A little disclaimer: I'm playing the German version of the game. Some terms may differ from the original.

Prey

She's been staring at you from a distance, the amount of space a lioness could leap across effortlessly. You feel like prey whenever you sense her amber eyes on you. But it's been weeks and she never takes the jump. She stays put, quietly, observing, waiting.

Sometimes you watch Morrigan, too, when each of you is sitting at their own camp fire. You pretend to warm your hands and your cheek burns hot and forces you to turn your head in her direction. And you watch the distance between you grow whenever you realize she's not looking back.

But she's watching you now, because there's a possessed child to take care of. She's watching you with her eyes boring through your skin, because tables have turned and she's the prey when you suggest she enters The Fade to save Connor. It slips out too easily and you regret your words as soon as you hear you say them.

You open your mouth again, but she's faster, "Of course I will go. I am, after all, your willing slave."

She spits the statement out like poison. Her eyes turn cold and you freeze before you can say any more. She brushes past you in an instant, leaves you standing in the hall like the traitor you are—you truly make a fine leader.

Leliana whispers to Alistair, "We can't let her go." and there's nothing you wish more in that moment than for her to voice her objection loud enough for everyone to hear. She's kinder than you, stronger than you; her words would reach through the mist of your mind and maybe even all the way to Morrigan.

But Leliana's loyalty outweighs her common sense, and thus her opinion fades away like the rustling of brushwood in an autumn breeze. She clenches her jaw and follows Bann Teagan.

.

You hadn't much time to imagine what the ritual would look like but whatever you would have thought up, this is not it.

There are no chants, no prayers like in the books. The air doesn't vibrate and the earth doesn't shake. There's nothing magical about blood magic at all.

Jowan moves his palm over Isolde's forehead, closes his eyes, and when he closes his hand her body snaps in two like a twig. You feel the crack in your own bones, the pressure in your lungs is overwhelming. It's all over within the blink of an eye. Without another breath Isolde drops to the floor like a puppet. The clinkers of the castle will forever be stained crimson.

Alistair gulps, Leliana winces, then Morrigan—Morrigan's torso cramps as if crushed in a fist, and she, too, collapses.

This time your body reacts. You rush to Morrigan's side, your stomach churning. She's pale against your dark skin, even pale against your silver armor. Her arms hang limp when you pick her up, pull her into your lap. And you want to take it all back: Un-crack Isolde's body, put the blood back in, call back Morrigan's soul to join the body in your arms, unsay your betrayal. Tell her to stay instead.

There's got to be another way.

"Now we wait", says Jowan as if he had to remind you of that. "Let's hope your witch is powerful enough to free the child and get back to us alive."

"It's not her powers I doubt", you choke on your words and don't add "It's mine."

Silence falls upon the castle. Leliana and Alistair have joined Bann Teagan's guards in a corner. Alistair is now the one watching you like a piece of meat, like he's going to rip your flesh to pieces and chew you up and spit you out. You wish he would.

Leliana crouches with her face buried in her palms. She knows all the songs about breached trust, has sung them to you many times. Her melodies will never sound quite the same.

You sit, cradling Morrigan's lifeless body, praying that The Maker, or the spirits of The Wilds, or whatever it is witches believe in, are watching over this witch in The Fade when she faces not only Connor's demons but yours. Your legs are numb and you couldn't care less.

"How long until….?" one of the guards asks. Jowan shoots her a quick glance and then you.

"As long as it takes."

With stiff fingers you brush a raven strand of hair from Morrigan's forehead and the coolness of her skin startles you. You have so many questions, as well. Like, how do you know she's not far gone? Like, how will you ever make it up to her? Like, will you ever be able to cross the gap between your tents? Or is it too late either way? Like, can she feel you squeezing her hand, or pressing your palm to her cheek? How can one live when they don't even breathe?

"You should have gone yourself", mumbles Alistair just loud enough for you to hear. A beat, then he adds, louder: "None of this is right. We shouldn't have used blood magic. We shouldn't have sacrificed Lady Isolde. We should have searched for a different way. But most of all, you shouldn't have sent someone else to do your dirty work."

You gulp. Then Leliana speaks up, too, and she sounds bitter.

"It's not dirty work. And only a mage can enter The Fade."

She sighs and resumes staring into nothingness. At least there's hope to restore that friendship.

But Alistair is not done with you. "And what are we going to do without Morrigan? Have you thought about that? We have a bigger battle to fight and I don't recall any of us being versed in spell casting."

He continues to berate you, yells through the hall, creates sharp echoes that cut your skin, and traps you in a cage of insults until you feel your stomach clench. Your grip on Morrigan tightens when you finally shout back:

"How dare you speak of her like that? You never even wanted Morrigan to join us, and you never had a single kind word for her. I know I should have thought this through better, but what have you been doing all this time? Have you ever made a single tough decision during our journey? No, you leave it all to me! You lean back into the throne you're soon to climb and you let others lead the way. I may have made the wrong decision, but at least I did make a decision. All you do is cry and you do nothing, you only judge!"

"Ha!"

It's like a knife cuts through the tension when you look down again and amber eyes glint dangerously back at you. Morrigan's lip twitches into a half smile. Then she coughs. Then she says: "At last someone tells the spoiled brat." Then she coughs again.

You swallow your tears and press Morrigan against your chest so fast it makes her gasp. Beneath your fingertips you feel the warmth rushing back into her body and you pull her even closer until her breathing matches yours. Until her heart beats in sync with your own. Until she turns her head and buries her face into the crook of your neck.

It's so unlike her that the words "I'm sorry" tumble from your tongue into her hair like pebbles before a landslide. They threaten to kick loose a lot more than that. Only Morrigan's hands pushing against you seal your lips again.

"You can tell me all about that later", she says as she stands. She rubs out a wrinkle in her robe and a challenging smirk adorns her face. "In detail."

You can't help but smile back.

After all you have to realize that she may have been observing you like a hunter watches prey, but the reason why she waits is because it's you who'll leap. Gladly.