I wish I could tell you that was the end of it. That our tragic tale ended with one mistaken night of passion. Obviously, everything life had dealt me was not rubbing it in enough, so naturally this had to come my way.
I had donned my armour, taken it off, shined it, and thrown it across the room about three times that night. The official coronation hadn't taken place yet, but I was effectively... king. I wasn't taking it too well. It was surprisingly easy to snap into character in front of my—subjects (I still hate using that word), but harder to convince myself behind closed doors that I was ready for the rest of my life like this. To be honest, I would have rather faced several archdemons than resign myself to royal duty. I was terrified. Mostly because the life I knew, the life I thought I would have until I died an untimely death, was coming to an abrupt end.
I wanted to seek her out and talk to her. Find some sort of solace that I was missing. No, even then I knew that I was kidding myself. There was no solace to find, only stolen moments to drink up and cling desperately to. Maybe a few more kicks and punches, bruises and battle scars...
As I was clipping on the last plate in my armour for the final time, she appeared at the door. With Morrigan.
"To what do I owe the pleasure?" I said rather dryly. At first I attempted avoiding looking at one, then found myself looking at the other, torn as to whom was more aggravating to have to speak to at the moment.
"Well?" Morrigan said, looking to our companion. She stared resolutely at the floor, her lips sealed tight. Morrigan sighed and turned her hawk eyes on me. "I have a proposition to make."
I was starting to feel like I was caught doing something I shouldn't have; the air was so thick, I was uneasy. "Something tells me I'm not going to enjoy it."
"That depends," Morrigan said, one of those awful grins pulling at her lips.
My danger sense started stirring. "What's going on?" I demanded, turning between the two. Our friend had already turned her back, taking apparent interest in the draperies.
"I did not expect this of you," Morrigan said to her.
"That does not surprise me."
"Will you not tell him? Shall I?"
"Listen, I've had it up to here with everyone talking amongst one another as if I was not in the bloody room! What is this forsaken proposition of yours, Morrigan?"
"Very well, to the point we'll go. As you... hopefully already know, whoever slays the archdemon tomorrow will perish as well. It seeks out the taint and consumes it—specifically the taint within a Grey Warden. Therefore, either one of you will meet your Maker, as it were."
I did know, but only just recently. I had to hear it through another Grey Warden. From out west, of all places. And I had thought all surprises had been thrown my way already; Duncan had touched on the subject once, but he had never actually gone far enough as to explain that little catch in the otherwise promising deal.
I stared at Morrigan, then looked to the other expectantly. She did not turn around.
"There is a way to avoid this, however," the witch continued. "A ritual."
Already I distrusted this plan. Mainly because it came from Morrigan. But I got the feeling I would need to hear this out. "I want her to explain this," I said, pointing at her back. She cringed as if I'd smacked her.
Morrigan rolled her eyes and folded her arms, but I could detect a bit of sympathy on her face. At first I thought it was just something she ate, but I realized that maybe their friendship went deeper than I originally thought. Which is why it must have been so hard for the bravest woman I knew to say: "You're to conceive a child." Her voice was hoarse, like she'd been yelling.
"We... y—I... with?"
"Honestly, what do you see in him?" Morrigan snapped.
At that, she turned on her heel and practically ran to the door. But I wasn't going to let her go that easy—she couldn't just run away whenever she felt like it. She was the one who gave me a spine; I was going to use it. So I ran to the door before she made it there and slammed it shut, her face inches from the threshold. I held the handle and glowered down at her.
"Explain." Even I was surprised at the tone of my voice.
Morrigan made some sort of weird noise akin to a darkspawn gurgling as it died. Really, it was more like a cat purr, but I still squirm when I associate one with the other. "Why, Alistair, anger becomes you."
"Don't ask me to do this," she asked—begged—quietly. Oh so quietly.
Something was telling me I ought to back off and give her some breathing room, but I was just so... First she pawns me off on Anora like it's no big deal, then she insinuates some mating dance with Morrigan will kill a dragon—or that may as well have been what was said. I regretted the words as they left my mouth. "Why shouldn't I?"
I could have sworn I felt her shake, even though I wasn't touching her. Then her silent pause before dropping a tonne of verbal bricks on me filled the air around us. "Everything I did up until this point was in the best interests of the masses. What I do now is selfish."
"Selfish." I snorted. "So your idea of selfish is to pass me off to as many other women as possible?"
"Let go of the door."
"No."
"I'd suggest you do as the lady bids," Morrigan said.
"Let. Go."
"Not until someone tells me"—I grabbed her arm and squeezed as I started to shout—"what you're on about!"
She punched me. Not a slap, or anything women typically do in those tales where the man is made out to be a soulless incubi that all men are supposed to be. A punch. The kind that spin you around and leave you feeling like you've hit the ceiling when you're sprawled out on the floor in a puddle of your own bodily fluids. But I didn't say that's what happened to me.
When I came to, I was still lying on the floor and Morrigan was kneeling over me. "A woman's wrath hath all the fury of the Dark City, do you not agree?"
"Where is she?" I tried to say. It would have been a miracle if Morrigan had understood me. Might as well have had a mouth full of marbles.
"Come. Let's get you on higher ground." Then Morrigan proceeded to swing me around the room like a typhoon until I somehow landed on my bed. Well, not really, but that's how it felt.
She treated me in the most grotesque ways I'd ever been treated. I mean, she was a mage—Wynne used to be able to heal my wounds by flicking her little finger, why couldn't she? While I thought she was going to make tea, she started chewing on the leaves before spitting it out on my face. I kid you not. Right on my cheekbone. Just hawked it on there. I chose to keep my mouth shut, however; a lesson I learned considerably late, given how often I'd shovelled my way into trouble just by flapping my trap.
It was some time before she spoke. "I certainly did not foresee this when I first set out with you two."
I wanted so desperately to ask her what, but I had just challenged myself to a solitary silence contest and I was doing good so far. That and my face was starting to sting something fierce, so it kept me distracted. She looked surprised that I hadn't bitten her bait, so she continued without waiting on my word.
"What I am offering you will not fully approve of in any respect," she said, "but I ask that you consider it in all seriousness, for the life of a valued friend is in question otherwise."
To my relief she produced a basin of water and wiped her chewed-up weeds off my face. "I've rarely heard you so quiet before, Alistair. Did she relieve you of your tongue when she struck you?"
I would have tried a retort, of course, but mentioning her made me feel like someone considerably hefty was sitting on my chest.
"Well, I will take your prolonged silence as an opportunity to explain this properly. She intends to sacrifice herself in order to rid our world of an archdemon, even knowing an alternative. And while you are not worthy of my personal musings, I have come to find an equal in this woman, and care for her as well as you do. Perhaps not to the same extent, but the thought of her throwing her life away when it can be avoided does not bode well with me.
"So the solution is this: leave me with your seed in order draw away the soul of the archdemon, and give life to an Old God."
"What?"
My contest did not last as long as I'd hoped.
Sleeping with Morrigan I could embrace and love compared to playing god and making one. That sounded a lot like a type of magic the Grand Cleric would blow a casket over. And then some.
"It would be born without the taint... an Old God in its purest form. It's an old form magic, very—"
I sat up, forcing her to back away. "You realize who you're asking, don't you?"
"Oh, believe me. I do."
"Then—how—why—"
"And I was starting to like the new Alistair."
"I don't understand?"
"I didn't expect you to. I cannot get any simpler, however; what I require is a Grey Warden's—"
"Censor, censor, censor—"
"If you wish to act like a child, I will speak to you like one. When a man and woman love each other—"
"Love?"
"Enough! You are the only option of saving the country and the woman you presumably love."
I wanted to hit Morrigan and crawl away at the same time. Curious feeling. I realized it was the absolute lowest of shame one could ever get.
"I was always bemused as to how such a woman could fall for someone so simpleminded. Be as it may, I respect her desires, and came to her first in order to secure both your lives. Without this ritual, one of you will perish; I can guarantee you she would do everything in her power to ensure she is the one to fell the beast and give her life."
"Why?"
"Why? She has done everything thus far to secure your life. Saving you from your every mishap, ensuring your seat on your silly throne, arranging a marriage for political convenience and security... Now I am doing what I can to secure hers."
What I do now is selfish.
I'll admit it, I'm dim-witted. I've never tried to convince myself otherwise. Immersing myself in all this information was impossible, but what I could get out of it were the basics: She would die without this; I could try to stop her, but I couldn't take that risk—even then I knew she would find a way to outsmart me. She always found a way out.
"I'm supposed to presume that you bring up this solution now out of the kindness of your heart?" I asked.
"No, of course not. This was determined from the moment we met. The only reason Flemeth rescued you both from the battle at Ostagar was because of the convenience you presented for our ends. In the beginning, it was my only intention to perform this magic, on this very night. I have been waiting patiently for this opportunity. Not once did I suspect I would come to find a friend in all this. Which is why I must impose upon you now—do this for her."
I almost missed out on most of what was said after she mentioned her mother. Flemeth. I felt something queer rise up inside me.
Morrigan motioned to me impatiently. "Well? What say you?"
Of all the horrible endings I could have ever predicted for our doomed romance, I have to say, this would have been one that I'd laugh at and praise my own wild imagination. I had to squeeze my eyes shut to answer. "Yes."
"Wise. I hope you fully recognize the benefits of your decision."
I still had my eyes shut tight.
"I respect that this may be difficult for you, but I do believe it will be much more enjoyable than you might think."
"Please don't."
I waited. Where was that biting remark of hers? She always had one, no matter what came out of my mouth—even if I made animal noises, she would have something to say about it. So the worst decision I made all night was to open my eyes.
She had put the washbasin aside and was leering at me. Ugh, Maker's... she was on all fours, giving me these eyes that looked like a serpent sizing up it's meal.
"What are you doing?" I blurted.
Her face didn't even fall an inch. "What do you think?"
"Right now?"
"Would you prefer time to powder your nose?"
"Don't you... have things to—hey!"
She took off that top of hers, if you could call it that. I immediately looked away, feeling more like I was about to be tortured than serviced, and then she wrapped it around my face, only leaving my nose free to breathe. Now I was starting to think we weren't on the same page about what exactly I'd be doing to save our friend's life. "Do I have to wear this?" I mumbled through the fabric, purposefully drooling on her clothes.
"Lie back and think of Tevinter," she whispered huskily.
I felt her weight lift off the bed, and I was left with the gravity of the situation. I was actually doing this. With Morrigan—my sworn nemesis and rival. How did I get here? How could it all come to this?
The moment I decided I wanted to get up and leave, I felt Morrigan's breath on my leg.
"What are you..."
Suddenly I forgot about everything that had been haunting me. My skin turned to fire, I lost my breath somewhere between my knee and my upper thigh, and soon it didn't matter if it was Morrigan or the woman I wanted or some other girl. I still hate myself for that.
She did things to me I didn't know existed. I'm not sure how long it lasted, but it was long enough for me to go through a tumultuous storm of guilt, pleasure, and anger. Anger at Arl Eamon for ever considering me as a bloody king, taking away the first glimpse of happiness I'd ever had; anger at Morrigan for being so utterly daft to human empathy; anger at her for giving up on us so easy. Marry Anora. Impregnate Morrigan.
The end was a blur, but I distinctly remember muttering someone else's name than Morrigan's. She climbed off of me, panting like she had just taken out a horde of darkspawn. It took minutes to come down and cool off, but as soon as she unwrapped her top from my face, the light of the room made my frustration hit me in the gut like a battering ram. I wanted to take it out on someone.
"We never killed your mother."
I could see Morrigan freeze from the corner of my eye. Already I knew that I had made the wrong decision; the temperature literally dropped in the room. She turned towards me, skirt half done up.
I didn't repeat myself and she didn't need me to. Slowly at first, she walked toward the door. Then she swept her staff into her hands and bolted from the room so fast, I barely had time to weigh exactly what I had just done and what might happen next.
I jumped into my pants, nearly tripping and clipping my head on the edge of the armoire on the way out. I could hear Morrigan's racing footsteps at the end of the hall, and dread ripped through me when I saw sparks of electricity fly from the end of her staff and light up a dark room.
When I burst through the door, Morrigan was standing in the middle of the room, orchestrating a small, fierce blizzard. The paintings were swept off the walls, sheets and drapes were torn around the room, and in the far corner was a small woman, shielding herself from the spell.
"Morrigan! Stop!" My voice was drowned in the din. I rushed forward with the intent of tackling her, stop the magic, but chips of ice sliced at my face as I tried to get close, foiling my plans. Right—I'm a templar, I remember thinking. It took a little more concentration than necessary to think of what I needed to do to douse the witch's spells. The air rippled around us, abruptly choking off the blizzard. Morrigan threw me the most blood-curdling glare before swinging her staff at me unsuccessfully.
It was just enough time. From the corner she hurtled out, knife in hand, lashing out at her friend like the witch was an abomination. Morrigan caught the blow just in time. Although she wasn't much of a warrior, Morrigan could keep pace with knife work. They weaved around each other like they were doing some sort of elaborate dance. I was caught in a trance watching them when it struck me that I should be trying to stop them.
I caught hold of Morrigan's arms and held her back. She struggled against me like a chained lion.
"When did you intend to tell me you failed to kill my mother as promised, sister?" Morrigan shrieked.
The look on her face... That was true guilt.
The witch wrenched her arms from my grasp and stood her ground. "You realize what you have done, don't you? Or did I not explain myself clearly enough when I asked you to end her?"
First her head dropped low, her shoulders slumped—she looked defeated. "We were no match for her."
"So this was your grounds for lying to me? Were you ever planning on telling me, or did you hope I wouldn't find out until Flemeth came back for my life?"
Even I could understand the severity of our crime. Upon finding one of her mother's grimoires, Morrigan discovered that said mother had found immortality—through possessing the bodies of her daughters. This was of course reason enough for Morrigan to ask for help putting an end to her dearest mother's life. I had gone on the trip to the Kocari Wilds to pay Flemeth a visit, the situation described to the party on the way. Somewhere between the ruins of Lothering and Ostagar, the realization struck that even if one legend about this woman was true, then our chances of defeating her were better than all of us sprouting wings and flying off happily into the sunset.
But we pressed on. Our leader could not return to camp, to Morrigan, and revoke her word. So when we met with Flemeth, some words were exchanged—and not on the topic her daughter would approve of. After coming to some questionable terms, of which Flemeth agreed to disappear for a few years and perhaps pay her beloved Morrigan a visit someday, she practically dropped another textbook of her knowledge in our laps and disappeared into the mists of the darkspawn horde.
And in all honesty? I didn't think twice about how immoral it was to lie to Morrigan.
Morrigan advanced on the smaller woman, but she didn't so much as flinch. The witch squared her shoulders. "I would expect this of any other lowlife, but never of you. Do you insult me with a defence?" No words were uttered. "Heed me well, then, Warden—never follow me. If you survive this war tomorrow, take your pathetic life and make sure you never cross me again, for it will be your last."
And that was it. Morrigan stormed out of the room.
Both of us were quiet. Too quiet. Gave me plenty of room to think. What I had just done was irrevocably evil. And that's saying something, considering it involved Morrigan, who I thought of as fairly evil. Nasty, stab-you-in-the-back evil. In this case, however, it was us two Grey Wardens who did the backstabbing on an infamous witch of the Wilds.
"I need to be alone," she said.
"Listen—"
"Please."
So I did leave her. Reluctantly, mind you. Now that I think back on it... I shouldn't have left her alone. Because it was our last chance to spend time with one another. But who we could have been was lost even before we had the chance. If I could, I would have given up almost anything to be Alistair the Miserable Bastard again, because it meant I could have said nug nuts to duty and lived a life beside her. A short one, maybe, but worth so much more.
Once I was locked safely back in my own chambers, I realized I had never even bothered to ask what would become of this demigod or whatever that I had helped create. That was the most horrific thing I have ever done my whole life—partake in a pseudo Blood magic seance and give two farts as to the outcome. I distinctly remember the intention to ask Morrigan about it before battle on the morrow, but in the morning, she was gone. It came as a shock to me, though it really shouldn't have, given her climactic exit the night previous.
No one ever saw her again, and no one took it quite as hard as she did.
