11.

"Destiny's Child"

By the Gods, she was with child! Surely, it could not be so! Yet, 'twas the only thing that made any sense – the physical changes she had been going through, the fatigue, morning nausea, mood swings. She tried to reconcile the timing of it. It had been nearly six weeks since they had been together. It was possible. She sighed, knowing in her heart it was true, yet unsure how to feel. When Flemeth had suggested she bear the Warden's child, Morrigan had resisted the idea fiercely. She knew nothing of children, and felt completely unsuited to be a mother. She felt she had no nurturing maternal instincts – Flemeth had seen to that. But then Morrigan had met the Warden and things had changed. He brought feelings out in her that she did not know she possessed, instincts she did not know she had. By the end of their time together, she had been willing to bear his child because she had loved him and wanted to save his life… and…perhaps…preserve something of what they had shared. Now that it had happened, in such an unexpected way, she was frightened. She felt alone and wholly inadequate.

But as the initial shock of the discovery began to wear off, the idea of carrying his child began to please her. There were no ulterior motives. No plots or plans. The ritual had not been performed, and the child would be the product of their union and nothing else. She smiled. She would do her best to raise this child in a manner that would honor the Warden. Perhaps if she applied herself with all determination, she could give the child what it needed – what Flemeth had never given her. She had changed, damn him, and she would prove it.

She thought of the Warden and ached to be by his side, to tell him the news and see the glorious smile it would bring to his handsome face, to hold him in her arms. But she knew it was impossible…it would always be impossible. She was an apostate, an apostate now bearing a child that would also be an apostate. He was a Grey Warden, a great man, famous throughout Ferelden, and far better than she deserved. She smiled sadly, wondering what he had seen in her that he should give her his heart. No, they would never be allowed to live quietly, peacefully. She would be hunted down and the child…she shuddered to think of her child…his child…taken away and locked up in the Circle Tower, robbed of his freedom and family, and, if he chose to resist, perhaps his life. Should the Warden intervene (and she knew he would), the consequences would be devastating. She vowed to spare him this. She had hurt him to save him and that was the way it must be.

But she would never forget him, would never let her child forget what a truly amazing man he was. She rubbed her womb, head bent down, speaking softly, "I will tell you great tales of your father, and you will grow up proud and strong." She smiled remembering how magnificent he had been that day slaying the archdemon. And then it struck her, and her smile faded. She remembered crumpling to the ground, the pain in her abdomen, the loss of consciousness for no reason. And her blood ran cold. "This is not our child," she thought woefully. And the prospect, which she had accepted so callously before as a means to an end at Flemeth's insistence, filled her with revulsion. She no longer wanted to raise an Old God. Perhaps it was her love for the Warden. Perhaps it was that she no longer craved the power she once did, when Flemeth held sway over her. The Warden had shown her another way and she had no wish to go back.

No, it was not possible. Morrigan had not performed the ritual, and she knew the archdemon could not take the child without the blood magic. So, what had happened? Flemeth would not explain to her exactly how the spell worked, so she did not know what to think. Had the Old God been drawn to the taint of the Warden's child, but been unable to take him? She shook her head as if to convince herself the child could not be possessed. Her mother's plan had failed. The pregnancy was an accident and the Old God was no more. But uncertainty nagged at her. The child would bear watching. She owed the Warden that much.

-----

Flemeth regained her physicality more quickly than even she would have expected. It had been easy to manipulate the party into thinking she had been killed, while she skulked off to heal herself and reevaluate her plan. Morrigan's discovery and subsequent assassination attempt had been unexpected. Flemeth was caught off guard, busy making preparations, and the Warden had nearly made her pay. But he did not know the whole secret to her mortality. Not even Morrigan knew that, she smiled victoriously. And so she lived. She lived to wreak her vengeance on lovely Morrigan and her precious Grey Warden. But her health was failing and her mind not as sharp as it once was. Perhaps she had already waited too long for the transfer. Perhaps she had allowed her age to advance too far this time and it was affecting her judgment. Her razor instincts were muted - dulled by the slow disintegration of her body. But it could not be helped. When Flemeth had formulated her plan, she had known that the timing was immutable. She would have to be more careful, certainly, but patience was what was required here.

Morrigan's takeover was critical to Flemeth. From the moment she had seen the girl playing as a young toddler, Flemeth had sensed the great magical power within her – the vast potential. If developed properly over the years, she would make a magnificent host for Flemeth in years to come, a prospect that made Flemeth lick her lips in greedy anticipation. It had been a simple task to dispatch her parents, snatch her, and convince the child she was her mother. It was a game Flemeth knew well and had played many times before.

Flemeth had trained Morrigan relentlessly, pushing her always, goading her, taunting her, punishing her, and as Morrigan entered womanhood, she was the most powerful mage Flemeth had ever raised. And there had been many "daughters", thought the old witch, smiling sinisterly. Morrigan had matured into a ravishing young woman, powerful beyond even her own understanding – she would be able to manipulate others with ease, and crush them when she was finished.

Flemeth shook her head in disgust. She had spent years indoctrinating Morrigan into the harsh, bitter world she wanted her to know. She had taken pains to squelch any affection, berating the child constantly for any foolish, innocent notions she had entertained, always withholding approval, severely punishing weakness. Flemeth had not thought her "teachings" could be so easily undone, but the Warden was an exceptional man, and the fool girl had fallen in love. Again, an unforeseen outcome. Damn him!

No, Flemeth would not let all that effort go to waste. This was a unique opportunity. She would not let this Warden's interference prevent her from fulfilling her rightful destiny. Over time, Flemeth had come to believe the Warden's honor would not allow him to accept Morrigan's proposition. She did not think he would sacrifice his own child, that he would permit the Old God to live and risk the Blight continuing or another Blight beginning in years to come. In spite of his obvious feelings for Morrigan, Flemeth had decided that this man would never accept her offer to save his own life at the possible expense of others. She had made a grave miscalculation with him, thinking him…weaker, more…malleable, like the other Warden. But Morrigan's best efforts to sway his moral compass had failed, and in an unexpected turn, he had influenced hers. Flemeth had become unsure that Morrigan would even go through with their scheme.

Thus, she had had to make other arrangements, and she had set a plan in motion which would make things more difficult and time-consuming, but it had seemed to be her only option. When Flemeth was able to regain her form, she had begun to follow them, monitoring the situation, waiting, watching – sometimes a moth fluttering around the campfire, sometimes a bird, or a tiny spider. Whatever form was the least suspicious, the least noticeable. On the fateful night she initiated her plot, she was a small innocuous-looking snake. When Flemeth became convinced the Warden wouldn't allow Morrigan to perform the ritual, she followed the lovers constantly. When the opportunity to cast her own spell to ensure pregnancy presented itself in the Brecilian Forest, she seized it. It would be a weaker spell, and would require two steps instead of the single ritual if Morrigan had performed it on herself. But the old witch knew that blood magic was most powerful when called from within. No matter. She could survive long enough to see this through.

The spells of Fertilization and Appropriation had been cast. Morrigan was impregnated and the way had been paved for the child's possession. In Denerim, the essence of the Old God Urthemiel, the ancient God of Beauty, had left the dragon's form upon its demise and vaulted into Morrigan's womb. Flemeth remembered Morrigan's bewilderment at her collapse with satisfaction. She would not comprehend it all until it was too late. The child would appear to be normal for a time, its dominant soul sharing the body with the unseen dormant essence of the Old God. The Rite of Manifestation could not be performed until the child's 5th year, when his physical and magical development was advanced enough to accept the full majesty of a cognizant Old God. At that point, the child would be a child no more, and Urthemiel would take full possession. And Flemeth would be his conduit to the world, plumbing his secrets, gaining his unimaginable power. Her eyes were alight with madness and lust.

Flemeth would bide her time until the moment was right, staying in shadows, and then all would come together as she had envisioned. A malignant sneer curled her lips. It would be worth the wait.