Disclaimer: "Dragon Age: Origins" and all its expansions and additional content is the property of Bioware and EA Games. Large portions of written content within the game, as well as Dragon's Age: The Stolen Throne, and Dragon's Age: Calling, are the creative genius of one David Gaider. Original scenarios and characters are used under the creative license of the writer, ItalianEmpress1985. No profit is being made and the following story is for entertainment purposes only

Words From The Author: This chapter comes with a warning of F/F romance, of a sort. I'm a fan of slash and het both, but if any of my readers aren't fine with slash, I think you'll still be okay reading this. It's a romance that wasn't included, but I think it should have been. :p

A few times you'll see where Alistair is referred to as a former Templar (sometimes even by himself), or if it is from Morrigan's perspective a failed Templar. I know he never got to the part where he took vows and became a Templar officially, but as per his conversation with Wynne I think he probably saw himself as one for a time.

I've changed the 'landscape' of Castle Redcliffe. In the game there were no windows in most of the guest rooms, which struck me as odd, so now, they have windows. :p Another thing changed is that Morrigan does not mention that it was her mother's intention all along to send Morrigan with the group, so she would save them at the end. It would seem more that Morrigan herself (while learning the ritual from her mother) decided on the Dark Promise for her own reasons, but doesn't want to allude to that. I've also had the groups that assist you during that last battle accompany the group into Fort Drakon. In the game leaving them behind only to summon them at the roof is all well and good, but in a story it works better I think to just keep them with you.

This will be the last chapter that focuses on things within the game. Once we move past the coronation of the following chapter, everything will be new and far more matrimonial focused.

Thanks to my reviewers, I appreciate all reviews, even if they aren't 100% complimentary. Writing is a performance art after a fashion, and every author can stand for some advice now and again. Even those that are published, which I can certainly attest to, having read some terrible published fiction out there. *shudders*

Thank you for stopping in. Watch out for low flying dragons!


Chapter Two:

Living And Dying


All that I'm living for.

All that I'm dying for.

Although I wanted more.

- Evanescence


Outside the thick glass, a heavy rain pelted like drumbeats of impending war, and war was surely upon them. A fire crackled in the quiet room, its lone occupant staring into it as if contemplating the fiery abyss that could be awaiting her.

All of Redcliffe could be wondering the same thing as Arl Eamon prepared them for the three day march to Denerim, and to the Blighted horde that was waiting, the dreaded archdemon at their head.

Morrigan stared without a break, but for the occasional blinking of her sooty lashes. Her eerie golden eyes reflected the lick of flame, like a demon the old tales would paint her mother to be. Her dead mother.

Once the intolerable Alistair had rounded on her, just outside Lothering. She couldn't recall the reason now, likely some imagined slight on him. The words he'd asked her, voice full of a venom she didn't think a failed Templar would have, those she remembered. "What would happen if your mother died?" Her snide response of, "Before or after I stopped laughing?" It was true enough. Flemeth and Morrigan had never had a typical relationship of mother and daughter, and once she found out what her mother had in store for her, she had to die.

Alistair's question had been asked to inquire as to Morrigan's own state of mind if she lost someone she loved, except she'd never loved anyone. There was no one she could think of losing that she would be terribly disheartened over, except Gwyneth Cousland.

Over a convoluted course of events the mage had been shocked to discover that she did care about the noblewoman, enough that the thought of her imminent demise brought a wave of bile up from her guts. It shouldn't have, Morrigan should've been able to shrug the thought off with little effort. Certainly the woman had some use, but she could be replaced.

The surprisingly in depth discussions late at night, a closeness that bordered on sisterhood, the fact that Gwyneth had killed her mother to protect her with no more reason than their peculiar friendship . . . those things could not be replaced. Yet for all that, Morrigan knew their companionship was coming to an end, but she couldn't bring herself to let that end be death. She'd made a promise once, that while she may not have always been deserving of Gwyn's friendship, that she would try her best. Her plans to save her dearest Gwyneth were the best that Morrigan could manage.

Suddenly there was another presence in the room and Morrigan didn't need to turn around to know who it was. She'd become eerily attuned to the other woman. "Do not be alarmed, it is only I." Turning from the fire, she took in the cautious features of the young noble.

"Morrigan? Is everything alright?" Dark red brows knitted from confusion, to concern.

The raven haired mage smiled, one corner of her full mouth tilting upwards. There was little happiness in it, however. "I am well. 'Tis you who is in danger."

Gwyneth sighed, moving to drop her twin blades onto the dresser. "We're all in danger, don't tell me you think we should back out now."

"No, no backing out, as it were. I have a plan, you see."

"A plan? For what?" With practiced ease, the teyrna shrugged out of her armaments, Morrigan remaining silent and watchful, but any bashfulness at getting dressed and undressed in front of each other had fled some time ago, though neither woman could recall just when. Gwyneth left her traveling attire beneath. She'd just have to put everything back on once the red dawn came, but if nothing else, she was determined to have her last night of sleep be as comfortable as she could manage. If Gwyneth was able to sleep at all.

Golden irises watched the other woman, that litheness and grace of movement that seemed to solely belong to Gwyneth alone. Certainly there was no one else in Morrigan's imaginings, few as they were, that could have slaughtered darkspawn so elegantly. As elegant as rending them asunder and spilling their tainted blood could be. Yet, that life of blood and blades had never seemed to suit Gwyneth, a feeling of watching such displacement never abated from Morrigan's mind, and far too often imaginings of what Gwyneth had been before, what she could be again, danced across the mage's thoughts. All at once she was reminded of the gilded mirror of long ago, smashed by her mother. Something so elegant and lovely, and Morrigan was expected to care nothing for such things. Just as she should not have a care for Gwyneth, but she did.

"I know what happens when the archdemon dies. I know a Grey Warden must be sacrificed, and that sacrifice could be you." A subtle hitch had found its way into the mage's voice, unnoticed by her friend. Her gaze firmly locked with Gwyneth's. Gold boring into silver.

"Morrigan . . ." The Warden began, caution bleeding into her tone.

"Do not bother lying to me. I know you too well. I heard everything that old Orlesian, Riordan, told you, and I know what you are going to do."

"You should not have been eavesdropping." She made a chore out of unlacing her thick leather boots, long hair tickling her neck as it swung over one shoulder during her movements.

Morrigan ignored the censure, eyes narrowing. "Why not let Alistair do it? He would like that I think, ending his life in glory and honor, to go join his precious Duncan. Thedas knows he blubbered over him enough."

"You are needlessly cruel towards him, and I dare say he wouldn't like to be dead, leaving Leliana and Ferelden without him. The land needs Alistair!" One boot off, the other was forgotten as Gwyneth straightened her back, fixing Morrigan with the fiercest glare she possessed.

"It needs you! That idiot would lose his 'darling' anyway, he cannot stay with her and be the king he is intent on being, now that you have gone and convinced him it is his solemn fate." The witch's eyes were sparking hotly in anger. "You are set to be his queen, I think you a fool for it, but now you are just going to throw that plan away to waste your life?" Morrigan had never expected that Alistair would sacrifice himself, but her worry for her friend made her temper erratic, and as always the other Warden was the one to suffer under her wrath.

Gwyneth was ready to start shouting back, but she clenched her fists, eyes held tightly closed, voice even and careful. "I know you may not understand this, but it is not a waste. I was born into a legacy of power and prestige, but it also carries responsibility to the land I call home. Do not mistake me, I've no wish to die, but I would do whatever I need to, if it would make Ferelden safe from the darkspawn."

"There will always be some looming threat. Will a Grey Warden be expected to die every time? None of you asked for the sacrifice demanded of you." Morrigan leveled her gaze. "I offer you a way out. A . . . ritual, performed tonight, before we are on the march and it becomes impossible." Now that she'd spoken the words, she felt the tightness in her shoulders easing away.

"Just what sort of ritual is this?" Gwyneth was immensely wary. She trusted Morrigan, of that there was no question, but no matter the bond they'd formed, dark spell work was still dark spell work. Yet, even for that worry, the chance to assure her own survival was as tantalizing as cold, clear water to a wanderer that had been lost in a dry, cracked desert. Her words of duty weren't a lie, but Gwyneth had never wanted to perform that duty through self sacrifice, no matter what she told others.

"It is old magic. From a time before the Circle of Magi was created. Some would call it blood magic, but I think that means little. It will be of no cost to you." Her haphazard bun of black hair left a few pieces framing her face, the lashes beneath that fringe just as dark and the eyes below carrying that shadow to completion.

Through her teeth, Gwyneth's voice seeped through, so soft as to be nearly inaudible. "Nothing comes without a price."

"Perhaps, but that price need not be so unbearable. What I propose is this: convince Alistair to lay with me. Here, tonight, and from this ritual a child shall be conceived within me. The child will bear the taint, and when the archdemon is slain, its essence will seek the child like a beacon. At this early stage, the child can absorb that essence and not perish. The archdemon is still destroyed, with no Grey Warden dying in the process." Morrigan's offer came out in a rush, as if she feared that to stop would mean she'd never finish.

Immediately Gwyneth was pacing the room in her agitation, movements lopsided with one boot on. "What? That is your plan? Are you insane?"

"Calm down and think about it." Morrigan moved with her, never losing the other woman's gaze.

"I . . . I don't need to 'think about it'! This is insanity, it's depraved! No . . . j-just no, Morrigan! Absolutely not!" Gwyneth's pallid cheeks were warmed with the color of her shock.

The mage took a daring step closer, and placed a hand at Gwyneth's shoulder. When they had first met, she would've balked at such contact, she'd seen no use for all the touching people engaged in. Now she saw what value it may have had. Morrigan lowered her voice, the tone strangely calming. "Is that what you really think, or is it jealousy that makes you say that? Is it that you cannot bear the thought of Alistair and I lain together?"

Gwyneth pulled away from Morrigan's touch as if burned, head turned so she didn't have to look at her. "Don't be disgusting! Alistair is like a brother to me, I have no interest in who he sleeps with!"

"I was not speaking of him." That soul grasping stare again, eyes almost like those of a predatory cat.

All at once, Gwyneth realized that she knew. Here she'd been doing such a marvelous job of hiding her inappropriate feelings for the other woman, and that damn mage . . . she knew. The noblewoman swallowed nervously, trying to laugh and wave off the suggestion, but it was true enough and there was nothing for it. Turning to the brunette she looked at her intensely, waiting, hoping and dreading for some sign that she was not the only one to feel that way. On Morrigan's face there was only an almost uncharacteristic pity.

"Gwyneth, I cannot give you what you would wish for."

And there it was. How long had she been waiting for that, and why didn't it hurt as badly as she thought it would? Because it was already over and she knew it.

The Chantry would have condemned them both if they gave in, and even those who did not agree would have seen it as unnatural and certainly unacceptable for nobility. Gwyneth knew of noblemen that married and had other men to attend to their needs, but it was always meant to be a secret. She had never thought anything like that would happen to her, but it wasn't because Morrigan was a woman, it was because she was Morrigan. Still, in the end, it was nothing more than a dream. That realization was far more bitter than sweet.

There were no tears of disappointment, no tell-tale pout to Gwyneth's mouth, just a nod of her head. "Yes, I know."

Morrigan told herself it was better like that, to be assured that you were meant to live without the worthless trappings of 'love' Still . . . No. No, I am not going to do this. She could not give in to the allure of her foolish emotions, but she cared for Gwyneth, and that alone was a rarity and she would protect it with everything she had.

"I know you do not wish to die. There is no need Gwyneth. Here at the end of all our travels, let me be the one to carry this burden. I would see you live, there is a greatness in you that even I am not blind to. Do not ask me to stand by and watch that flame be extinguished, because I will not." Again her hand was on the other woman's shoulder, fingers capable of so much magical power, now merely lain upon the clothed skin of another person. "There are things in this world that should be preserved."

Both of them knew Morrigan wasn't talking about a 'thing'.

"I . . . I can't." Gwyneth was facing the window, watching the guards move about in the courtyard, their armor glinting with the flashing of distant lightning. Already she felt her dismissal fading, even as the storm drew nearer.

"After tonight we need not speak of this again, I will face the horde at Denerim with you, and then I shall be gone. I will leave and you will not follow. This child will be mine to raise, and I shall do so only to preserve the Old God that was. Do not fear that some darkspawn deity will return to reign terror on Ferelden, I will make sure of that. All I ask is to be left alone, and in that it will be better for you. You will not have to see me, or think of me and what happened tonight any longer. Put it from your mind." Her words were seductive in their low lilt and Morrigan knew it.

Gwyneth yanked the one boot off, throwing it to land with the other in her last bit of pique, not caring if the servants saw her wandering the halls with bare feet. With that action, her fierceness bled out from her, and she took a deep breath. Gwyneth knew what the mage offered was indeed wrong, she knew she should say no.

"I will go speak to Alistair."

There were no more words between them that night.


Morning had come, and with it, the grand march to Denerim. Over three days journey, and they were there, tired but unable to rest.

The archdemon became visible once they crossed the last ridge before the great gates, a swooping winged terror, black against the backdrop of those roiling red and grey clouds.

A lifetime's worth of two hours had seen the mixed army of the Grey Wardens, dwarves, elves, mages and men from every corner, storming the besieged capital. Now at last there was breath before another plunge as the group had fought their way to Fort Drakon, the blackened tower hanging over all the city as its tallest structure.

Fighting off the darkspawn generals was laborious work and the end of it saw the ever slimming group stood before the dark doors of Fort Drakon. The place had never been a very welcoming sight, it wasn't intended to be, then it was even worse. Many statues sat on the stairs and the landings, their gazes falling on the miniscule group below their stone eyes.

Riordan's broken body lay on the cobbles, where it had fallen after his failed battle with the archdemon and Alistair had to fight not to look. His blood was impossible to discern among the life fluid of the all the hurlocks, genlocks and shrieks that were little more than torn carcasses now.

The senior Grey warden had failed, the afterlife claiming him before he could finish the archdemon. A moment was set aside in Alistair's thoughts, for remembrance and grief of the fallen Riordan, but it had to pass quickly. There was no more time for grief and sorrow, they were at the end.

Behind him, the collection of elven archers, mostly Dalish with some from the city, stood ready. They had been the best bet, able to keep the darkspawn at bay long enough to give the future king and his group enough clearance to press through. The one amongst them named captain nodded his head at Alistair.

Gwyneth stood beside him, leading as she always had since that fateful day at Ostagar. Now, however, they shared that burden, either automatically or if she had purposely done so, Alistair didn't know, but leadership belonged to both of them that day.

He took in a deep breath, the massive double doors already opened. An oppressive heat blanketed them. The city was burning and soon the tower would as well. For a moment the Grey Warden was paralyzed, his booted foot halfway up that last landing.

Then Gwyneth's gloved hand was at his back, and she was sending him an encouraging smile. There were no words with it, but there didn't have to be, that glance was enough. It said 'You can do this, you have to do this.'

Suddenly he was back at Ostagar, the bridge before the pair of them, as King Cailan's army battled the horde. It had been Gwyneth frozen then, a girl taught some tactics by her father, but never thinking she'd be in an actual battle. Alistair had put his hand on her shoulder and offered her a kind smile of support. It was all that was needed and she'd moved forward, just as he did now.

One foot and then the next, carrying him into the tower, Wynne and Zevran behind him.

Gwyneth suggested they bring Leliana in case the 'spawn had set any traps, but Alistair wouldn't have it. Maybe it was selfish, but he was going have just that one thing. Leliana wouldn't be put at risk before the archdemon. Gwyneth had protested, but Alistair stood firm in that and eventually they had agreed to bring Zevran for such a task.

It seemed he might have been the better choice after all. They had the elves for their ranged combat to replace the immense skill Leliana had with a bow, and the assassin was excellent for scouting ahead for any traps that may have lain in wait. Wynne's skills at healing were unmatched, and that alone bolstered their morale. Together, Alistair felt as confident as he could.

As they made their way through the tower, floor after floor, they finally reached the doors leading to the roof.

"This should be fun." Zevran flicked his hair back, face set.

"I walk through this field of darkness, knowing that the Maker's light shall embrace me once more, either through victory or death. To my end I go, my heart full of hope." Gwyneth's voice was low and precise, her high born Ferelden accent both posh and rich, lending a gravity to the words.

Wynne smile at the woman. "I did not realize you were that religious, my dear."

The younger woman shrugged. "Oh, I'm not, but now is as good a time to start as any."

"So shall it be." Alistair added, the last line of that particular prayer, a devil-may-care grin sent to the tall red-head beside him.

With that they opened the doors and stepped out onto the roof of Fort Drakon.


A burst of purple flame, dark and immensely hot seared the tiles before them, screams erupting from the soldiers that battled the massive archdemon. It was making short work of them, but as soon as the Grey Wardens were near, it stopped to look at them.

Milky white eyes focused on those that shared its tainted blood, an ungodly golden glow in its slitted irises. Gwyneth shivered, frozen for a moment as she was caught in that unholy gaze. She felt like the archdemon somehow knew exactly who she was, but that wasn't possible . . . was it?

A bloated dragon's body was before her, the skin a hideous mottled mix of black and sickly purple, and yet there was a voice in her mind. It almost sounded human, and she could, nearly make out the words. She felt like, if it were possible, the archdemon would've smiled at her.

With recognition it roared, swiping the men behind it away with one strike of its tail, and turned to charge its bulk towards the newcomers. With that movement, Gwyneth broke herself free from her moment of shock.

"Come on then, you ugly bastard!" Gwyneth screamed, weary of all of it and anxious to see it end. Her twin blades were out, the Thorns of Dead Gods harkening to her with the heavy enchantments on them. She could feel magical heat flare up on their silverite surface, a spell from Wynne that added flame to all of their weapons.

The rooftop rumbled with the movement of the archdemon and it reared up, roaring and thrashing at all those around it. Darkspawn flooded out of the other doorways of the roof, and their shrieking and growling added to that of their great leader, blending into a horrid cacophony. Arrows flew about the companions, the elves quick to unleash their skill on the foul creatures.

Alistair bashed his shield into a hurlock, an alpha of his kind by the gruesome decorations on his armor, skulls clanking against the plates. The blonde let loose a battle cry of the Templars, of whom he had once shared an affiliation in all but vows and the drinking of lyrium. Around him, the darkspawn wailed at the effect of the holy smiting the cry had caused. He looked up to the tainted dragon that was making an effort at flying.

The archdemon was having difficulty getting airborne. One wing had been damaged by the beast's fight with Riordan, but the other was functioning well as it lifted itself only to fly back down to make a sweep at a group of elves, killing them with its weight.

"Zevran, get that other wing! We need to keep that thing grounded!" Gwyneth cried out, spinning her body in time to move away from the wild axes of a genlock. She whirled both blades about and decapitated the thing.

"As you wish!" The elven assassin grinned wildly, clearly enjoying himself despite the potentially fatal danger the fight represented. He bounded across the roof, leaping over a hurtling shriek, its sharp cries of dismay following him as he landed on the other side of it, still running with a litheness inherent to both his race and skill.

The archdemon opened its razor sharp maw as Zevran approached, purple flames erupting from the great beast's mouth. With a roll to the right the assassin had thrown himself to the ground, the heat of the dark fire searing his back painfully, though he was still able to fight. A more pleasant warmth suffused him, and he knew without looking that Wynne had healed him.

He was up quickly, and leapt atop the blighted dragon, using the lowest end of its jagged tail as a jumping point. He took his daggers and cut into the sinew at the top of its wing. It roared and thrashed, Zevran thrown to the ground during the wild movements. He barely had time to get out of the way of those nasty rear talons.

"Now! Get it now!" Gwyneth was all but shrieking, eyes crazed in her fever for victory. Everything was so desperate, success hanging on but a thread.

The companions and remaining elves threw everything they had at the archdemon. The battle had turned in their favor, in what felt like an eternity, but it had been mere moments. Gwyneth shouted in triumph, but as the archdemon's head came up again, her face was transformed by a snarl of rage.

"No! Gwyn, no!" Alistair's voice, full of panic and worry, fading amidst the roaring of the woman's own blood.

Her companion's shouts were left behind as she ran, both blades ready. No thought of survival followed her, Gwyneth's mind consumed by the red haze of her hatred for this thing, that had caused Cailan's death, and the ruination of her country.

The archdemon opened its mouth as if to swallow her, but the Grey Warden fell to her knees, painfully skidding on the slick tiles. A roar from the blighted dragon made her head ring but the blades came up, slicing into the beast's neck as Gwyneth slid beneath it. Blood poured out, washing over the Warden's body and she rolled out from under the archdemon's long neck as its head came crashing down. Shrieking the woman stood on legs shaking with adrenaline.

"Just die!" She screamed and drove both short swords into the archdemon's head. A harsh and painful surge of power came up around her, and it was the last thing she felt before darkness claimed her.