10 Solace, 9:30 Dragon, Hinterlands
Morrigan placed another log on her fire, and then held her hands out to the blaze in an attempt to ward off the unseasonably cool weather.
At least, 'tis not raining.
Never before did I appreciate the value of having Mother's hut to return to each night.
The sound of mirth rang out on the night air, from the other campfire. Morrigan glanced over and saw most of the rest of the company, gathered close and laughing at some sally of the Chantry sister's wit. Only the qunari remained aloof, sitting in shadows with his back to an enormous stone, pretending not to listen to the rest.
Morrigan shook her head in derision. That man has a positive gift for picking up strays.
It had begun even before they reached Lothering, when an enormous mabari hound ran up to Alaric to warn him of a darkspawn attack. In the battle that followed, the beast had proven itself useful by tearing the throat out of a massive hurlock. The hound had rarely left Alaric's side since then.
Then, in the doomed village itself, even more bizarre personalities attached themselves to Alaric's retinue. A red-headed Chantry sister, with an Orlesian accent and a wicked blade. A Sten of the qunari, grim and taciturn, but committed to opposing the Blight. A pair of rag-tag dwarven hucksters.
By the time we reach Redcliffe, we will hardly have need of Arl Eamon or his army. Assuming that Alaric can find a use for all of us.
The sounds from the other fire changed. Morrigan glanced up and saw Alaric crossing the distance between them, the mabari at his side. When he saw she had noticed him, he waved.
"Good evening," she said. "I await your command."
Alaric hesitated for a moment, and then sat down on a stump across the fire from her. The great hound dropped to the ground with a whuff and lowered its head to its paws, nothing but its eyes moving as it watched the two of them.
"Do you really?" he inquired.
"Of course. 'Tis painfully obvious who leads this motley cavalcade, and that is neither the templar nor the hornless giant. You are the one who must weld us into a coherent whole. If such a feat is possible."
"Well." He sat warming his hands at Morrigan's fire for a while, not meeting her gaze. "I suppose that's true, although it still feels unnatural to me."
"Have you no experience with leadership?"
"Hardly. Two months ago I was still an apprentice of the Circle, and no one ever deferred to me, no matter how good my marks were in the quadrivium."
"A natural talent, then." Morrigan cocked her head, watching him. "If you are not here to command me, then why have you come?"
"If I'm to lead this motley cavalcade, I need to know the rest of you. With Alistair and Leliana, that isn't a challenge. Both of them are talkative enough, although I can already see both of them have secrets they're keeping close-held. Sten is more taciturn, but knowing a little about the Qun helps me understand him. You, on the other hand, are more of a challenge."
"I believe I shall take that as a compliment."
Finally, he looked up and grinned at her. "If you like."
"You wish to learn more of my nature, then? Very well. Pose your questions."
"All right." He frowned for a moment longer, thinking, and then nodded to himself. "So you were raised by your mother in the deep Korcari Wilds, with almost no contact with the outside world?"
"Yes, 'tis true."
"That must have been very lonely for you."
"Lonely?" Morrigan shook her head. "At times, perhaps. When I was a child, a world full of people and buildings and things was all very foreign to me. If I wished companionship, I ran with the wolves and flew with the birds. If I spoke, I spoke to the trees."
Alaric smiled. "That . . . actually sounds quite wonderful."
"Oh?"
"I've never had much chance to be alone, or out in the open country," he explained. "I was raised a nobleman's son, with servants and the rest of my family always on hand. I lived in a city palace, far away from any wilderness. Then, when my power showed itself, the templars came and bundled me off to the Circle. No one is ever alone in the Circle."
"I suppose one always wishes for what one does not have." Morrigan stared into the flames for a moment, looking pensive. "One can only remain a child for so long. I remember the first time I crept beyond the edge of the Wild. I did so in animal form, remaining in the shadows and watching the townsfolk from afar. I happened upon a noblewoman by her carriage, adorned in sparkling garments, the likes of which I had never before seen. I was dazzled. This, to me, seemed what true wealth and beauty must be."
Almost, she stopped telling the story, because she saw Alaric watching her quite intently, an expression on his face of measurement, of assessment.
Just why am I telling this tale to an utter stranger? He does not need to know of this.
Shaking her head, she decided to brazen it out.
"I snuck up behind her, and stole a hand mirror from the carriage. 'Twas encrusted in gold and crystalline gemstones, and I hugged it to my chest with delight as I sped back to the Wilds."
"Hmm. I can't imagine that Flemeth was pleased about that."
"She . . . was not." Morrigan shook her head at the memory. "She was furious with me. I was a child, and had not yet come into my full power, and I had risked discovery for the sake of a pretty bauble. To teach me a lesson, Flemeth took the mirror and smashed it upon the ground. I was heartbroken."
"A harsh lesson for a child," the man murmured.
Morrigan glanced at him sharply, probing for any trace of pity in his voice, but she heard only a detached sympathy. Not enough for her to take offense. She sighed and nodded in agreement. "A child, but a foolish child. Flemeth was right, to break me of my fascination. Beauty and love are fleeting, and have no meaning. Survival has meaning. Power has meaning. Without those lessons, I would not be here today, as difficult as they might have been."
"Life is full of harsh lessons," he observed. "They made you stronger, didn't they?"
Despite herself, Morrigan smiled, pleased.
I believe this man may understand.
"They did indeed. To return to your original question, perhaps my time in the Wilds was indeed lonely, but such was how it had to be. At times I find myself wondering what might have become of the girl with the beautiful golden mirror, but such fantasies have no place amidst reality."
Alaric gave her a gentle smile. "Thank you, Morrigan."
"For what?"
"For telling me something about yourself." He glanced to his side, where he opened a pouch affixed to his sword-belt. "I think I may have something for you."
Something in his hands caught the firelight. Almost without volition, Morrigan reached out to take the pretty thing.
What is it? A loop of rope?
A necklace. Strands of shining metal, twisted into a thin cable, its ends held together by a clasp. Morrigan's eyes went wide as she realized that it was made of gold, gleaming in the flickering light.
"Why are you giving me this?"
Alaric smiled, pleased at the effect. "It's a gift, Morrigan. It's a custom in the Circle Tower, for mages to give one another small presents. We're not allowed to own any real property, and we can't keep more than a pittance of what we earn, but we can have little trinkets of our own. Books, pieces of jewelry, objects of art, that sort of thing. So mages who have earned a little money will usually spend it on luxuries for themselves, or on gifts for their friends."
"It is beautiful." Suddenly Morrigan shook her head in denial. "You must want something in return."
"Nonsense. I'm not Flemeth. I agree: beauty is a transient thing. The fact remains that you're a beautiful woman, and it wouldn't harm you to have a few beautiful things of your own."
Morrigan felt the flush that lit her face and spread down her throat, and for once she was helpless to stop it.
Damn the impertinence!
"I'm surprised you would not think to give this to the little Chantry sister," she said, rather waspishly. "I have seen the manner in which she watches you."
Alaric snorted. "What makes you think I haven't given her something as well? Don't make more of this than it is, Morrigan. I plan to find things that all of our company might enjoy. It turns out that Alistair has an appreciation for small statuary, for instance."
"The fool templar has taste in art?" Morrigan snorted in derision. "Wonders never cease."
"People are full of surprises," he agreed. "Leliana has more of a past than she's let show, but she is sincerely devout, so she appreciated the little bronze sunburst of Andraste I found for her. Garm, of course, was droolingly happy with a beef bone."
Hearing its name, the hound picked its massive head up and stared at its master for a moment. The mage reached down and ruffled the beast's ears with affection.
"I still haven't figured out what to find for the Sten," he continued, "but I'll think of something."
"What about the dwarves?" she asked.
"I've already given them just what they most wanted," he told her. "A safe place to camp for the night, a first option on all the loot we'll be taking, and a market for their own goods. They're eager to follow us, wherever we might travel."
"That hardly seems like a gift."
"To a surface dwarf, simple acceptance can be a precious gift." Alaric shrugged. "Here, let me help you with this."
She tolerated him as he stood and moved around behind her, settled the pretty thing in place and closed the clasp behind her neck. Her nerves prickled as she felt his touch linger, for just an instant longer than was strictly necessary.
Garm barked, a deep booming sound, and made a dribble-tongued smile.
"There we are," he said, his voice revealing nothing of what he might be feeling.
She touched the necklace, enjoying the feel of it against her skin.
"I . . . I do not know what to say," she murmured at last.
He gave her a warm smile. "Thank you, I believe, is the usual custom."
"Yes." She glanced into his eyes, and hardly knew what she felt. "Thank you."