I WILL NOT BOW
Dragon 9:31, August
Mother's grin widened as her hand neared her chest, her heart. Her breath quickened, she looked around like a caged animal. All around her the hut's walls encircled her. More, and more, and more. A guttural growl echoed. She turned towards the source of the sound. Mother's teeth were those of a dragon, and her hand had turned into a claw. When her chest was torn open, she cried in agony.
Morrigan opened her eyes wide in the dark. She breathed heavily, grasping her chest convulsively, and sighed in relief. Her skin was intact, she wasn't bleeding out, but most importantly Mother wasn't there. She cleansed her sweating forehead with a rag, still trembling, but sighed in relief nonetheless.
And at last, Morrigan remembered. She was travelling on the Seabear, the first passenger ship to be put back into service after the Blight. The most part of the money that she, Adrian, and their companions had gained had been used to equip the armies for the final battle against the Archdemon, but thankfully she had saved enough to pay for a single cabin. And now she was sailing towards the Free Marches. Not that it mattered where the Seabear was headed to. All Morrigan wanted was to get away from Ferelden, and to tell the truth she would have passed the rest of her life on a ship, where Mother couldn't reach her-on land, she was a prey easy to reach and trap, on a ship though she was far more difficult to track down, and unless Mother had decided to dragon-jump on said ship, an unlikely circumstance, she was far safer.
If only she didn't hate ships so much.
If only that nausea stopped bothering her.
If only she wasn't responsible for something more than her own life.
The Witch of the Wilds grabbed Flemeth's grimoire, throwing it at the cabin's door in anger. The blasted thing was useless, she could just as well drop it in the ocean. And yet, it was the only link between her past and her present.
Only a few months ago, she was a Witch of the Wilds ready to collect an Old God's soul, ready to get out of it whatever Mother wanted to—she was a companion of the Hero of Ferelden, a woman who could easily have been celebrated as someone who had contributed to the Archdemon's defeat. Now, she was nothing more than a poor wretch on the run from her own mother, pregnant with a child she had no idea what to do with, bearing an unhealthy obsession with a man she herself had driven away. No one could protect her anymore, no one was willing to. What she thought was home had turned into a trap, the woman she considered her mother and the only person worthy of a certain degree of trust, had become her most dangerous enemy. As for her friends... she never had friends in the first place. The people one uses to get to something else are not friends. All she had left was herself, constant nausea that would eventually turn into a now unwanted child, and a life on the run, either on a ship or on land.
Morrigan hated that constant nausea, the omnipresent smell of salt and fish, even the creaking of the wood when the wind howled. She extracted her golden mirror from her bag, examining herself in the magical light she conjured without effort. Her hair, once as shiny as a crow's wing, dutifully taken care of and combed into a tidy bun, was dirty and fell on her shoulders in chaotic locks. Once, she was more than comfortable in her body—now, even though her pregnancy wasn't obvious yet, she felt swollen and heavy.
The cabin suddenly seemed too small for her liking. The salty air of the sea was awful, but it was still better than suffocating. Morrigan quickly dressed up. If she wasn't able to fall back asleep, she could as well pass the night on the deck. Not without an infusion soothing her stomach, though.
She quietly left the cabin, heading towards the passenger cargo compartment. She had left almost nothing in that cargo compartment, except for her herbs—something not nearly precious enough to tempt someone to steal them. While cautiously following the corridor on which the passenger cabins' doors opened, laying a hand on the wooden door whenever the wind made the ship swing, for the millionth time Morrigan heard muffled speech coming from the cabin next to hers. She had seen the couple occupying it; a dark-skinned woman whose revealing, bright outfit had called for unwanted attention more than once and a tan, middle-aged man armed with multiple daggers. They had said to be husband and wife, but in their demeanor there was nothing of the tenderness she had come to witness during the last year. To experience, a thin voice whispered in her mind. Morrigan angrily shook her head, as if that mere gesture could banish the thought of him. He was in the past, he didn't count anymore.
When a particularly strong gust hit the ship, Morrigan stumbled, crashing her shoulder against the door of the couple's cabin. The sound of glass shattering on the floor and a female voice cursing came clear through the door. Aching, the Witch leaned against the door, waiting for the pain to fade away. While she stood there, the middle-aged man harshly addressed the woman.
"Look at that, stupid cow! Your blasted wine ruined the safe-conduct Castillon gave us. You're really good for one thing only. You bribed Castillon into sparing your life by opening your legs, didn't you?"
At first, Morrigan was annoyed to no end.Not another conjugal quarrel, please. One moment later, though, she realized something. Those two didn't look like a couple at all. Which could mean—
"Shut it, Cruz. We will find the fucking tome, I will repay the slaves' loss, and we won't be stuck with each other anymore. Who knows, if the Orlesians will be grateful enough we could even get something more out of it," the woman replied.
Morrigan slowly moved away from the door, keeping herself near enough to eavesdrop. So there was something more about those two. And all that talk about Orlais… she needed a safe place. Protection. Would the Orlesians be interested in whatever the couple was plotting? Could it be enough for her to start a new, different life? Of one thing, she was sure. The man's accent was an Antivan one. She had heard it enough times to recognize it without a doubt.
The man let out a wry laugh. "You better hope you're right. Because if we fail to steal the book, unless you wish to find that Dalish relic that Crow Dix loves to brag about, or the Eluvians themselves, and try to placate Castillon with it, we're both luncheon for sharks, whore. And since you're the last person I want to kick the bucket with, if we fail I'm going to kill you. Of course, not without having you open your legs for me first."
Morrigan distinctly heard both the lasciviousness and the coldness in the man's voice. He actually meant it. Once again, the deviousness of the people outside the Wilds made her sick. Sadly, though, she had to get used to it. The Wilds were not home anymore. Lost in her thoughts, Morrigan wasn't prepared for the woman's reaction—the sound of daggers unsheathed, a sound she had heard so many times, had become familiar enough to her to recognize it without any doubt. And that term: Eluvian. She knew it. Even Mother couldn't follow her into an Eluvian.
"Name my pussy once again, call me whore once again, Cruz, and I swear I'll gut you right there. I can find the damned relic by myself," the woman stated.
She seemed damn serious, too.
Morrigan began to regret having meddled with whatever business those two were conducting. If there was to be an assassination, there would be questions. And if someone saw her standing by the door, she could end up involved. She took a step backward, slowly enough to not be discovered.
"Now now. Behave, whore. Be careful to not turn me on, or—"
The door opened wide. The man, Cruz, had fallen against it with all his weight. One dagger was stuck in his shoulder, and the dark skinned woman towered over him, ready to finish him off. Then, they both turned towards her. Morrigan saw an icy resolve in the woman's dark eyes, and also how she was ready to rotate her wrist and, if needed, eliminate the witness she had turned into.
However, fate decided for them both. In that exact moment, the ship rolled, causing the dark-skinned woman to lose her balance and fall against the man, who promptly took her dagger from her hands. Morrigan also crumbled, far enough to not be dragged into the brawl. The man was seconds away from killing his traveling companion. Also, in a matter of seconds, some of the passengers could decide that, after all, those sounds were something different than the wind throwing something on the ground. If the dark-skinned woman died, Morrigan would never have the opportunity to find out what she really knew about the Eluvians. If someone else found out what was actually happening, the whole matter would be taken into the crew's hands.
Morrigan took her decision. She quickly sent the man into a magical sleep and crawled towards the woman. "Get his feet. I'll push his shoulders. We have to bring him inside." She gestured to the cabin, already moving to do her part.
The other woman eyed her for a brief second. There was a glint of suspicion in her eyes, but as soon as she heard the wood of the stairs creak due to nearing steps she quickly complied with Morrigan's request. In a matter of moments, the two ladies managed to drag the sleeping brute into the cabin. Just in time to avoid being caught, considering how near the sailors' voices seemed.
Morrigan stood near the door, watching her temporary ally tying her partner-in-crime up. The cabin's lights now revealed a woman in her youth, whose eyes were harsh already. The Witch used those precious seconds to try figuring out what could be the best approach to get something out of the woman. Blackmailing her wasn't smart, considering how she had overpowered her opponent. So—
"You could have left me to die, but you helped me instead," the dark-skinned woman began. She stood, staring at Morrigan without any kind of fear. "Since I don't believe in fairy-tales like benevolent benefactors, you either want something from me or..." she took a few steps, still seizing the knife "...he sent you as Cruz's backup, to make sure I was obeying the orders."
The Witch of the Wilds stared back at her. During her year with the Warden, she had learned that people are normally grateful when their life is saved. So had to be this woman. "You are correct, I saved you. I want something in return."
To her surprise, her interlocutor thrust the knife into her boot. While her expression relaxed slightly, the woman answered, "Reasonable enough. And to tell you the truth," she pressed her foot on the tied man's mouth, "I've wanted to beat the crap out of him for a long time. So, yes, you are welcome. " She turned towards Morrigan. "You can call me Isabela. Some call me the Queen of the Eastern Seas, if you prefer." Isabela grinned, obviously amused.
Morrigan twitched her mouth in a sneer. This Isabela was indeed a weird human specimen. Not knowing what kind of person she was talking to made her nervous, so she decided to keep the conversation as short as possible. "I want to know more of that relic Cruz talked about. Is it really connected to an Eluvian?" Morrigan hesitated just a second. "Do you know where it is?"
Isabela didn't bother to hide the surprise all over her face. Now, Morrigan noticed, she was carefully surveying her, almost looking for clues. Behind that pompous introduction, there was definitely a working brain. "You know about the Eluvians. You're dressed like a poor sod, but that's no common knowledge. There's more to you than meets the eye. Who are you?"
Following her instinct, Morrigan held a hand up and called for her magic, keeping it ready to be used. Just in case. "That's not a concern of yours. Are you going to repay me or not?" she snapped.
Isabela burst into a brief laugh. "Now, now. There's no need to be so defensive!" she exclaimed, smiling again. She took a seat, beginning to speak again shortly after. "I know an Antivan Crow, Dix, who claims to come from the Dalish Clan Evune, and that his clan had been chosen to keep an ancient relic safe. According to Dix, his former Keeper, Yevven, had knowledge of the Eluvians, those magic, forgotten portals." She paused, studying her once again. "When Dix joined the Crows, the Clan Evune was still in Antiva, but it was planning to travel south. Towards Kirkwall." Isabela crossed her legs. "I can't guarantee any of this is true. Dix tends to get too big, and would say anything to jump on the stage."
Morrigan listened intently. If only half of that was true, she had a chance to keep herself safe from Mother. A quick doubt crossed her mind. What if Isabela was lying? Figuring out that woman was impossible. Ruthless and humorous at the same time, clever and joking. As a result, there was no telling whether Isabela could be trusted or not. That knowledge would have had to do. "I will make good use of this information," Morrigan declared, holding the door handle.
"Wait," Isabela called, standing. "It's clear that you've heard pretty much everything Cruz and I were saying. Anyone else would be blackmailing me over the content of our conversation. Not you, though. Why?"
Uncomfortable under the scrutiny of those dark eyes, the Witch of the Wilds looked away. She had no desire to answer, and yet the question made sense. She had actually considered that possibility, but of course, she couldn't admit that to Isabela.
Morrigan remained silent, hoping that her interlocutor wasn't persistent.
"You know, whoever you are, it's quite obvious that you're a mage. Maybe you're an apostate fleeing from a Circle." Isabela shrugged. "I don't care. However, if you're searching for a safe haven, you could consider traveling to Rivain. There, even Circle mages are properly treated and enjoy a good amount of freedom."
Before the astonishment could show on her face, Morrigan turned the handle, leaving the cabin, and Isabela, behind her. Why all that kindness? Why had she let her go alive, even after she had discovered her secret? Morrigan quickly closed her own cabin's door behind her, locking it carefully. Maybe she had to watch her back, but at least now she had the chance to avoid a life of misery.
Morrigan had two real options to choose between. A lot more than she had only an hour ago.
