Peril


I cannot forget my mother. She is my bridge. When I needed to get across, she steadied herself long enough for me to run across safely.

~ Renita Weems


These two were definitely more persistent that the last ones. The little one had already been sent scrambling into the undergrowth in a mad run towards the safe place they had chosen only a few days before. He was accustomed to the routine now; the first few times had left him clinging tightly in her embrace, trembling through the long dark hours until morning. They had been on the run for more than three years, moving between Mother's secret huts and hiding places, and she had thought this one was safe. But, somehow, they had known.

She lay stretched along a thick branch, the lustrous brown of her coat blending easily into the dappled canopy of leaves. They walked below her, with steps that betrayed their hesitance, and she could smell the prickle of their unease—these two so-called warriors. The tip of her tail writhed and twitched in anticipation.

The taller one stopped and bent down, his gauntleted hand raking along the forest floor as he unfolded a bent and broken sapling, scarcely more than a branch, jutting from the earth. With a nervous glance, he gestured to the short one.

"Où est le garçon?" The tall one snapped off the loose end of the sapling and threw it into the trees.

The short one looked around anxiously. "Je ne sais pas mais, si la sorcière—"

"Tais-toi!" The tall one's voice dropped to a whisper that she could barely make out. "Nous ne parlerons pas d'elle…"

Interesting. This was new. Morrigan extended and retracted her claws into the wrinkled bark as she thought. So, 'twas either a rather fantastical coincidence that a pair of Orlesian templars just happened to be wandering around in the backwoods of Ferelden, or the Divine was now aware of the boy's presence. She blinked slowly and flattened her ears against her head. These two would meet the same fate as the others.

Morrigan reached out with her mind, brushing the tops of the trees, plucking out the cord that bound her to the ring he wore. She slid the tendril of her consciousness along it, following its trail to their designated copse of trees.

The little one was there. He was safe.

She crept back into her mind with a sigh of relief and raised herself up languidly on her haunches. 'Twas time to see how fast these two could run.

oOoOo

With a final sweep of her pink tongue, Morrigan licked the last of the blood from her paws. It made little difference to her, but she knew it bothered the little one. She stretched and began to run, bounding through the foliage, letting the exhilaration of the successful hunt fill her. The forest called to her, open and welcoming, and she nearly lost herself in the tangled symphony of sights and sounds. It took her a moment to realize that she had passed their spot.

She stopped.

Where was he?

Like a discarded cloak, she cast the cat's form away and stood up in her own. "Little one? 'Tis no time for games, you know this." Needles of fear wormed their way through her belly. "Come out this instant, you foolish child."

She reached out again with a thought, but the cord she clutched fell at her feet. Morrigan crouched down and brushed aside the leaves in front of her.

His ring.

It was cold and hard in her palm and she crushed it in her fist, feeling her nails cut into her palm.

They would pay.

Morrigan slipped the ring on to her smallest finger and gathered her magic, wrapping the great cat's body around her once more. Lowering her nose to the ground, she inhaled deeply, easily picking out the hint of that same soft milky scent he had always had, even as a babe. If they had hurt him… she roared, making the trees shake with her fury.

They were moving quickly, their haste making their trail simple for her to follow. When she heard voices, she pressed herself into the underbrush and crept forward until she could see. Two more of them—how had she missed them?—marched as best they could through the thick growth. The little one hung limply over the shoulder of the first. Anger swept through her body, flames licking away all rational thought as she resumed her form. Her power answered her call, pluming up from the depths as she paralyzed each one, and collected her child. The little one was unconscious, but alive, and a large bruise covered one of his cheeks like an overturned pot of ink. His wrists were chafed and raw, fastened together with iron manacles. He whimpered as she shifted him against her and set him down in the leaves.

"One moment, little one. I must deal with these ones first."

Morrigan stalked up to the first one, his arms still frozen in place though the burden they had carried was gone. "Even though you cannot move, templar, you can still feel, yes?" She stroked a fingertip down the plane of his cheek, enjoying the fear in his eyes. Walking around to the other one, she did the same thing, her smile cold and predatory. "'Tis a shame that you cannot open your mouths to scream. I think I shall relish your deaths all the same." She stepped back and cast, holding her arms aloft as swarms of stinging insects swirled around them, unrelenting and unstoppable.

Their bodies toppled to the ground unnoticed as she turned back to the little one who lay curled on the forest floor; she dropped to her knees as her fury blew away into ash. Pulling him into her lap, she snapped the manacles from his wrists with a controlled burst from her fingertips.

His hands were so cold.

Morrigan laid her palm across his chest and closed her eyes, willing her magic to bend itself to her demands. A thin trickle of blue seeped into him, but it was not enough. Desperation made her eyes prickle with a strange burning heat.

"Come back to me," she whispered.

She wrestled with it, pulling the energy out of herself until she ached, and the trickle became a flood, bathing the boy in a nimbus of blue light. He opened his eyes weakly.

"Mama?" His voice was only a croak, but she nearly sagged with relief.

"Yes, little one?"

A single tear rolled down her cheek and he reached up to catch it on the tip of his finger. "I knew you would come." The droplet stretched and elongated, dividing into two segmented wings around a cylindrical body. Its wings glittering like jewels, the butterfly flapped and soared into the air.

She held him tight, his head pressed against her shoulder, and wept until a kaleidoscope of tiny butterflies fluttered around them.

"I wish we could go home," he whispered into her neck.

"Do not dwell on impossibilities," she said, resting the side of her face gently against the top of his head. "There is only unhappiness there. You must be strong."

He buried himself deeper within the shelter of her arms. "I know."

Yet, the butterflies all pulled in their wings and, one by one, they plummeted to the ground, leaving nothing but the traces of her tears on her cheeks.


*Translation:

"Where is the boy?" The tall one snapped off the loose end of the sapling and threw it into the trees.

The short one looked around anxiously. "I don't know but, if the witch—"

"Be quiet!" The tall one's voice dropped to a whisper that she could barely make out. "We will not speak of her…"


A/N: Thank you to the Queen of Grammar, mackillian, for the beta and to KCousland for making sure that I didn't embarrass myself with my deplorably rusty French—er... I mean, Orlesian. ;)

Thank you to everyone who has added this story as an alert, a favorite, or left a review. I appreciate it so much!