Shades of green spread around her, reaching up the stone walls of the Skyhold Garden. The earthy scent of elfroot was so pungent it tickled Caoilainn's nose. She admired the garden's beauty, emanating healing and tranquility, a refuge from the effects of war and doom- the things her life revolved around; the serenity felt foreign.
Her purpose for traveling to the garden stood in a corner of the sanctuary. Quiet steps kept Caoilainn hidden, but she spoke to the person she came to see as she neared. "It's good to see you made it out of the Eluvian." The words were blunt.
The last time Caoilainn communicated with Morrigan occurred at the entrance to the ancient Elven mirror, shortly before the sorceress vanished through it to some parallel realm.
Before Morrigan could answer, Caoilainn's blood stirred. A warning of danger, similar to the signs her body communicated to her mind when darkspawn neared. Critical eyes darted from Morrigan to find the source of the disruption, landing on the young boy near Morrigan. He stood quiet, respectful of his mother. More importantly, he showed no signs of darkspawn or ghoulish influence. The dark ritual. She realized the parentage of the boy in a matter of seconds.
Morrigan's eyes widened, but she remained silent at Caoilainn's announcement. Caoilainn noticed the witch's hand tighten on the shoulder of her son.
"You found me… or us." Morrigan smiled. The statement suggested they had been playing a ten-year game of hide-and-seek. In a sense, it was true.
Hardened, frowning, Caoilainn exhaled. Despite her efforts of composure, Caoilainn's desperation underlined the intense moment. "Morrigan, can we talk?" The question sounded more like a plea.
Morrigan sighed, eyebrows lifted in sympathy. She gave a loving call to her son and directed him to go play elsewhere. The witch's hand gestured to a nearby bench resting under a tree and she wordlessly walked to it and sat.
The meandering songs of birds singing echoed in the awkward silence as Caoilainn stared at her friend. She's a gentle mother. Caoilainn awed at the difference of this woman from the cynical witch Caoilainn had fought alongside during the Blight until she realized Morrigan's gaze transitioned from patience to irritation and moved to the spot on the bench beside her. Registering the order, Caoilainn joined her.
"Go on then," Morrigan replied, brow arched, frowning. Her eyes traveled from Caoilainn to watch her son as she waited. Caoilainn noticed the faintest smirk on Morrigan's lips.
Grateful for the privacy given by the foliage, Caoilainn considered the curious sight of their conversation: the Witch of the Wilds and the Queen of Ferelden talking on a bench in a quiet corner of the Skyhold Garden. She amused herself with the thought and attempted small talk.
"You disappeared for a long time. I heard you ended up in Orlais," Caoilainn noted. Prying statements hinted passing desires to gather information about Morrigan's adventures since their last interaction.
Morrigan's expression remained unchanged, a hum of agreement her only response to Caoilainn's insignificant statements.
Caoilainn shook her head and reminded herself of the intent for her visit. The cold reality of Morrigan's ability to walk away at any time struck Caoilainn. She hurried her words before she lost the opportunity. "I need your help, Morrigan. I want to be free from the Wardens."
The statement stung, even herself, and Caoilainn regretted her choice of words. It lacked truth, the depth of her need to free herself from the taint. She realized the change in the power between them, Morrigan in control of their discussion as Caoilainn sought her help. She had voluntarily stripped herself of her bravado as a hardened military leader
Morrigan's brows furrowed and she snorted, holding back a laugh. Caoilainn furrowed her brows, confused at the woman's humor at the serious subject.
"Do tell, my friend. How might I be of assistance to one such as your majesty with such matters?" Morrigan smirked, leaning on the bench with her arm propped on the back. Skepticism coated every word of her statement.
Irritated, Caoilainn ignored the association with her title as majesty. "I need this sickness to go away, Morrigan. The Calling. I can feel and hear the darkspawn in my blood. Always. The Old Gods are in the distance. The Deep Roads are waiting for me."
I sound like a mad-woman. Caoilainn knew the explanation of the Calling sounded preposterous to any layman. She assured herself if any non-Warden person could understand, it was Morrigan.
Morrigan's eyes widened at the mention of Old Gods but she did not respond. Uncomfortable with the silence, Caoilainn continued, words spilling from her mouth.
"I can't do this. I can't be his queen and not give him a son. I regret taking the crown every day. I should have given him to Anora. They may have been able to have a child." The words of regret and remorse omitted the resentment Caoilainn held toward her husband. Years of distance left their failed marriage at a standstill, and even through her own self-righteousness, she felt guilt. "Morrigan, the Theirin bloodline dies with Alistair." Shocked by the sound of his name coming from her mouth, Caoilainn's tangent stopped.
Even with her dramatic confession, Morrigan remained neutral. Caoilainn gave a defeated sigh and her eyes studied the vines crawling along the wall beside them. She knew her friend to be apathetic to bloodlines and status and had little concern for the personal affairs of kings. But Morrigan had to understand the desire to have a child. In the short time Caoilainn had observed Morrigan with her son, she witnessed what could only be love. Her son is Alistair's. The fact seemed so distant until now.
Morrigan placed her hand on Caoilainn's, interrupting the silence with empathy. With a soft tone, she said, "You know Alistair would have been miserable if he married Anora. Because he loves you."
Unable to resist rolling her eyes, Caoilainn brought her gaze back to Morrigan. The woman's words did little to solve Caoilainn's problems and did not provide solace.
Morrigan shrugged. Their friendship had rarely been about comforting one another. They were both strong women and both knew it. Morrigan's soft tone hardened. "Your King technically has an heir, you know. Kieran," her eyes wandered to her son, who was closely observing some bright embrium flowers a few paces away, "is doing quite well."
"I know." Caoilainn's eyes widened. "I've heard of Wardens freed from the taint and I have an idea. Morrigan, can he… Do you think he could be a source to stop the Calling?"
Morrigan's reservation faltered for the briefest moment. Her face contorted, forehead wrinkling; she sneered. Caoilainn feared her friend might reject the proposition without another thought. But the expression quickly faded and Morrigan thought.
Long, endless moments occupied the time as Morrigan considered the request, her expression unfathomable.
"Perhaps," Morrigan muttered.
The curt reply, only a single word filled Caoilainn with hope.
Morrigan continued, "I can make no promises. 'Tis a lofty goal, but I will research it."
Caoilainn's short-sighted goals considered little of risks to Kieran or herself. Her fantasies of motherhood became palpable. A quest she had pursued since the moment she ended the blight, Caoilainn had the chance to remedy her failures as queen and wife.
Morrigan's frown deepened. She added, "This can only occur if there is no risk to my son, Caoilainn. If there is any potential of harm to Kieran, the research will cease immediately."
Hopeful and curious at the potential for results, eyes alight with positivity; Caoilainn could only nod.
