Back in the days, about six years earlier…
"You can come out of there."
Morrigan gave a silent curse, surprised at the sudden words of the girl through the silence.
How could she have heard me?
It was ridiculous. Why was it just impossible to go out of camp in the middle of the night, walk for half a mile with hopes for a quiet midnight bath in the lake without running into one of her foolish companions who had gone to the exact same place to…well, just cry? Cry like a little girl. How befitting that it would be her of all people.
It was my own mistake.
Indeed it was. She had had the chance to turn around unnoticed. For whatever accursed reason, curiosity had gotten the better of her and made her stay in the bushes and watch the Chantry girl's whimpering in the night.
"I said 'You can come out of there'! I can hear you there in the bushes."
The words broke into her thoughts. Well, she got what she deserved…
With a sigh Morrigan got out of her little hiding place and stepped forward. "I have to admit: 'tis quite a surprise that you would be able to hear anything through this pathetic wailing of yours," she said, careful to pour as much disdain as possible into her words. Better not make the girl hope for any sweet-talk here.
Leliana sighed. "Oh great. It's you." Her voice was fragile, even if she tried not to sound like someone who had just cried her heart out. "What do you want here?"
"Well, actually I came for bath. And it very well seems as if you are doing your best to make sure the lake does not run short on water."
"So you decided to hide in the bushes and gloat and now that you've been found out you resort to mocking and insults. How very mature of you, Morrigan!"
"If discussing maturity is what you wish: you may want to stop the sobbing, girl." With satisfaction Morrigan noted the first signs of irritation on the girl's face. Good. "And yet I do admit: 'tis oddly amusing to see how that annoying 'Cheery little Chantry girl'-facade of yours finally turns out to be as faked as I imagined."
Indeed in the few weeks since they had first met, Leliana had shown little more than awful silliness and superficial happiness, both reeking of lies. The more time she spent with that fool, the more Morrigan had hoped to tear down her disguise and see what a pitiful little nothing hid inside that shell. "And what might have brought you to tears, girl? Does the true world outside your little chantry be less of a fairy-tale than you imagined? Does the people's misery we came to witness on our way finally make you realize the futility of your beliefs? Or do you just miss your fancy Orlesian shoes?"
Leliana breathed heavily – as hurt as angry, surely. "You…wouldn't understand."
Morrigan laughed out: "Oh, would I not? What profound pain could possibly ail you?"
"A love once had and now lost forever," she blurted out and immediately realized that she didn't want to. As if to cover that up she added defiantly: "Something that you will never comprehend, Morrigan."
Of course. It is always the same with you fools.
"Oh yes. You do find me at a loss here for 'tis indeed something I will never comprehend. Because, unlike you, I do not believe in illusions – except those that I myself create. For love is nothing more than that, girl. Passion, desire – that is the true core of it. By adding the ridiculous notion of 'love' all you people do is make it soft. Love is not a feeling, girl, 'tis a disease eating you from inside. Love is weakness."
There was a moment of silence until Leliana rose up and looked her straight in the eyes: "That's really what you thing, no? Oh, Morrigan, how I pity you." And annoyingly there was indeed compassion on her face, not anger. "I pray to the Maker that one day you will break out of this lonely cage of fear that you've build for yourself and that you will find true love. On that very day, you will witness with your own heart that it's not weakness that comes with it but strength."
Oh, this is just too easy.
"Oh, really? And tell me, girl: How strong will I be? Strong like you right now? Crying myself to sleep like a babe? Oh, what a fool I am to forsake such grandeur!"
Leliana shook her head sadly. "You don't…"
"…understand?" Morrigan laughed wholeheartedly. "Maybe 'tis so. Maybe one day your puny little tears will turn out to be a devastating poison against the darkspawn. But until then I feel comfortable by presuming that this…" she pointed to Leliana, "…is just what it looks like: a pathetic, helpless girl. And whatever story is behind that, I am confident that this 'lost love' of yours is far better off without you."
That obviously stung. Morrigan could literally see more tears forming in the girl's face. Her voice was trembling.
"You know, Morrigan? I take that back. I will not pray for you finding true love. Because despite your cruel and hateful character, you are a human being and this means you will find love eventually, whether you believe it or not." She made a pause to wipe away a tear which just crawled down her cheek at what – for her – must be the worst moment. "What I will pray for, however, is that when you find that special person – that person who means more than anything in the world to you, the one who will make you regret all the things you said tonight – that this person will be taken from you in one way or another. That you will experience the pain and loss. That you will finally see what strength this love brought you…when it is gone.
"And when that moment comes, Morrigan," her voice was but a defiant whisper now, "When it comes and when your heart breaks, then you will beg that it's me sitting in the bushes and no one else. Because trust me: If you move on like this I'll be the only person left who will, despite your behavior, still feel any pity for you."
Surprised at the outburst, Morrigan still met her gaze in what she hoped was cold ignorance: "Rest assured, girl, if that day should ever come, you can shove your pity up your arse, because you will undoubtedly be the last person I would be looking for."
Chapter 4
Everything burns
"This is the place."
Merrill's little voice pierced through the dark mist of her gloomy thoughts, bringing Morrigan back to a not particularly less grim reality. She still felt dizzy and light-headed as she became aware of her surroundings, still shaken to the core by that which should not be, but of course was.
She is back.
If nothing else, it was a simple point. And yet it entailed a terrible baggage, threatening to crush her: fear…and anger.
After she had heard the whole story in every detail again and again (the Dalish had taken their sweet time with moving out), her first reaction was to try directing all her anger towards Merrill – the girl who had done the deed. She had summoned her back. For that alone she wanted to curse her.
It was a frustrating and fruitless effort, though. Yes, the girl had done what she had done knowingly and out of free will, but that proved nothing beyond the already well-established fact that despite her knowledge in magic, the elven girl was a fool, playing with fire, unaware of the full consequences. Being angry with a fool for acting foolishly was like hating a fish for swimming – utterly pointless.
Her careless nature will be her demise someday.
After that, she had tried to concentrate the wave on anger on this Hawke-person Merrill had named. Yet, what had he done except fulfilling his end of a bargain, which had provided him with his dear life? He had even less of a clue what he was doing and acted bound by honor.
How does Mother always find people like that?
So, no: she didn't blame him for doing something that she, too, would have expected of him had she been in a similar position like Flemeth.
Only that I'm not.
Splitting a part of her self off as a backup-plan? She did not have access to this kind of magic. And given the true nature of her mother, she was not sure if she ever would.
I only have this one body to go with…for now.
But now as they had arrived at the place of Flemeth's resurrection, finally, it had dawned upon her, who should be the rightful target of all her anger: herself. For letting her guard down like that. For being taken aback by something that she knew was bound to happen.
And for feeling afraid at the moment that she had heard that it was in fact true.
She is back. I knew it. And still l it makes me shiver.
"Morrigan?"
She blinked as Merrill's voice reminded her where she was. That she had insisted to come here. For whatever reason.
Wordlessly she stepped closer to the stone, an altar of Mythal as Merrill had explained.
Resurrected at the site of an ancient goddess. Of course.
As her fingers carefully touched the cold stone she wondered once again what had made her so curious to go here. What was she hoping to find? Traces of magic? Oh, there were plenty of those here, no doubt, but finding anything even remotely connected to her mother would be like looking for a needle in a haystack. The Veil was thin here – no doubt that any particular traces of Flemeth's doing would be long lost among a sea of arcane energy.
So what else?
Closure? Ridiculous.
Signs? She could only laugh at the mere idea that Flemeth would have left anything that might give an indication of her plans.
Think! You need to clear your head. Cold calculation – that is what you're looking for. Getting out of this fog.
"Look! It's still here."
Morrigan turned around and saw Merrill picking up something.
"It's broken though. That's too bad. It looked…nice, I think," she added nervously as she gave the amulet to Morrigan. The witch stared at it in wonder.
"Such a small thing…" she murmured to herself. Flemeth had outdone herself with this one. She had not seen it coming in the least. It was a foolish feeling, but still: holding the amulet in her hands, seeing it broken into pieces – it finally made things real. Of course she had known, deep in her heart, that despite the best effort, the Warden would not be able to kill Flemeth for good. Of course her mother would have a way out. And of course Morrigan had prepared for that moment.
Only: Up until today she had assumed that she had gained a head start. That they had bought her time to prepare for the inevitable.
But if Merrill's information was correct they had resurrected her shortly after her supposed 'death' – buying her exactly nothing. On the contrary: Flemeth would have about six years. Six years, in which she might already have reached out and gathered information about her rebellious daughter. Six years to prepare. Six years to find a trace. To scheme and search for a weakness. Six years to learn…
Leliana!
It was such a simple thought.
And it hit her like running into the brick wall that she knew had to be there, somewhere in the dark fog. Which made the impact not the slightest bit less painful.
Blasted! If she knows…
She could feel all the color leaving her already pale face. If Mother was out for vengeance, if she planned to hit her hard and unprepared, then…
"We have to go back," Morrigan whispered.
"What? What do you mean 'back'?" The girl sounded surprised.
"Back to Kirkwall."
"To Kirkwall? But…we just…I thought you were looking for something…" Merrill's voice only reached her ears partially while her mind was already racing.
'This will be your tomb'.
"Morrigan, why…why are we running?"
"I am running. What you do is your very own business, girl."
She had intended to sound cold, but at her momentary state she could not help but letting her anger and irritation drop into her words. She had no time for any foolish conversations, so the anger was – at least in Morrigan's book – justified.
But that was not the whole of it. Nor was it the fact that they had been making haste for hours on their way back, barely allowing for any short breaks, just switching between a trot and actual running. Her legs hurt, her muscles ached and she could already feel the blisters under her feet. So yes, she was exhausted and tired and out of breath, which did not help to improve her mood either. And yet, that was not it either.
Because even more annoying than all of that were all those thoughts constantly racing through her mind at the speed of a lightning.
For one, Merrill's question was not entirely unjustified: She could not know for sure that something was indeed amiss and that Leliana was in any immediate danger. She could have read the signs wrong, which – admittedly – had already happened at least once in the past few days.
For all I know, everything is alright and I am just overreacting. Maybe she is not planning anything. Maybe she doesn't even know about me and her.
But could it be mere chance? Leliana's dream, the warning that she, Morrigan, would be her end, all happening right here at Kirkwall, the very destination to which they had planned to travel together, but would be separated during their own personal tasks?
Just long enough for Flemeth to make her move.
If indeed Flemeth had learnt of their connection – through the ravens they used or whatever dark ways she might have – she could've stricken at Leliana even in Orlais or during her one of her lone journeys, of course. But doing it here, while Morrigan was nearby and yet out of reach to prevent anything from happening…it sounded just too perfect.
Too much like something Mother might do.
She gave a silent curse for absentmindedly giving her that title. Even if she had been the only person Morrigan had ever known that remotely resembled something like a parent, "Mother" was not a title this wretched, vile creature could ever earn.
And yet she will pretend to be one when it's done.
Because when she came back to find Leliana…gone, Flemeth would not even admit that it was petty vengeance. No, she would sell it as a lesson. From a mother to her child.
'You could not protect this bird either, see?'
The mere thought was maddening, infuriating, clouding her mind. If this was true, she had been outplayed like a fool from the beginning. Had the dream been Flemeth's doing? Was the pirate wench part of it, too? It was possible, wasn't it? Flemeth could be very persuasive manipulating people into acting the way she desired – and Isabela struck her as the kind of person who did not even need much persuasion, except a few coins.
Or am I just seeing enemies where there are none?
…and amidst all these confusing, distracting, troubling fragments there was also one other notion that did not entirely escape her mind: the simple fact how, from moment to the other, Leliana had once more started to mean everything. The moment she had left that accursed city, she had decided to not return at all, willing to leave her for good. Or had she not?
She made me feel weak.
That had meant something in that moment, which seemed an aeon ago. It had meant that Flemeth had been right. But now?
Now I'm running to get the weakness back.
Where was the logic in that? Why would she do that? Why expose herself like that and admit a weak spot when all her life she had been brought up to avoid that?
Because that's what makes me different from her.
As the thought struck her she stood absolutely still for a moment, unable to move. It was true: Being with Leliana had taught her more about herself than Flemeth had ever been able to – and if she lost her, she would lose an invaluable part of her self, something that had been her very own and not something that was a result of Flemeth.
"Morrigan?" Merrill's faint voice rang in her ears abruptly ending that line of thought.
"What?" she snapped, half expecting yet another unnerving triviality she just couldn't bear at the moment. "What do you want, girl?"
"There…there are people on the road. A lot of people."
Merrill had turned out to be right.
At first sight they had suspected that the caravan of dozens and dozens of carts filling the main road might have been the Dalish on their move, but as they approached there had been no doubt those were in fact humans. Easily more than a hundred of them counting the children, as there were whole families on the move. These were, of course, no merchants traveling together for a safer journey. No, they were city folk. City folk on a move. In haste. And most important: Moving away from Kirkwall.
They had been reluctant, fearsome even, when the two women had shown themselves on the road. Even now, as they were facing one big-nosed man of middle age, the ragtag group of wanderers – or more likely: refugees – remained skeptical and Morrigan noticed anxiety and utter fear on many of the faces staring at them right now.
"So you are all leaving Kirkwall?" Merrill asked, unnecessarily, with wide eyes.
She had taken over the conversation when making introductions had proven two things: for one, Morrigan was really not good with people, especially not right at the moment. And secondly: The citizens on the run had proven to be more afraid of her than of the girl. When people were more intimidated by your presence than by a Dalish woman out in the wilds, that was a very distinct sign that you would better tried to calm down and hold your breath. Because even if most of these people nervously holding their daggers, clubs or bows looked like they had never in their life used any of these weapons, someone might still make a mistake. And when the odds were one hundred against two people – well, it was a clear case of 'strength in numbers'.
However, Morrigan did not in the least feel like calming down. The mere presence of this scared horde of people fleeing the city could only mean the worst.
But what?
What could Flemeth have possibly done that would frighten off a whole city? She made a grimace when she noticed the mistake in that question, for there were few limits of what that woman might have done. It came down to the 'Why'.
"Yes…serah," the man stammered, obviously not sure of how to address a Dalish. "We've been on our feet for hours."
"But why? Why now? I mean…it's almost dark. Are you…running away?" Merrill had problems wrapping her head around things. Quite often so, Morrigan mused.
And it will only get worse, girl.
The man stared at her blankly. "What do you mean? Haven't you heard…?"
"Heard what?" Morrigan snapped at him, instantly causing him to cringe. "Speak up, you fool! 'tis not so hard to comprehend that two women out in the wilds might not be up to the latest city gossip, is it?"
"The mages…the templars…" And suddenly he started blurting it out all at once, with some helpful reminders from the people around:
"…fighting all night…"
"…Orsino and Meredith, they are…dead, they say."
"…mages are out of control."
"…looters all around…"
"…Kirkwall's in ruins…"
It was hard to make any sense of it at all, yet from what she could gather it sounded as if a war had broken out inside the very city walls.
Mages and templars. It is always the same story, is it not?
But still, this time it was different. The two groups could be at each others' throats all the time for all that she cared, but the fact that Leliana might be somewhere inside that paralyzed her.
Wait…what?
Somewhere inside the unintelligible sea of voices all blabbering at the same time, she had heard something…
"What did you say?" she shouted at the woman, whose voice had stood out of the current of speech, not because of its sound, but because of its content. In an instant the voices around went silent. "Repeat, woman! Now!" she barked at the frightened girl, hoping that she might have misheard.
It is a bad time for hopes and you know that.
"I…I was saying that…that it all started when…when they…The chantry…it is…gone. There was an explosion…"
…and then they were all gone. All the voices suddenly cut off by the nothingness in her head. She stood there, frozen to her core, oblivious to all the chattering around her. There was no sound, there was no breathing, there was nothing. It had all been taken away from her at the sudden realization that…it all had been taken away.
The chantry.
A single thought in her otherwise numb mind.
An explosion.
The dagger that had just pierced her heart felt cold.
Her.
She could make out Merrill's voice, distant as an echo miles away. The girl was asking something about a person named 'Garrett' or something. It did not matter.
'You could not protect this bird either…'
She had not even noticed how she had moved away from the caravan. Her legs did what they wanted. Like walking in trance she moved down the street, past the carts and staring faces. Towards the city.
'You could not protect this bird either…'
Even after all these years the one thing Morrigan remembered most vigorously about Flemeth was that mocking laugh. The laugh of an ancient being, mocking her, a mere mortal for all the stupidity, all the foolishness, all the naivety in her little, little head.
'You could not protect this bird either…'
"Morrigan!" Merrill again. Morrigan did not even want to look at that fool, but did nonetheless. "Listen to me: Maybe – maybe she was not…"
She shot her a glance that silenced the girl instantly.
Of course she was.
It was foolish to assume otherwise. Leliana had been in that chantry, she just knew it. There was no doubt about that.
And no hope.
Suddenly, she spread her arms wide out because, ironically, right at this moment of utter numbness a thought had pushed its way through the Nothing. Something she should have thought about hours ago. Something that might have saved her some time. Despite the fact that it would not have made any difference, it had still been a foolish mistake.
It matters not for it has been the smallest of my oversights in the past days.
Nonetheless, she still needed to go to Kirkwall. It was the last thing to do. And she needed to go there fast.
So she changed…and flew away from the baffled crowd. And a puzzled Merrill. But that was not important now. Nothing was important.
Disbelief.
That had been the First One: disbelief. Morrigan had not really paid any attention to the chantry during her earlier visit. No matter how tall and magnificent: buildings constructed by humans seldom made any significant impression on her. Especially chantries – what more were they than a monument to humanity's hubris? Trying to approach their god by architectural craftsmanship when, in fact, just creating a big building that scared people into obedience. It was pathetic, really.
But as underwhelming as the structure had been while it was there, as utterly inconceivable was what remained: destruction in its purest, most chaotic form imaginable. The remnants could not even be called "ruins" anymore – it was battlefield without corpses.
Not entirely.
Somewhere, deep down in these piles of stones and rubble and burst concrete – somewhere there would be at least one corpse.
Hers. I am standing on her tomb.
The thought had brought along the Second One: despair.
In retrospect, she could not even fathom what she had supposed to find here other than the very sight her eyes beheld. Some glimmer of hope? Some exit point where Leliana might have escaped?
And yet the hopelessness had struck her down hard. In a most pathetic display of denying the inevitable she had even fallen down on her knees, frantically starting to grab into the debris with her bare hands, searching. It was ridiculous and she hated herself for that – and for the fact that she hadn't even stopped for minutes after realizing the futility of that senseless act.
Incompleteness had been the Third One. And it had been the longest of all the feelings she had raced through at this sad and troubled place. Morrigan had just sat there for – what? Hours maybe? The pitch-black night had seemed to hint at that. It mattered not, for here she was: sitting there on the cold, dark grave of the person who had meant anything and who no longer was. And she asked herself what to feel right now. How could she feel anything when the sole person who had awakened any emotions in her was gone? When that part of her that was better than the Witch of the Wild…was no more?
Morrigan had never learned mourning. There had been no room for that back in the hut with the accursed old hag. And after that? Who had been there to mourn about? Flemeth? Ha! Surely not. The Warden? Possibly. Elissa Cousland had been the first person Morrigan had actually considered a friend, but when her end came, anger had taken the place of grief when that foolish woman had given death the preference over the way out Morrigan had offered her.
Leliana was the only one. The one who mattered.
For the first time in two decades, Morrigan could feel hot tears trying to push their way out, but an instance before that happened, the old vow had proven too strong to overcome. The oath a young girl had sworn a long time ago.
Never. Never will you have my tears again.
…and there it was: the Fourth and Final One.
Hate.
It was a pure thought – and inside all the unfathomable maelstrom of emotions in her had, it felt good to finally find something pure and simple. All the insecurities were washed away by a current of boiling rage as she rose up.
I will kill you.
Simplicity at last. When there was nothing else to do, nothing else to feel – there was still purpose.
I will kill you, Flemeth. And I hope that you will come back once more because than I can kill you again. And again. And again. I will kill you until the end of my days because 'tis what you deserve. A thousand deaths, a million.
Slowly she moved forward, aimlessly, but with mad determination nonetheless. Where to? It didn't matter.
And in between your deaths I will search them. Your daughters. Your slaves. Your legacy. Or whatever you might see in them.
She did no longer question in how far she was any different than the other ones. She just was. Or at least she had been until that gift had been violently taken away from her. Now she was different in another way.
I will search them and they will not even know what hit them. But you will. And one by one they shall all perish at my hands. And then when they are done for and it is you alone, I will go after your precious little amulets and trinkets and what other safeguards you may have built and destroy them one by one. I will massacre all that follow you, annihilate all pieces of whatever grand scheme you are playing at. I will burn your children and cleanse Thedas of every little trace of you. And then…when there's only one left of you - then I will come after you, you foul, abhorrent old whore. And when this world is purged of every little trace you left and you and I finally meet alone for one last time…
Her breath was calm again. Purpose.
…you will learn what real suffering means.
"So, come out!" it was not actually intended to be spoken out aloud, but she no longer cared. If Flemeth was here, watching her, hoping to see her little lesson unfold – then she would be in for a treat. "Come out if you dare."
"What is going on here?"
Morrigan spun around, grabbing her staff in mid-movement before she even noticed that it was a male voice speaking, not the old raspy tone she had prepared for. The silhouette of a man became visible and Morrigan tensed.
A guardsman?
As the man drew nearer, she could make out that he was indeed armored, carrying a sword at his side which was still in the sheath. Not drawn yet, but he had the hand on the hilt. And a few breaths later she recognized his armor. She didn't even need to actually see the flaming sword.
A templar then. Great.
She remained calm. After all, she had dealt with his kind before and if she had been ready and willing to face Flemeth just a few moments ago, she could hardly be impressed by a simple man with a sword, right?
„'tis none of your business," she replied coldly, "which is why you would better be leaving now, boy." she added as he strode closer by two steps, the little pale moonlight revealing a young face with Fereldan features and short blonde hair.
"I don't think so," he proclaimed, his hand still on the sword hilt. "I am a Knight-Captain of the Templar Order and this…" his eyes fixated the staff in Morrigan's hand warily "…this seems very much like my business. Who are you and would you be doing at this place?"
Morrigan gave a short laugh. "Believe me, you really do not wish to go down this road." Part of her, she noticed, was hoping for him to ignore that and play the brave man – a target to hurl all her rage at. It was not Flemeth, but for the time being he would have to suffice.
"Threats do not work well with me, woman", he said. "I'll ask you one more time: Who are you and what would you be doing at this place?"
Fine. Your way then, templar-boy.
"Wait! Stop there. She…she is with me," Morrigan almost gave a start as a tiny voice behind her called out. A silent curse was on her lips – less irritated because it was without a doubt Merrill speaking, but more by mere fact that she had been sneaked upon by the second time within minutes.
If Flemeth were here, you'd be dead by now, Morrigan. Concentrate!
Merrill closed up on her quickly, directing her voice at the templar.
"Please, serah, you have to…," she hesitated for a moment, "Wait, you…I know you, don't I? You are Cullen? Captain Cullen?"
"That's Knight-Captain Cullen," the man grunted, but after taking a look at the girl, there was indeed a hint of recognition. "Oh, it is you. Hawke's girl, right?"
Morrigan, her eyes still fixed on the templar, could picture the girl next to her blushing, as if that were a title of honor.
Foolish, foolish girl.
Even so: The templar did seem to relax after identifying the elven girl as a familiar face.
"Yes…yes I am." Merrill blurted out. "And please believe me, captain…knight-captain, I mean, anyway…please believe me: This woman is not your enemy. She is…a friend of mine…and so she is also…a friend of Gar…Serah Hawke, I mean."
The man named Cullen made a pained grimace. "I am afraid but that might not mean as much as it used to, serah."
Merrill's eyes opened wider, if that was even possible. "What…what do you mean? Garrett, he is not…he is not…?"
"No, no." The templar replied, obviously trying to calm her down. "No, he is alright. At least the last time I saw him. I meant the thing about 'being a friend of the Champion' does not mean as much as it used to, you know."
Merrill looked puzzled. "I…I don't understand."
Cullen frowned at her. "You mean, you don't know? Don't you have any idea what happened last night?"
Merrill shook her head wildly. "No, we were at Sundermount. We just heard about it when we got back. I overheard some people talking about a rebellion…and a great fight in the Gallows. And the Knight-Commander and the First Enchanter being dead. And the chantry being destroyed, but I…"
"Your friend, he destroyed the chantry," he stated, with the same pained expression on his face as before, "The mage. The…crazy one."
Morrigan blinked. 'He' destroyed the chantry? A man?
One of her lackeys? Does she have other mages at her whim now?
Merrill's jaw dropped open as she slowly processed the words. "Anders? He did this? No…no, he would not…" But she stopped there, obviously doubting herself what she was about to say. "By the Dread wolf, how…how…"
She did not listen any further. Their voices became faint background noises as the name echoed back in Morrigan's head. Anders. It didn't ring any bell, of course, but she repeated it silently nonetheless. This would be a name she'd never forget. It would be forever branded onto her heart.
It is the name of the man who murdered her.
"Where is this man?" The sudden sound of her own voice surprised not only herself, but both Merrill and Cullen, too, who seemed to have entirely forgotten about her presence.
"We do not know," the templar answered, eyeing her suspiciously. "Fled the city, I suppose."
"But Garrett…what about him?" Merrill's voice was a squeak, completely overwhelmed by the developments.
"Disappeared, too, I fear." The templar shook his head sadly, compassionately focusing the girl. "I apologize, but given the situation I should not even be talking to you, serah," his glance wandered over to Morrigan "…or you."
"We…I must know where he is. And she…she has lost someone during the explosion, we…we are innocent, captain. Knight-Captain. We were not even here when…" There was a lot of panic in her voice.
Calm down, you fool. That is not what he means.
At least she hoped it was not.
"Please," Cullen made a soothing gesture, "I do not doubt your word, serah." He turned to Morrigan: "…and I am sorry for your loss. We all have lost friends last night." The condolences seemed sincere on the surface, but there was a faint hint of a frown, suggesting that he was trying to figure out whom someone like her might have possible lost here.
I wouldn't have believed it myself a few years ago. Her and me…it was impossible from the start. And yet we made it possible. Anger returned at the thought. Until it was taken away.
"All I am saying is," Cullen continued. "…you two might not be safe in this city. Like I mentioned, I should not even be talking to you, others might be less reluctant. So, for your own safety and out of respect for the Champion and what he did here: You should leave this place. And the city." He looked around suspiciously, as if to reassure himself that no one had witnessed this. "So, I will go now – and so should you. As far as I am concerned, this conversation never happened."
And with that he turned around and vanished in the dark.
For a moment the two women just stood there in utter silence. Morrigan's head was pounding. It was way too crowded inside there: all the new information mixing with the riptide of emotions.
Concentrate.
She did. And with a face like stone, she turned towards Merrill. "Where do we find him?" she said icily. "Where do we find Anders?"
"'tis open."
Morrigan's voice seemed much more controlled than her state of mind felt like, showing no hint of her actual surprise at finding the Hawke Estate unlocked. It had been a long shot after all, going straight to the man's place – one she had only agreed to take after it had become clear that there were, in fact, no other leads.
Merrill seemed convinced that Garrett Hawke must have left a message for her either here or at her place. In Morrigan's mind chances were just as high that the man had left this city in a hurry as long as the templars had their hands full (the circumstances left aside, he had killed their leader after all).
And why not take the additional benefit of getting rid of a little girlfriend who he might no longer find as entertaining as he used to? It works this way, does it not?
"So he might be here!" Merrill proclaimed excitedly (and much too loudly for Morrigan's liking). She might just have cheerily applauded like a little child from the looks of it. No, Morrigan decided, the thought that her man could have just left would obviously never cross her mind.
Fool. Pathetic fool.
Just as the girl was about to grab the doorknob herself Morrigan quickly got her hand in between Merrill and the door. "I will go first. You wait here," she whispered.
"But…the door is open! That means he is in there, doesn't it?"
"Or someone else. Someone who should not be there. I will take a look." She shot Merrill a glance that suggested accepting this as an order and thankfully the girl obeyed reluctantly. After all, there was not exactly much logic to the request, but the girl seemed too intimidated by Morrigan's look to object (if it had actually occurred to her). Even if there was somebody else in the house, why should Morrigan be the first choice to go in there?
Because He might be in there.
It was an off chance, she once more told herself as the door opened and she slipped into the building. Probably he was long gone. Most likely she would search and hunt him down for months. And yet: the whole idea that he could be in there right now, hiding…
Leliana's murderer.
Again the battle started. Ever since their meeting with the Knight-Captain and the revelation of who had done all this to her, she was fighting with herself, the raging anger calling out to her from the bottomless pit of hate, trying to pull her down again. Making me give in again…
People often considered mages to be exceptionally vulnerable because all too many could not resist when the demons called, but Morrigan had learned that any mortal being was subject to its inner demons, mage or not. And, oh, how alluring they could be. If she just gave in to blind hatred, she could do so many, many things to this man. He would make him wish that he had been in that chantry…and she knew ways that this feeling would last days before finally granting him death.
A long and painful death, which will take another day or two until fulfilled. But during that time he'll not have the chance to think of anything anymore. Just to feel…
She violently shook the thought away. No, she needed to focus.
As she silently sneaked through the entrance room, she could make out a bright light coming from the room to the left, right above her, and a smaller one from the main hall where a candle had been lid on the table at the center of the room. Good. Whoever was here was being careless. If it was him, it should be possible to take him by surprise.
Knock him out. And then when he wakes up he will wish he had not…before he starts to squeal like a pig.
Once more it took all her energy to fight down the riptide. To resists the pit. She had to remind herself how giving in to her emotions could have lead to an attack from behind (twice!) at the ruins. She needed rationality. And she needed answers.
As she soft-footed stepped into the main hall, she could make out that the bright light in the rooms to the left was indeed the only other source of light beside this candle. No voices. So it seemed to be a single person.
She pressed herself against the wall, taking a careful peak into the rooms with the light. Candles at the table – and further up where a staircase lead. No sounds of any kind however. With a quick movement she rushed into the room, right around the corner she had already seen empty. With her back pressed against a bookcase, there was no chance for anyone to get behind her. But the room seemed empty.
Only one place left then.
She fixated what lay at the end of the stairs, but could not make out more than what was immediately behind the railing. More bookcases. But the room had to stretch on a little behind that, after all she had seen the light from above in the entrance room.
Once more she suppressed the urge to act on impulse and run right up. After all, that was the place where the intruder would be, right? He would be trapped.
Calm down. You have to be quiet.
She needed to surprise him, overwhelm him if it was indeed Anders. And then…
…then I need him in a good enough shape to question him first.
That was the bitter part, the one where she would need all of her strength to not be overwhelmed and do something stupid once she had Leliana's murderer in her hands. Before he would get what he deserved, she needed to know.
I need to know if he acted under her command.
Not that it would change anything for him, but once her head had cleared a little after the encounter with Cullen and after forcing Merrill to tell her about Anders, she had started to doubt. Could it all have been a misinterpretation? Could the man have acted on his own and not on Flemeth's leash?
Destroying a whole chantry in the middle of a big city to kill one person did seem an odd choice for something Flemeth would arrange. It lacked subtlety and style. And what actual evidence did she have for the Witch of the Wild to be involved at all? The fact that she had been resurrected near this place, years ago? It did seem a bit far-fetched now.
There was the dream, of course.
But even that was a precarious assumption. After all, the dream had mainly consisted of images from Leliana's past. The prison, her captor, Marjolaine…how could Flemeth possibly know about that?
Maybe she didn't? Maybe she just needed to step into it and project an image of you at the end. Careful Morrigan, there is still a lot you do not know about her magic.
But as she carefully moved up the stairs, she could not help but wonder if she had read it all wrong. Had she simply panicked when realizing that Flemeth had been a step ahead of her all the time – resurrected long ago while Morrigan had assumed that she still had some time? Or had she just wanted to connect her mother to all of this? And if so: why?
Do I still crave her attention?
That could not be possible. No, it was foolish. If she had misinterpreted the signs then it had been out of caution. To prepare for the worst. If it turned out to be just a simple mad mage who had done this, then it would make it all the more easy.
But I can kill him only once.
It was a troubling thought. Yet it was still one she had to push aside – at least for now. Her body tensed as she took the last steps…
…but there was nobody. She could not believe her eyes at first, but the room was indeed…empty.
That is not possible!
She took a few steps forward, but there was nothing to be seen. Bookcases, a few cabinets, an ugly statue, but otherwise…emptiness.
Did I miss him? Is he gone already?
Then she saw the huge cask to the left, large enough for a person to hide behind. If she had been too loud and alarmed the person in here…
Carefully she took a few steps towards the cask, holding her breath. But as she got closer, it became more and more evident that nobody was there.
That is not possible. The candles, they've all been lid recently.
Of course, that still left the chance that someone had been here and she had just missed that someone by half an hour or so. It fit in nicely with all the bad timing she was having recently.
Blasted!
She gave an irritated grunt. It would have been too easy, wouldn't it? When she had entered the building the light had seemed like a beacon of hope, showing her exactly where to look, unless…
…unless it's a trap!
She spun around with a curse as the thought hit her…and froze instantly as she stared into the face of a woman. Well, it wasn't exactly the woman that brought her movement to an abrupt halt, but the blade at her throat.
"Careful there, wild girl. This thing is sharp," Isabela's voice was calm and steady – like the hand holding the dagger..
"You!" Morrigan managed.
"Yes, I do get that a lot." Isabela smirked.
She hid in the dark – and you walked right into the light. Fool, fool, fool!
"You might want to reconsider pointing that at me, pirate. As far as I remember you do know what I am capable of," Morrigan spat out, making an effort to remain a cold and dominant posture despite her situation.
"Yes, I know. I also know that a cut throat works on mages as well as on everyone else," she replied. "You can trust me on that, witch. I've witnessed it a few times…very recently. Now you tell me: What are you doing here?"
"I might ask you the very same thing."
"You might. Next time. When it's you holding the dagger. Let's start this again: What are you doing here?"
"I am looking...for someone," Morrigan replied without giving that woman the pleasure of blinking. Or moving a muscle.
"Oh, don't we all? It's one of those times…"
"Isabela!" a tiny voice interrupted her, sparing Morrigan from hearing another without a doubt clever and witty remark. Morrigan's eyes wandered over to the stairs, where Merrill's head appeared.
Of course she wouldn't just stay outside.
"Merrill?" Isabela sounded truly taken aback, "You're alive? Kitten, we…"
It was just the fracture of a second. A little moment of distraction. The split second, in which even someone like Isabela would reflexively feel the urge to turn around towards the one she was speaking to. She noticed that mistake at once, of course, but it had been enough. Just as she turned back to Morrigan the invisible wave of the Burst hit her body and hurled her back, disappointingly not hitting the bookshelf but throwing her to the floor nonetheless.
Before she could even look up again, Morrigan was prepared, her hand sizzling with the sparks of the Lighting.
Who is holding the dagger now, pirate?
She moved a step back so that she had both, Isabela and Merrill in plain view. Not that she expected the elven girl to make a move, but she had been careless one time too often in the past hours.
"'tis, I believe, now your time to give me an answer, pirate wench," Morrigan muttered calmly. She looked Isabela straight in the eyes, not making the mistake to let her out of her sight for a second. "I am looking for a man named Anders."
Isabela snorted. "Now, you are hardly the only one doing that. But what would you want with…," she stopped in mid-sentence as a realization dawned upon her. "Oh, right."
The pirate sighed as she – unasked – rose up again. Morrigan let her when she recognized that the woman had not taken up her dagger again. "Now listen, Morrigan. I am sorry what happened to Leliana, but you…"
"You will not speak her name, whore!" Morrigan's voice was thunderous – a nice touch, considering the lighting pulsating in her finger. Yet the outburst was not intended.
Stay calm. Concentrate.
"…and I did not ask for your pity," she continued in a much colder tone, "I asked for information."
"So that you can kill him? To accomplish what, Morrigan? Vengeance?"
"Justice."
Isabela chuckled humorlessly at something. "Yeah, you people mix that up a lot. Always the one, never the other."
"Stop talking this foolish nonsense and answer the question."
"You know what?" An unusual seriousness was in the pirate's voice. "I don't think I will. 'Stop this nonsense', I mean. And you know why? Because I've had enough of this shit. Anders gets bullied his whole life and decides the best way to deal with that is blowing up a building with a bunch of people who never even lay hands on him. In return, Meredith decides to wipe out all the mages who had nothing to do with that shit. Which leads to Orsino going all blood-mage and killing other people who had nothing to do with anything. So everyone is at everyone else's throats, killing hundreds of totally unrelated people because apparently that is justice. And now you come along and decide to go after Anders. I am sorry for Le…your girlfriend, Morrigan. She was a really, really nice gal. Believe me: I liked her a lot and it pains me to see her end this way. But this will not bring her back. It's just the same crappy story in that same circle of shit."
"No! 'tis different!" Morrigan barked.
"Yeah? How so? Because this time it was you getting a kick in the arse? Because this time it was not a stranger going down but someone that you knew?"
"BECAUSE I LOVED HER!" she shrieked – and then abruptly fell silent as the words echoed through the room.
I…what?
She could literally feel her jaw dropping at the realization of what had just happened.
I…loved her?
The words felt unreal because she had never uttered them in her life. Who had been there to say them, too?
I loved her. I loved her…and I never even told her.
For the second time in the past few hours Morrigan was fighting back tears as a faint voice resonated in her mind. Leliana calling her name. Possibly the last word she had said before she…
I had three years. More than three years. And I never told her how I felt.
She almost wished that someone would say something, but Isabela and Merrill just stood there, aghast at what they had just heard. Even they seemed to notice how utterly foreign these words were to her.
Because I've been brought up to never say them, never feel them. All my life I have fought against becoming what Flemeth wanted me to be. And then I finally met her. The one that changed it.
It was getting harder and harder to hold back the tears.
The one I loved. And I never told her. I am cursed.
She tried to grasp at something. The riptide. The pit. She would have taken any emotion, but this one. But they were not here. No rage, no hate, no vengeance. Just the void. The only truth there was: that something was missing. Something that could not be replaced. And no one there to blame but herself.
She wanted me to say it. And I never did. I always thought the time would come…and now that it did, 'tis too late. Only two strangers to hear the words that were meant for her.
Again she could hear Leliana's voice in her head, desperate as she might have been in that last moment.
She must have known it, right? Even without me saying it…
It was clutching at a straw, nothing more. Sure, Leliana might have known it in her heart. But Morrigan had denied her the chance to hear the words out of her mouth. The words Leliana desired to here more than anything else. The words she had deserved to hear.
Please, she must have known it…she must…
She had failed.
No matter whom she hunted, whom she killed. No matter what she tried to make it right, she had failed. And as Leliana's voice calling her in vain sounded through her mind again she knew one thing: It would never go away.
