got scary. Marjolaine turning into Morrigan…

…or Morrigan turning into Marjolaine?

It was a troubling thought – even more so considering the fact that there were certain similarities between the two women. Both of them were strong and independent, not willing to let others pull their strings. Leliana had always admired that kind of determination and strength. Both had a kind of mysterious, sometimes even enigmatic aura to them – and a dark side.

And they had made her feel safe. Wanted. Desired.

Still: Comparing them with each other? It was hard to compare the wicked witch with the passionate lover – especially since the years had obscured who of them was what.

Marjolaine had always been so gentle and caring. Up until…

…up until she had no need for me anymore. She threw everything we had away in an instance. She…never truly loved me.

That, at least, was a fact. Nobody who felt even the slightest bit of real affection for another human being could do what Marjolaine had done to her.

Morrigan, on the other hand, might seem hard on the surface (and occasionally act hard, to be true), but she could be so caring and gentle and…nice once you had found a way to make her trust you. Yes, some of her actions were not at all something Leliana could agree with. Selfish. Immoral. Cold. But unnecessarily cruel like Marjolaine's? No. She couldn't believe that.

But that's what I have always thought about Marjolaine, right? Up until I felt her dagger in my chest. Our relation…it had almost been my tomb.

She stared into the distance, trying to ignore that thought. Their destination was somewhere ahead, a two day's journey, or maybe three. Then they would leave the isolation of the wilderness and get back into the roaring city.

Leliana sighed again. It was a pity, really. She always enjoyed being alone out there with Morrigan. It was always so quite and peaceful – like it had been in the Chantry in Lothering where she had finally found peace. Of course they were occasionally fighting over this and that, but that was something they were used to. All in all, their days together – limited as they were – were a blessing, full of long walks, inspiring talks, gentle touches and passionate nights.

She wouldn't throw that away, would she? Why?

It didn't make any sense. There was no reason why Morrigan should betray her like Marjolaine had.

Still: It is the only interpretation I see. And Morrigan must have seen it, too. I have seen the fear in her eyes, the fear of me realizing what this might mean.

Maybe it was not a voluntary act then? Maybe not betrayal, but maybe her romance with Morrigan would be her tomb nonetheless? After all, they both knew that their relationship came at a risk. The Chantry would not at all be pleased to hear that someone in Leliana's position was secretly bedding an apostate. Not that it was any worse than what certain other high-ranking folk in Val Royeaux – and even in the Chantry itself – did when the curtains had closed and they felt unwatched (Leliana knew only too well…after all: knowing was crucial in her line of work), but if this would ever become known, not even the Divine might be able to protect her. To most people in the Chantry, and possibly to the public as well, few things could outrank the immorality of her relationship with the witch. It wasn't just, but life seldom was.

So is this the warning sign? Must we end it before this relationship will be my end?

Maybe it wasn't about Morrigan becoming Marjolaine, but could it have been Morrigan telling her to end it now before everything fell to pieces?

The last vision, back in Lothering had been referring to developments in the near future, warning her of the Blight and proclaiming the Warden's arrival – at least that was what she had made of it. This one…it was different, more obscure. But if it was anything like the other, it might still warn her of something immediate, something close. So: Morrigan?

What else could it be?

She was rather sure that there was no danger of another Blight and there had been no hints towards that in the dream – none at all.

The Chantry? Apart from some incidents with the mages (no hint towards that either), she was unaware of any developments in the Chantry, any dangerous conspiracy against the Divine, which might pose an immediate threat. Otherwise Dorothea – as she still called her sometimes when they were alone – wouldn't have sent her away for this very mission...a rather simple one at that: 'Get Elthina out of there…silently.'

She had already been her, months ago, to assess the situation, but had accepted the Grand Cleric's choice despite the heated atmosphere. So, of course it would take some 'persuasion' to get the Elthina out of the city this time, yes, but Leliana had succeeded at tasks much harder than that. Already she had made preparations to master the 'silently'-part of her task as well. It might take some time and patience, but it was not that difficult. There wasn't much that could possibly go wrong with that.

But I digress. This isn't the point, is it? And with that her mind was back on the dream, the vision. She had to figure out what it meant before it was too late.

She sighed, as she took a last look into the dark. Her thoughts went back to Morrigan, probably already asleep when she returned – or pretending to be, hoping to avoid any further discussion of visions and the Maker. She decided that she would give her a kiss when she returned to the shack, just in case. If she was actually awake and could feel it, she would understand the message: that Leliana didn't hold a grudge…that her words, uttered in fear, were forgiven. After all, Morrigan and the vision were all that mattered now. The Grand Cleric could wait. So could the mission.

She turned around. Away from the Cleric, away from her destination.

Somewhere in the distance Kirkwall was waiting.

'This will be your tomb'