The man who has received more from her than she ever intended to give takes his time. "No, Morrigan," he says finally. "'Some prices for survival are too high to pay,' remember?" And he turns - he dares! - to turn his back on her, on life.
Trembling with wrath - it must be wrath, what else? - Morrigan brings out her ace. "Oh very well, my noble Warden, die if you will, sacrifice your life oh-so-very nobly. But what about your dear friend Alistair? Should he have no say in this? Besides," she lets poisonous sweetness creep in, "how can you be sure that it will be you who delivers the final blow? Even mighty men like you die in battle. It may well be that Alistair will have to deal the blow himself, after all. What a shame: when he finally finds the guts to become a king, he doesn't even live up to his own coronation." By Ned's stiff shoulders she knows that she has hit the point. "So, what will it be, my dear Warden? Will you do for him what you wouldn't do for me?" The pain she feels catches her by surprise, and her voice almost fails her as she hastily continues: "Or had I better present my offer to Alistair himself? Maybe- "
Ned swirls and in an instant covers the distance between them. "No need to freak Alistair on the eve of the battle. I meant to make love to you one last time, anyway." His voice is hushed and his hands tremble - so do hers.
"Just one thing," he whispers in her ear as they draw near for a kiss: "Swear you will not do to the child what Flemeth did to you."
She swears, with the kiss, and with the tear that trails down her cheek before Ned wipes it with another kiss.
Neither is sure who has actually won: they only know that this is the last time.