"Mmm, I'm so glad they're gone."
The chuckle came warm against her hair. Laying here, head burrowed against his chest, she couldn't help but agree. This was… perfect.
"How about – y'know – no more visitors for a while?"
Elissa laughed, pressing a lingering kiss across his still slick skin. The delegates had been with them for little over a week and this was the first time that they had truly had a moment to themselves. "It doesn't work like that. We'd be turning them away at the gate."
"Then turn them away." Alistair's arms encircled her easily, pulling her up to face him with an indignant squeak. Those lips were pouted, mocking, but there was a smile behind his eyes. "It's not fair."
She rubbed her nose against his. "No one said it would be."
"But we deserve… something." It passed dark across his face, that growing sternness that she had seen more and more of late. After a moment it slipped away, sudden as it had come, the decision made. "A trip. You, me, Duncan. We'll go to Highever, visit your brother." He traced a finger along her cheek. "I know how you miss it."
The smile came easy. "That would be… lovely. Really, it would." She lay a kiss against his chin, nestling in the softness of his few day's beard. "But my duty… our duty is here now."
He sank back against the pillows with a sigh. She could see it there; he had expected no less. But always it fell to her to speak the words, to be pragmatic, practical.
Still he smiled, pulling her again to rest against his chest. "Just… maybe we can hold them off for a few days?" His hand stroked her hair. "And I know, I know… but you look as though you could use a rest."
She stiffened, hoped he didn't notice.
Cupping her cheek, he tilted her eyes to meet his. "You're amazing, you're strong, bane of darkspawn and Orlesians alike. But you just seem… quiet lately… exhausted."
She squeezed her eyes shut, burying her face against him as her arms strained round to pull him close. So. He had noticed. Distracted, yes. Tired, of course. And still he worried for her.
Running her fingers across his belly, she sighed. So strong, so pale, so… different. Had it not been just that afternoon that she had traced those hands across another… She shook her head. But still she could see that grin, thick and playful. There she could lay, no words, no promises, asking nothing. And those eyes… eyes that she had come to know better than her own.
The knock came timid, her head snapping up. Alistair, too, had started, more for her than for the sound, running a soothing hand along her back.
"Come."
Nora bowed low, turning her eyes from the bed as Alistair tugged the blankets to his chin. But it was to her that the nurse looked, the flushing apology clear. "M'lord, M'lady. I-I am sorry. Another nightmare. He is asking for his mother."
"Thank you, Nora. Just give me a moment to dress."
She slipped from beneath the blankets as the door fell shut, making quick for the wardrobe. There were nightdresses here, but her hand hesitated, selecting instead a simple gown of pale blue. She could feel Alistair's eyes on her back.
"Where are you going?"
Pulling the dress over her head, she cinched the waist, piling her hair into a hasty knot. "He may need… milk... something to settle him."
"Send someone for it."
She turned, sitting beside him on the bed. There was no anger there, no suspicion, only that ever-present worry.
"I'm just… awake. I need to walk. Perhaps I'll take him to the gardens."
"Do you want me to come?"
She smiled soft, stroking his chest as she pressed him back against the pillows. Always it had been she who went, she who Duncan asked for. Bending low, she lay a gentle kiss on his forehead. "I'll take care of it."
Still she could feel his eyes on her as she slipped through the door, wide and wondering still.
Duncan's room was just around the bend from their own. Nora slept in the outer chamber, looking up sheepishly from her narrow bed. Elissa smiled, reassuring, before slipping through the door.
He sat against the headboard, knees hugged to his chest, but he unfolded at the sight of her, grin splitting wide. "Momma!" Even now there was light there, a coiled eagerness that set her cheeks to warming.
Sitting, she pulled him close, tiny legs curling across her lap. She stroked his hair, burying soothing whispers there. He trembled, but still the smile held.
"Hush. It's all right now."
Nestling his head against her chest, he whimpered.
"It was only a dream."
"Dragons." The word came murmured, muffled.
Dragons again? Cupping his chin, she brought his eyes to meet her own. "Hush now. There are no more dragons."
"Because you killed them? You and daddy?"
The smile came twisted. "That's right."
He burrowed against her, whimpering still, tiny arms straining to reach round. Again she stroked him, rocking now. "Hush."
"M'lady!"
The door swung open, Nora lost behind the hulking figure of the man there. Alvric. One of the guards.
"My Lady. A Visitor."
"I'm sorry! I-I couldn't stop him! He just—"
"—It's all right, Nora." Setting Duncan back against the pillows, she whirled on the guardsman. "Alvric. What is the meaning of this?"
"My Lady. A visitor. She waits in the grand hall." Still he stood stiff, too stiff, the words somehow too flat.
She stepped close, but the man did not blink. At the wave of her hand, he only intoned the words again.
Nora gasped. "Bewitched, My Lady?"
Bewitched indeed.
"She waits in the grand hall."
Of course she did.
"Nora, get Alistair. Get everyone." She should tell the woman to stay, to bar the door and keep Duncan inside. But there would be no protection here, not from this. She scooped him into her arms.
Still the nurse stared wide eyed, blinking from her to the stiff and unmoving guard. "Nora, go. Alvric, come with me."
The hallways seemed to blur, winding past in a fog of simmering heat. Anger, yes, but the quiet seemed to thicken as they approached the hall. Alvric, at least, had kept silent, pushing aside the door with a jerking bow.
They had entered from the side, just below the dais. Away the room stretched, cavernous and empty now, the balconies sending long and twisted shadows fleeing from the sudden light. The figure was deeply hooded, staring up at the twin thrones with an unseen but unmistakable sneer.
Elissa had to laugh. "Well, isn't this properly dramatic."
"I did not come here for your amusement." Cold as she remembered, the voice was still brisk, still biting. Lowering the hood, she smirked, pouting, pointed features twisting. "'Tis not a social call."
"Oh no? Here I thought we might have a hug. Braid each other's hair, perhaps."
"I see title has done nothing to diminish your… charm."
Alvric staggered then, hand coming to his head with a rumbling groan. "My… My Lady?"
"It's all right, Alvric. Just watch the door." Still she did not break the other woman's gaze.
Morrigan's eyes narrowed, the threat understood.
Stalking closer now, Elissa nodded toward the man. "I see you've learned some new tricks."
The witch only quirked a brow, eyes trailing openly across her gown. "As have you." They came to Duncan at last, his tiny fingers still curled round her own. Now, now they narrowed sharper still. "And what is this?"
She scooped him up, one arm bracing round his waist. The other… the other she would keep free.
Duncan, though, watched the stranger, unafraid, curious. But there was no welcome for his smile.
"This is Duncan. My son."
"Yes, I can see that."
The door crashed open, Alvric stumbling out of the way.
"Morrigan." He had donned his armor and quickly, shoulders heaving massive beneath his panting breaths. Behind him waited a contingent of guards, already moving to ring them round. But the hand on her arm was gentle, squeezing protectively.
The other woman only straightened, her smile hungry, wicked. "Alistair."
His grip tightened painfully, the growl coming deep in his throat. Duncan, though, was reaching for him now, eyes widening at the confusion. "Daddy?"
He softened instantly, taking him from her arms to poke a playful finger against his nose. Still, his eyes did not leave Morrigan. "Did the mean… old… witch scare you?"
The boy grinned, shaking his head.
Again Morrigan's eyes narrowed, but that gaze was locked now to Elissa's own.
"Morrigan." The word was a whispered hiss, his steps coming light from the door beyond the witch's shoulder. Zevran slipped round, folding his arms to lean against one of the banisters.
Slowly her smile spread, eyes piercing now. "New tricks indeed."
"What do you want, Morrigan?" The nerve was struck; there was no hiding it.
Smirking still, she set to pacing. "Want?" Her eyes roamed to Duncan, calmed in Alistair's arms. "Only what I was promised."
Elissa turned to the guards then, waving them back into the hallway. Alistair blinked at that but she only shook her head. "And what were you promised?"
"We had a deal, dear Warden. I would give you your lives and you would give me a child. A child with the soul of an old god." Her hand made a cutting motion, the click hissing between her teeth. The shadow was small, hooded as she had been, detaching itself from the deeper darkness beneath the balconies.
It stopped beside her, tiny fingers straining hesitantly upward. The witch stiffened, taking the hand in hers with a heavy sigh.
As the hood fell back, Elissa could feel the breath catch in her throat. There was no mistaking those wide, brown eyes, the wayward strands of unruly hair, the half-smile coming timid, innocent. But it was Morrigan that she watched now, awkward, stiff and somehow… bemused. It was true; the ritual had been a success.
She felt him falter beside her, lowering Duncan gently to the ground. He knelt with him, holding him still, looking up at her now. There was shock, guilt, fear, but beneath it all a sense of… pleading. He was asking her permission.
She couldn't help but smile, couldn't help but nod.
He turned to the boy then, crouching still. "…Hi."
Back he skidded, clutching at his mother's skirts, her sigh coming tired.
"What's… what's your name?"
"His name is Zazikel."
Alistair blinked, scowling up at Morrigan. "Zazikel?"
"'Tis a name befitting a god."
"God. Right." He blinked at the boy, but there was no diminishing the wonder there.
Zev had stepped round, slipping to stand at her shoulder, his smile almost amused. "He certainly does—"
"—Look like his father, yes." Morrigan turned that smirk to him now.
The sudden stiffness was almost imperceptible, but still he held her gaze, cold, impassive.
"So. He's… I mean… the ritual was…" Alistair had straightened, flushing again, unable to meet the witch's eyes.
"He is not actually."
His head snapped up. "What?"
"He is not a god. He has shown no signs." Her snort was bitter. "Other than an unholy obsession with cheese."
Alistair smirked. "Nothing wrong with cheese."
"So the ritual… failed." Elissa stepped forward now, straightening to meet the witch's eyes. "And yet we live. But what is it that you want?"
Again her eyes roamed low, peering round. "It was a… curious thing. Years of waiting, years of wondering… but now, now I think I have my answer." Her eyes snapped back to Elissa's. "Tell me, how old is the child?"
She blinked. "What?"
"The child." Morrigan was pacing again, hands clasped behind her back. "Your… boy. When was he conceived?"
She could feel her face heating, feel Alistair moving to stand beside her.
Morrigan only shook her head. "If you were already with child when the archdemon fell…"
His hand came tight against her arm. "That is none of your business."
"Is it now? You were together before the battle." She scowled, eyes barely flickering away. "Quite often, as I recall. Is it really so impossible?"
"We didn't… didn't think…"
"No, obviously you did not. But neither did I. From what I had heard of Grey Wardens…" The laugh came bitter. "'Tis a cruel twist, is it not?" Her eyes roamed again, holding now just over Elissa's shoulder.
Still Alistair was trembling in disbelief, her own head spinning wild.
The whisper, though, came slithering hard. "Duncan has shown no signs."
Morrigan rounded full on the assassin now. "And you would know what to look for? Even I am not sure. But I have… uncovered something… a ritual… a way to be certain."
"No more rituals!"
This, at last, sent her staggering back, Zazikel burying a wail against her skirts.
Alistair paused then, the frown slipping sheepish. He reached out a hesitant hand, scowling as the boy turned away.
Morrigan's own hand had slipped down, unthinking, to rest against his hair. There was something sneering there - more so than usual - something defensive. "Oh? As I recall, you did not find the last one so terribly… unpleasant."
He loomed over her now, each word coming gritted, pained. "Leave. Now."
Shrugging round, she ignored him. "It will not harm them. I will test both boys to be sure."
"Why? Why would we let you do this?"
The scowl turned on her now. "Oh yes, stumble about in the dark until the pit opens up beneath you. Gentle the boy, keep him here until he pulls the very stone down around your heads. 'Tis no concern of mine." Folding her arms, she turned away.
Just like old times, then. "Morrigan…"
"No! No! We're not actually considering this!" Alistair's hand fell again against her arm. But she looked to Duncan then, wide eyed and small, so small. There was nothing there, nothing to suggest… It could not be possible. And still he blinked up at them, confused but somehow knowing, somehow understanding that they were speaking of him. So small. So alone now.
The arms encircled him before she could think to move. Zev lifted him easily, something of the boy's smile returning as he gripped onto the elf's shoulder. She tried to give him a grateful smile, but his eyes were for Morrigan, one hand stroking idly through Duncan's hair. "Perhaps it would be better… to know."
"No!"
But Elissa turned, the words coming heavy. "It won't… hurt?"
Again, Morrigan scowled, eyes rising slowly to meet her own. "Not him, at least."
He crouched against the stone, fitting his back to the waiting damp of the corner. An old storeroom, they had said, buried deep in the bowels of the castle. By the smell, though, he would guess that its history was far less… mundane. But that would have been before Alistair's time, before her time.
A space had been cleared at the room's center, three of the Circle mages sprinkling their powders cross the stones under Morrigan's direction. The location had been of her choosing, of course, though he suspected it was as much for dramatic effect as for necessity. He almost had to laugh at that. Ahh, but we are what we are.
She must have felt his eyes then, the glance coming furtive as her back stiffened. Yes, let her remember what he was.
Had there been some way to argue with the witch, Elissa would have tried it. Dark rituals in darker places were no way to calm a child. The boys stood together now, the larger, at least, looking almost unafraid. But growing up under his mother's tender ministrations, one could only imagine the horrors he had seen. Duncan seemed so small beside him, so pale, the shadow of the walls reaching long to wrap him round.
Morrigan was there then, moving them roughly into place, those wide, gold-flecked eyes peering round her skirts to meet his own. Holding that gaze, he might have shuddered, but Zevran only smiled. It was mirrored there, tight-lipped and afraid.
He felt the weight shift beside him and above, the sigh coming heavy as Alistair followed his gaze. The king raised his hand as if to wave, fingers curling hesitant as his scowl deepened. He leaned close, eyes on Morrigan's back.
"Thank you. For being here."
"Mmm?"
"Really. I mean, if this… if she does anything…"
"I will not hesitate, you have my word." Still he did not look up, still he could not break that gaze.
Alistair, though, sagged with relief. "She's evil, obviously, but it… it's Morrigan."
"You are asking if I would have any compunctions about killing a former… traveling companion?" The slight was thin, distracted.
"Right… yeah."
Again, she grabbed Duncan's arm, fingers dimpling the flesh as he positioned him just so. The words came flat, cold. "Trust me, I would not."
Elissa was watching them, eyes narrowing at his scowl. He tried to soften it, tried to smile for her, but she only shook her head.
Alistair was moving then, breaking the gaze. His arms wrapped round her waist, pulling her back to lean against his chest as he nestled his face against her shoulder. Words passed there, close, comforting. He felt the scowl twist again before he could stop it, her eyes coming again to his, holding there.
The mages were moving now, standing at the intersections of their lyrium-etched lines. Morrigan moved through the spaces in between, eyes falling closed as she stood before the boys. Her head sunk low then, chin falling to rest against her chest as the words came slithering strange.
One by one the others mirrored her, jolted as if from sleep, whatever trepidation they had at following the apostate falling away beneath those rising tones.
Magic he had seen, but save the faint stirring of the powders, this seemed… quiet. There should be… something more, should there not?
Zazikel had slipped his arm through Duncan's, bending to whisper words of encouragement beneath his crooked grin. Somehow, though, it seemed to work. The smaller boy straightened, staring up and the swaying witch with a thin-lipped scowl. Impatient – even haughty – and brave, so brave. Zevran smirked.
He could not say how long it lasted, that strange silence, the stillness heavy beneath those long-unuttered words. It was Morrigan who moved first, rubbing a hand cross the back of her neck as she shook her head.
Nothing. There had been nothing.
He felt himself sag, bracing unthinking against the wall. Elissa was moving, one hand wrapping hard round Morrigan's arm.
The witch turned slow, blinking unfocused as she collapsed.
He was on his feet then, throat tightening, but there were no words, no air. It seemed to pull inward, the very stone shuddering, coalescing to break in a piercing scream.
Duncan had bent double, curling to his knees, tiny fingers knotting, tearing through his hair. And still it rose, that keening pulse, his back arching in heaving waves. One of the walls cracked, rent from floor to ceiling, broken stone scattering.
Elissa had fallen, Morrigan's weight heavy cross her lap, still unmoving, still unseeing.
The shields came up in flares of green and blue and gold. The mages. One of the men cried out, but still his hands worked, the air thickening, buffeting, burning round the boy.
Throwing back his head, Duncan twisted, rising, straining. The eyes focused then, seeming to find him even through the whirling air, radiating pupiless and searing. Zevran could feel himself falling, sinking, half blind beneath those eyes. But never, never could he look away.
The light of all the world.
