BioWare created and owns the brilliant world of Dragon Age, and I'm grateful to be able to play in it...
Wynne stared into the campfire, her forgotten bowl of stew held loosely in her lap. Again, her mind flashed to the awful moment when she and the rest of the Warden's party entered the Harrowing chamber and witnessed Uldred torturing a fellow mage – Florian, an intelligent, soft-spoken man who had worked tirelessly to inventory their magical texts. Uldred's voice, once high-pitched and nasal, was now much deeper and carried a sickening melody.
Do you accept the gift that I offer?
They had been too late to save Florian. The pain had hammered away at his soul for too long, until he agreed to become an abomination if it would only stop. As she watched the horrible transformation, for a moment, or perhaps an eternity, Wynne was certain that she would share the poor young man's fate.
But then she felt the essence of the benevolent spirit that had saved her only hours before, and she knew that it would never permit such a thing, that the spirit would help her to help the Warden destroy Uldred and the rest of his foul creations. Then the pride demon within Uldred revealed itself, and she knew another eternal flash of terror before the spirit's quiet faith renewed her determination to annihilate this evil that had corrupted her home.
A snuffling noise brought Wynne back to the present with a start. She glanced to her right to find that her dinner had slid from her lap to the ground, and Bane had seized the opportunity for a second course.
Abruptly, the warhound tensed. He looked up, across the fire, and growled softly. Wynne followed his stare and jerked in shock. Another mabari sat there, resting calmly on its haunches. It was nearly identical to the one at her side – only this one had golden eyes.
Bane growled again, louder, and Wynne smiled and reached down to gently scratch his ears. "It's quite all right, Bane. I don't believe she means us any harm." She looked at the other dog. "Do you, young lady?"
She watched the process with fascination, though the transformation happened so quickly it was difficult to truly see. A blue haze of magic shimmered over the other warhound, then it winked out and the Wilder witch knelt in its place, her fingertips grazing the ground where the forelegs had been.
Morrigan looked amused. "'Tis remarkable how alike your expressions are, when you are not even of the same species."
Coolly Wynne replied, "As a fellow mage, I am very interested in your shapeshifting abilities, Morrigan. Though I was not aware that the mabari form was part of your repertoire."
"I see no reason for you to be familiar with my 'repertoire,' but in this case, you are correct. 'Tis a form I have only recently attempted and have yet to fully master." Morrigan rose fluidly to her feet and stretched languidly.
"I see. I must say, I'm surprised to see you making an effort to assume the shape of a – how did you put it – a filthy mongrel. One would think you considered yourself above assuming such a form."
Bane issued a single bark in agreement.
Wynne blinked in surprise as something entirely unexpected flitted across Morrigan's features – Maker bless me, was that... remorse?
I believe I may have been... harsh. I have observed Bane in battle – he is strong, ferocious, and absolutely without fear. Given our motley band's tendency to find ourselves fighting for our lives almost constantly, it seemed prudent to... expand my arsenal, as it were." Morrigan's nose wrinkled in distaste. "I have not, however, revised my opinion of the beast's hygiene. He is absolutely filthy!"
Bane whimpered sadly, then snorted as he inhaled a bit of stew. He then sneezed a good bit of the spilled meal onto the hem of Wynne's robes.
Wynne sighed. "I must agree with you on that point."
Morrigan's eyes narrowed. "And I must disagree with you on your earlier statement. Mages we both are, but you are certainly not my 'fellow.' I am not one of your cowed magical cattle. The thought of being walled up in that infernal tower of yours curdles my blood like month-old milk."
Wynne rose to her feet and met Morrigan glare for glare. "You saw what happened there, Morrigan. Can you not see the devastation that might have been wrought if the Templars had not been there to keep them contained?"
"Indeed I can. I can see the entire sorry mess never happening, as it was this Uldred's determination to break free of his Chantry oppressors that led to his foolish decision to seek demonic assistance in the first place!"
"And who is to say he would not have sought that power anyway? There is no way to know for certain. What we do know is that any mage can become an abomination, and we must –"
Morrigan's yellow eyes glinted. "Yes, we do know that. Don't we? How fortunate you joined with the Warden and left the tower, before they could discover your little secret."
Wynne's stomach dropped. "What do you –"
"Spare me your dissembling, old woman. I have an affinity for Spirit magic, and I can sense the being within you. I can feel your death being held at bay." Morrigan's brow quirked. "Do not fear, I've no intention of revealing your little friend. But do not presume to lecture me about abominations when you yourself are the next best thing to one."
"If you believe that, why not inform the Templars before we left the Circle?" Wynne asked.
"Because I am not one of your infernal Templars. Nor am I your mother, nor your nursemaid. 'Tis your choice to live with what you have become, and I will not gainsay it. If you become a threat to me, I will kill you. Otherwise, do as you please."
"I wonder that you speak of choice. Are you not here at your mother's behest, and not of your own volition?"
"I am here because the Blight must be stopped, and my skills are valuable. Do not speak of my mother, you know nothing of her."
"Perhaps not, but I do know that walls built of emotional manipulation can be just as confining as those built of stone."
Morrigan's lip curled in derision. "My, how incredibly profound. I suddenly desire to unburden myself of the sad story of my lonely childhood. Should we hug?"
"I doubt it." Wynne sighed. "I believe I will retire. I find myself without the energy to continue this conversation."
"Yes, fatigue can descend so quickly at your age," Morrigan smirked. "I believe it is my turn at watch." The blue haze enveloped Morrigan again, and an owl launched itself from the center of the glow and began to circle the camp.
On the outskirts of the camp, Sten spotted the owl overhead and returned to his bedroll. Too many mages. Not enough leashes.
Oodles of thanks to Nithu, Violet Theirin, Crazy4DA, Enaid Aderyn, FyreBrande, mille libri, roxfox62 & Arsinoe de Blassenville for your reviews and for setting story alerts to my humble tale! I truly appreciate your compliments on my writing of Sten – I was worried I hadn't done him justice!