An Act of Mercy
The soldier was screaming.
The screams were no longer blood-curdling, no longer filled with curses and anger. They were dying down fast to pained whimpers. There were no words in the sounds, only the hitching shudders of sobs, the thrashing of armor-clad limbs. But the end did not come and silence did not follow as it should have in the wake of a battle.
Morrigan frowned.
"You leave her alive?" she asked, looking from the writhing woman to Aedan Cousland. "'Tis not necessary - or wise."
"It is," her lover responded as he pulled a rag from his belt pouch and began wiping blood from his shining armor, a gift from Arl Eamon in expectation of the Landmseet. "I will need her in the coming years." He didn't so much as glance at the woman he claimed to need, at Ser Cauthrien whose writhing had stilled to the occasional twitch and moan. Her leg, Morrigan knew, was burned potentially beyond repair at his orders, her ribs bruised if not cracked from how Aedan Cousland had forced his booted foot against her fitted plate once she was already down. Her jaw and eye were swollen, her gaze, when she looked, vacant and glazed.
But she lived still.
"You think she will serve you?" Morrigan asked, attempting to keep her tone light in the face of yet another example of the Warden's growing cruelty. Alistair, idiotic naive Alistair, had turned from the scene already. It was a wonder he did not cover his ears.
A piece of Morrigan wished to.
"She will. But she needed to be put in her place, first." He finished cleaning one of his pauldrons and slipped the soiled cloth back away, hidden from sight. He was a master at deceit. Had she taught him that?
No.
"Put in her place?" Her lip curled in expectation of another explanation that Aedan would claim was cold and calculated, as she was, geared towards power, but that would drip with a measure of sadism she would not touch with her littlest finger.
"Trained to come to heel."
And there it was. It was not the first time the man had used metaphors of trained animals to refer to the people who served him, and certainly not the first time that they had been applied to women. Never her, no - he did not go so far. But the queen-regent whom he intended to marry, most certainly. Leliana, in private conversations before he had killed her in that mountain temple. And now this woman, this knight, powerful and competent and capable of great loyalty of her own nature - brought low.
It rankled, festered, and for not the first time she was glad that she would soon take her leave of the man.
"She already did as much." Morrigan's fingers tightened around her staff. "You teased out an admission of her folly; 'twas not enough for you? She stepped aside. And yet you attacked."
He shrugged, a roll of his shoulder that looked unnatural in his heavy armor. He was not built for such things. His skill with a blade was below Alistair's, his strength to bear metal less. Instead, he plied a silvered tongue and the ability to lie through his ravenous teeth. If Aedan Cousland had his way - and he would, the wheels were already set in motion and she doubted they could be stopped - the whole of Ferelden would kneel at his feet.
Starting, apparently, with his newest victim.
"Surely you understand," he said with an easy smile as if the woman's agonized gasps were not still filling the hall. No; she did not understand, and she did not smile or frown or move. "Morrigan," he continued with a sigh, stepping close enough to touch her bared shoulder with his hand, metal cold and harsh against her skin. "If I simply let her go, what would stop her from entering the Landsmeet behind us? And even if she were deferential and behaved herself now, what would make her respect me? You taught me that, Morrigan - the answer is strength."
That drew a snarl, a glare from her and she pulled her arm from his grasp. "She will not follow you if she cannot move from what you've done to her. And she will not follow if you beat her down again and again."
Had he truly learned nothing?
Behind her Aedan sighed. "Very well. If you are so attached to the idea of justice for her, you may stay here with her."
Anger jolted through her, a new wave fresh and hot, and she rounded. "You asked me to accompany you here."
"I've changed my mind. Your appearance and presence will cause... questions. You understand." His smile was slow and easy, and he stepped away from Morrigan and Cauthrien's body, calling for Alistair. Alistair didn't stir until Aedan was at the door, and then it was only to trudge after him, as had become the habit of their small group.
She watched them leave, teeth gritted and nerves fraying fast. Will cause questions. He was ashamed.
No, not ashamed.
She was simply of no use to him.
The heavy doors shut behind the two men and she stared down at Cauthrien, whose eyelids fluttered and breathing came ragged and weak. She was still alive and still conscious. Morrigan's hand tightened on her staff, and she considered driving the hardened end of it into the woman's skull, ending her suffering and throwing Aedan's plans into disarray, shattering at least a portion of his carefully designed edifice of power.
She had never taught him this, this utter disregard. But though now it tore at her, she knew she had done nothing to stop it. She had encouraged it, and for so long, it had made her respect him. He had understood.
It was she, now, who did not.
Carefully, she crouched and reached a hand out for Cauthrien. The woman still had enough awareness to flinch away.
"Peace- would you take it?"
Cauthrien did her best to fix her gaze on the apostate, but her pupils widened and contracted without rhythm and Morrigan doubted she truly saw. She was beginning to rise again, firm in her decision to take the woman's life, when Cauthrien's lips parted.
Her voice was a broken whisper, her eyes unfocused, but she spoke.
"Not death."
Morrigan bit down on the question of why as Cauthrien's muscles tensed and she convulsed with a weak cry, fingers curling with no strength left in them. No answer would come. So instead, she simply extended her hand again, this time with pale power gathering at her fingertips.
"Then another form of peace," Morrigan murmured, and as the healing energies snaked beneath the other woman's armor, she sent a thread of sleep within it.
Cauthrien's breathing eased and Morrigan rose once more.
It would end soon, walking at Aedan Cousland's side and never forcing her word against his actions. She had grown fond of him over the stretch of the year, had respected him from the first. The respect still lingered in some strained form, even while her fondness began to crumble. He was colder and more heartless than she could ever hope to be.
Her mother's choice had been fitting. Such a man would never follow where Morrigan would have to go.