Author's Note: Also certain quotes used in this particular chapter was borrowed directly from Aimo's online comic. So this too belongs to the amazing Bioware writers and Aimo.
My apologies for the lackluster chapter...As much as I've enjoyed writing this tale I'm looking to wrap it up as I am no longer inspired by it. So please bear with me I'll probably return to it later to finish it properly as I should...
Alisa squirmed under the attention of the servants and handmaidens who were attempting to groom her hair. Remaining just beyond the ex-Templar's sight, Morgan watched on feeling both amused and oddly disappointed. A warrior like Alisa was never meant for a life of court politics or intrigues. 'What part of, I do not want to be queen does no one seem to understand? I don't care about power, politics or stupid frilly gowns! No means no! Why can't anyone see this isn't who I am?' Alisa grumbled in agitation.
'No 'tis not,' Morgan murmured to himself. Cousland laughed at Alisa's complaints before assuring her it would all work in the end. The noblewoman's tongue as always was quick and sharp. Morgan slipped away before Alisa could catch sight of him. The young warlock was certain Cousland had already seen him. She was wise enough not to speak a word.
The past few days had been tumultuous. With Loghain's death and the transition of power to his son, everything was finally progressing as the Warden originally intended. By morning, they would return to Redcliffe to face the risen arch demon. Be it victory or defeat, it would be the end of an era. Either way, the warlock knew he would not witness the new era that was certain to come.
The warlock never imagined he would find himself hesitant to part ways with the warden's rag-tag group, or more exactly her. Morgan made his way to his bed chambers, his thoughts troubled and torn. Duty and honour held no meaning to him in the past, now it consumed his every thought. He was a selfish man, it was a fact the warlock knew better than most. He never gave it much thought; tonight it wrecked havoc on his mind.
The pages of his father's grimoire rustled between his fingers as the candles pierced the dark with their flickering dim light. The hour was late but rest was furthest from Morgan's thoughts. The crinkle of the parchment, its rough feel beneath his hands used to soothe him as a child; it filled him with trepidation now. Morgan knew what had to be done. He used to believe it was the key to making his every dream a reality. Power was the only thing that mattered, or so his father always taught. So why did he feel so uncertain?
Dark shadows danced around him as beyond his window a thunderstorm raged. Tis a perfect symbol of what is to come, Morgan thought. He could almost hear Alisa's voice teasing him for always being so serious. The memory of the warrior woman squirming as servants attempted to do her hair brought a smirk to his lips. He could not imagine a stranger candidate for the throne, yet as loathed, as he was to admit it Morgan could not deny that Alisa would have made a decent queen. Stupidity and ignorance aside, the warrior was honest, fierce, and ancients help him, even compassionate. Such traits were rare in any position of power; yet entirely necessary for a long and fruitful reign, or so he had discovered. It should have made the decision simpler; instead, it made it all the more difficult.
Save Cousland, save Alisa, or save yourself. Only one shall walk away unscathed and it will not likely be you.
His Father's voice whispered in his thoughts, as Alisa's visage that filled is mind's eye. Morgan already knew the decision he was about to make and it terrified him more than anything he had ever known.
The hour was late when Morgan found Alisa wandering the hallways. The halls were silent save for the crackling of the fiery torches that decorated the dark stone. The ex-Templar was alone looking awkward yet ethereal in a gown that was made for a queen. Only Alisa was no longer to be a queen, thanks to Cousland's quick thinking and silver tongue. The warrior maiden was free, but for how long only Morgan knew.
'Come to laugh at me in my lovely little jester get-up?' Alisa said in dry tones.
'Tis suited for a queen, not a warden,' the warlock answered.
'You know better than most what we face tomorrow. Might I suggest you get some sleep,' Alisa began, 'that is if you warlocks ever bother to sleep at all-or maybe you just turn into a cat and chase mice? That might be fun.' The warrior's attempt to mock Morgan fell flat as Alisa gave a heavy sigh. Her eyes held a weight of its own, and Morgan knew the reasons behind it. The time had come to speak of what was not meant to be, and what was yet to come.
'If asking a friend to do something terrible might help…would you do it?' Morgan asked. Alisa's expression said more than words ever could.
'You want advice from me?' Alisa balked. Morgan ignored her stunned question.
'What would you be willing to sacrifice in order to save the ones you call friends?' he questioned. Alisa studied him with wariness in her eyes. Morgan returned her gaze readily, his own thoughts guarded.
'I would do whatever is necessary to ensure the safety of others. Why do you ask?' her eyes narrowed as she spoke.
Always the noble answer so ready to speak platitudes like those that she was taught, Morgan mused. Yet in Alisa's gaze, he saw only honesty. Ever the innocent fool, she had meant every word. He briefly wondered if he truly was among those, she called friend.
'Let me guess, this is the part where you mock me for being weak-holding onto petty ideals and romantic notions,' Alisa defended as she misread his silence.
The battle of words once so thrilling to him, now felt stale. They had come too far and endured too much to continue playing trivial games. The realization left him feeling both old and tired. 'And am I one of those others you speak so fondly of?' The words came unbidden and without warning. Alisa betrayed none of her thoughts.
'So you do have friends?' she challenged. The taunt was forced; Morgan could see Alisa had grown as tired of the games as he had.
'No. I have but one, tis all I need,' Morgan softly replied. There were no further words of insult or jest. The ex-Templar did not need to speak a word, her eyes revealed all that he already knew. Alisa had been willing to sacrifice her life in order to save him from his Father; he knew if it came to it, she would do it again. In that moment Morgan, realize he was willing to do the same for her.
'You know what is to come don't you?' Alisa's words were more a statement than question. Morgan nodded feeling his stomach tighten. He knew what had to be done. The silence that fell between them was thick with all that could not be said.
'Do you trust me?' he finally asked. After a moment's pause, the warrior woman nodded her head.
'I know of a way to save Cousland's life,' Morgan said. As well as your own life, he thought to himself. Alisa studied him intently. Ever since he first set, eyes upon her Morgan had denied the strange feelings he felt towards the warrior maiden. It was easier to ignore the truth and pretend as if nothing had changed within him. Tonight there could be no more hiding and no more denial. In her eyes, the young warlock saw all that he desired and all that he feared. He never felt more vulnerable, or more frightened by the truth.
'Tell me then and spare me no details,' Alisa said. In that instant saw the warrior-woman he first encountered in the woods so many months ago. Despite his doubts, Morgan knew he had been right about Alisa all along. Taking Alisa's hand into his own, the young warlock silently guided her to a quiet place where no ears or eyes would spot them. There he spoke of the dark ritual, as beyond the great castle walls the sky continued to tear itself asunder.
