A/N: Just a quickie that's been sitting around on my phone for a while. I may write a follow up from Alistair's POV the next morning if people like this, but I'm not sure yet. We'll see what happens.
The night is falling. Outside the windows of the great fortress you can see the stars awakening in the night sky as the sun dips below the horizon. Below, you watch your soldiers as they stow the various arms and armors that seem to constantly litter the grounds and frequently the floors of Soldier's Peak.
It has been a long day. Of course, saying that is as redundant as teaching Shale pronouns. No matter how many fires your wardens put out, there will always be a veritable cornucopia of new ones to face tomorrow. You find yourself wishing that, just once, when you've finished saving the world it would stay that way.
And The Creators know you've only got one rash acts of heroism left in you...Maybe that's what makes the days seems so much longer lately; you know your end isn't so far off as it once was.
Thinking back now, you can't pinpoint the moment it started. Just as Alistair once told you it would, the taint has grown steadily stronger since the moment the joining chalice touched your lips and the liquid fire of the darkspawn blood slithered down your throat like tar and poison. All you know for certain is that at some point the dreams stopped being nightmares and started becoming more real to you than your own life. Where once the eerie humming noise that precedes a darkspawn attack maddened you to the point of tears, now you find yourself yearning for it. In fact, these days you don't even need to seek out a battle to experience the beautiful song; all you need is a few moments alone in a quiet room because it follows you everywhere.
And then there's your skin, that occurrence you can pinpoint. It was right after your last visit to Orzammar, a courtesy to a human queen who still sees you as her personal errand girl in some way or another. It wasn't a part of your mission; you went in to the deep roads with one of Lord Dace's expeditions as a point of honor. There was a battle. You were very nearly outmatched and one of those damn shrieks, using that cowardly talent for stealth, sunk his teeth in to your arm a second before you were able to run him through.
The expedition was abandoned and somehow you managed to limp your way back to Orzammar with the few remaining warriors, but the damage was done. Since that day a dark blotch has grown out from that injury. It spreads with each day, and the fiery itch that accompanies it is very nearly driving you mad...as if that damn song weren't enough to do the job already. Very soon your armor won't be able to cover the growing blotch, very soon Alistair is going to wonder why you have become so self conscious that you turn out the lights every time you lie together. Very soon you will be forced to admit the truth; that your Calling is very nearly nigh.
Every once in a while you catch yourself wishing you had allowed Avernus to live; cruel though his research may have been, maybe you wouldn't be half crazy right now.
If it were just you, you'd have left to find your death the moment you realized what was happening. Unfortunately there is Alistair to think of. It's not that he wouldn't wish you to find peace, but rather the manner in which you have chosen to take it...now that it has come.
It was a decade ago, but you remember the conversation so clearly...
You meet her in a shady tavern at the edge of Nevarra after tracking her for months. Why she is allowing this conversation instead of running off into the night or through a magical mirror you don't know, but for now you do not ask why, purely on the chance that she may change her mind and disappear again...Perhaps she knows the thoughts that plague you.
"Morrigan," you mutter hesitantly, a troubled expression furrowing your brow as you swirl your rapidly warming ale in it's cup. "Could you kill me if I asked it of you?"
The look on her face says she is not surprised to hear this question. "That will very likely depend on the reason," she replies, ever the pragmatist, even when faced with the mortality of someone she once cared for.
"I cannot become that...thing," you tell her, bile rising in your throat at the memory of the corrupted creature you once fought in the deep roads. "Even if they beat me, the darkspawn will never kill me. The Architect will see to that...whether or not they force me to eat their tainted flesh..." You cannot bring yourself to speak of becoming a Broodmother, no matter how real the possibility. "I would eventually become one of them anyway, and I cannot bear the thought of becoming Genevieve."
"Does Alistair know of your fears?" She asks, showing an unusual level of concern for her most hated of companions.
"Yes, he does..." You reply.
"And he also knows you want to take your life rather than face the deep roads with him?" She is too astute and too blunt for her own good some days.
"Yes..." Your voice is weaker this time. You don't mention that he doesn't approve; you don't mention the many fights-He calls you a coward, you call him a child and then you don't speak again until you both remember that you are living on borrowed time. And borrowed time is better than no time at all.
You also don't mention the he has no idea that you have chased the mage down to ask her to perform the deed.
"And why me?" She inquires. "Why not any old random thug or one of your COUNTLESS enemies?"
You are quiet for a long time. Once, you might have openly admitted this to her, but it has been two decades and you have not been friends for a long time now...but then there is likely no other explanation she will accept. "No one has bested me in twenty years...but you could. My faith does not allow me to kill myself-or allow myself to be killed-and still find peace in the next world. You are the only one strong enough, and you owe me a great debt," you remind her. She has the one part of Alistair that you can never have.
For the briefest of moments your mind wanders to a blond child with purple eyes, a quiet disposition and an unfathomable talent for magic, but just as the image solidifies you shake it off. Dwelling on that will make no difference in the end.
It is Morrigan's turn to mull over her response. "Very well," she finally agrees. "In ten years, when the taint begins to consume you, I will come," she stands and turns to leave again. "Do not seek me out again. You will not find me."
Tomorrow it will be ten years to the day. You've been counting...You've been planning...you've left the necessary instructions with your lieutenants. They've been casting sad glances your way all week, but they haven't told Alistair that the time has come, just as you asked. Tonight you have planned a romantic dinner, just the two of you. After dinner, you will tell him just how much you love him, you will kiss his head, and then his lips, and then you will make love over and over until he is unable to stay awake any longer.
Before you go, he will know without a fragment of a doubt just how deeply and eternally you adore him.
And then you will steal away while he sleeps to meet Morrigan out on the Bannorn. There, you will fight and she will cut you down, and your spirit will pass through to the veil to join your ancestors and await your love.