CHAPTER 14

"And what would your Antivan think of that?"

What, indeed.

I know what my Antivan would think about me killing the Archdemon. He would not let me do it if he knew that it would mean my death. Still I meet Loghain's eyes squarely with my arms crossed and feet planted beneath my shoulders, and still I wonder if the fear I feel reaches my eyes the way I think it does.

He has offered to take the final blow despite what Riordan has told us, and I am tempted to say yes. It will be worse than death, to hear Riordan describe it. To have my soul destroyed—it will be worse than Oblivion. I cannot even imagine it. There will not even be a scar for Wynne to heal. There will be nothing left of me at all; not even a shred to wander the Fade while it waits. This scares me more than I thought it would.

But I cannot say yes so easily to Loghain. It is not an easy thing to accept.

"Why would you offer yourself?" I ask. "I'm the senior Warden. I should be the first to strike, not you."

He shrugs. "And that is why I am asking you to let me kill the Archdemon rather than knocking you out and doing it myself."

"That's considerate of you."

"Don't get smart with me, elf. If I fail, you will be the last hope for all of Ferelden." Loghain seems to hesitate, and smoothes his voice when he speaks again. "And I have much less to lose than you do."

I snort. "Hah. I wasn't born yesterday, Loghain. You're still a folk hero and your daughter will be the Queen of Ferelden for the second time around. Seems to me you've got plenty to lose. The question is, what are you even more afraid of losing?"

"Nothing that you haven't taken from me already," he snaps, and for the first time I have seen outside of battle, his eyes do not glower and he does not hunch like a man nearing his death. I am still clad in my armor, but he had already removed his by the time Riordan called us to his room. This does not make Loghain any less imposing. He straightens to his full height and stares at me the way he did when we first met at Ostagar, when he was still a general and a king's advisor. I almost back away until I remember who I am, too. My full height is not much taller than my usual height, and my mass is nowhere near as impressive as Loghain's, even when he is not wearing his armor. But my spine is straight and I match his stare with one of my own.

"We have all had things taken from us," I say. "And you took much from me, too." I lower my voice and speak slowly, carefully enunciating each of my next words. "Humans like you deserve to die like the pigs you are. But not while you're a Warden. Now, you're mine. And you die only when I say you can. Give me a reason to say yes, Loghain. Something other than what you've given me already."

He stares at me, and some of the glower returns. "I'd heard what you did at the Arl's estate when you answered my daughter's foolish plea for a rescue. And I heard of all the men and women you killed at Fort Drakon the same day. Tell me, why do you treat humans like animals when you are no better yourself? Where is your honor?"

I laugh shortly. "So that's what this is about. You're trying to make yourself look good again, aren't you? Not very persuasive. You lost your honor when you abandoned us at Ostagar and sold my family into slavery. You're not getting it back so easily."

He falls silent. He barely blinks at the venom in my voice, but the corners of his lips drop down his jaw and the constant furrow ploughs even deeper across his brow. I wonder if it is possible for him to frown even further without splitting his entire face in half.

"Tell me, Warden, do you have no dreams for yourself?"

I am taken aback. "What are you talking about now?"

"Surely even an elf from an alienage has dreams."

I snort. "You don't know what it's like to live in an alienage."

"Tell me, then." Loghain sits on one of the two chairs in the room the Arl's seneschal has given to him and gestures for me to take the other.

I lean my back against the wall and cross my arms over my chest rather than accept his offer. "What's there to tell?"

"I am merely curious. And all children have dreams."

Was he trying to get a rise out of me? I rake my hand through my hair. "How old do you think I am, exactly?"

He shrugs. "Does it matter for a Warden? You are old enough." He pauses and eyes me up and down. "If I had to guess, I would say no more than seventeen."

"Twenty-one. Twenty-two in a few months. But you were closer than most."

To his credit, he does not look as surprised as most do when they realize that I am not exactly a teenager. "I was your age when I was driving the Orlesians out of Ferelden," he remarks.

"So?"

"Nothing. Merely an observation." Loghain pauses again. "You remind me a bit of Anora, before she married Cailan."

I snort. "I remind a lot of people of teenaged girls, for some reason."

"You should be flattered, Warden. It's in the eyes. My mother always told me to look a man in the eyes when you first meet—that way you both know who you are about to shake hands with."

"And you saw your daughter in mine?"

"Somewhat. As I said before, you also remind me of Maric. He was very charming, but a little insane on the battlefield."

"Oh, that's nice."

Loghain is still looking at me, but his eyes seem to be focusing on the wall behind me instead. "When Anora was a girl, she told me almost every time I saw her that she was going to become Queen one day." His smile is so brief that I almost miss it, but so full of fondness and wistfulness that I could not. "And she did, of course."

"You miss her," I say.

"What father doesn't miss his own child?"

I think of my own, and then of my mother, and my heart twists in my chest. "If the Queen's like me, I'm sure she misses her father, too," I say quietly. "She's the reason why you're alive. I hope you thanked her before you left Denerim."

He does not answer. "Do your parents still live in the alienage?"

"My father does."

"And your mother?"

"She died a few years ago."

"I'm sorry."

I wonder if I am imagining his sincerity. "Some humans killed her because she tried to protect me from them." I shrug. "You wanted to know what it's like to live in the alienage? There you go."

He is quiet for a few moments. "If it were me, I would have left," he finally says. He speaks slowly, like he is choosing his words carefully. "Killed the ones who hurt me and left for good."

"Well, that's what my mother did. They returned the favor."

"And you?"

I laugh shortly. "Most of us learn our lessons and stay alive. Me, I'm not the brightest, but I'm my mother's son, to be sure. I would have kept following in her footsteps if I hadn't been conscripted."

"And no one stopped you?"

"I'm not sure if you will really understand this, Loghain. I'm not sure if you can."

"Perhaps I will not. But you could try to help me understand."

I shrug again. But a part of me does want him to understand, so I try again. "When you were fighting during the Orlesian occupation, did you ever run across men and women who wouldn't fight back no matter how much wrong the Orlesians did to them?"

"Of course. I thought they were cowards."

"Not cowards. Just trying to survive." I look up at the ceiling. "All of us in the alienage are related somehow. And as a family, we've had generations of fear driving our lives. It's the fist we live under and the cage we live in. It's hard to imagine that the bars are not there when they have been since we were born." I glance back at Loghain. "It takes losing everything or getting close enough to it to make you see something else. But you wouldn't know that, would you?"

He is silent, his chin at rest upon his raised fist. The support does not cure his constant scowl, however.

"How about you tell me what you dreamed of when you were my age, Loghain?" I cross my ankles and arms.

"I dreamed of being free," he says. "I dreamed of the day when I would see the last Orlesian fleeing through the Frostbacks, or breathing his last in the dirt at my feet and with my sword in his gut."

"I guess we're not that different." But I am not being entirely honest, so I add: "I used to dream about leaving the alienage."

"But you did not until you became a Warden. That was not that long ago, was it?"

"It's been a year." It feels strange to say that out loud. "Only a year." Both the shortest and longest year of my life, but the fullest, too.

"I did leave the alienage once before I became a Warden. I thought it would be for good. I nearly died. I should have died. I would have if my father hadn't come to get me. The world outside the alienage is worse for an elf alone than it is inside. We don't have the power or the chances to make things better for ourselves, except if we stay together."

"Then why not fight back together?"

I remember my cousins and the plans they shared with me, and cannot keep from smiling. "We do fight back, in our own ways. One day we'll be free. We just need the right moment."

"If I had waited for the right moment, Ferelden would never have been freed of Orlais."

"Of course you waited. How far would you have gotten if you fought back alone, do you think?" If I had not told this to Zev already, I would have been utterly incapable of speaking of it now. But I did, and I can. "I tried it once already. My cousin Soris and I were supposed to get married on the same day. But that day, Bann Vaughan came with some of his cronies. He took all of the women in the wedding party—including my other cousin Shianni. So I told Soris we were going to save them, and that idiot went along with me even though he didn't want to. I was too angry to think clearly. And I was tired of humans taking us like we were sheep. I didn't care anymore. I killed a lot of humans that day, including Bann Vaughan. Afterwards, the guards came and would have purged everyone, and I knew that we were not ready to fight back and avoid a purge at the same time. So I turned myself in." My voice stays even and calm, although I do not know how. "You wanted to know why I treat humans like animals? It's because you are. You all are. You think we're less than human, but it is humans who are less than elves."

"We are not all that way," he says.

I snort. "You didn't think twice about selling Fereldans to the Tevinters as slaves. That doesn't make you any better than any other human who rapes and murders my family for sport, does it?"

Loghain is quiet again.

I almost think I am imagining it when he speaks again. "My father was a simple farmer who refused to pay the ridiculous taxes the Orlesians levied on our farm. I was twenty, and ready to start a family of my own. But the Orlesians came. My mother tried to reason with them, but her pleas fell on deaf ears. They dragged us all out of our home and made my mother watch while they beat my father and I until we were both barely conscious. Then they made us watch while they raped my mother one after the other. But they didn't stop there. They killed her in front of us, just because they could, and then set our home on fire."

I catch my breath and feel my body go entirely still.

"They jumped on their horses and left after that. Probably thought we were just going to give up and die. But my father...he made sure they paid. We had no choice afterwards but to flee and hide. And nothing was the same after that." He rubs his chin. "I am not proud of all of the decisions I made while we fought the Orlesians. But they were my decisions, for better or for worse, and they are what has led me here today."

Loghain stands and takes a step towards me. I uncross my arms and legs and push off of the wall, straightening my back to meet him squarely. I look into his eyes and see myself in them, and my mouth goes dry. But I cannot look away. And he does not, too.

"The only thing certain in all of our lives is what has already happened, Warden. I have always done what I have done because I believed it was for the good of Ferelden. And it led to good things—today we are free of Orlais, and my daughter is the queen of a free country. But I hurt many of my closest and dearest friends because of those same decisions. And now I have hurt you, too. I have done you and your family a great wrong. These are certainties that I can neither undo nor apologize for, not even if I had all of thirty years to try to make peace with what I have done." He breaks his gaze to bow his head, staring at the ground between us. "I am an old man. I have dreamed and seen those dreams come true. I have nothing else inside of me. Give me this, Warden. Let me haunt your steps no more."

I stare at him and do not know what to say.

This is the farmer boy who ensured that no Fereldan would be born under the heels of Orlais ever again. This is the general who watched the Grey Wardens drown in a sea of darkspawn and left his king to die. This is the father of our Queen, a woman who loves him so much that she gambled on a slim chance of survival to keep him from certain death. This is the human who cost me my family and drove Alistair away.

I walk past him towards the door. He does not look up as I go by, but I can sense his defeat in his slumped shoulders. I place my hand on the doorknob, but look back at him as I turn it.

And I see my father standing there with his back to me, age in his every line and the weariness of living eating at him to his very bones.

Thinking of my father only makes me think of home. And thinking of home only makes me think of the one person who always makes me feel like that is where I am, even when we are halfway across the country from Denerim with darkspawn crawling down our throats. I think of Zevran, and of the life we might have in the next three decades, if only we survive this Blight together.

He is a Warden and a warrior, and today he is a tired old man, too. I almost wish I had met him in his youth. He must have been a sight to behold at King Maric's side on the battlefield.

I had never truly planned to say no. But I had never expected Loghain to give me a reason to say yes.

"The Archdemon's yours," I say quietly.

He does not move. "My thanks, Warden."

I nod, although I know he will not see it, and turn again to leave. But something makes me speak again on impulse—just a few last words before I go. "You know, Alistair told me that you were not meant for the Grey Wardens. He said he couldn't trust you in battle, and that I shouldn't, either." I look over my shoulder at him. "For what it's worth, I'll trust you with my back until the end. And you can trust me with yours."

"I am not worthy of that. But my thanks," he replies. "Rest well tonight, Warden."

"You as well, Warden," I say, and shut his door behind me.

I walk away from his door and down the hall to my own private room and wonder what has just transpired. But in the end, the only answer is that Loghain wants to die. And I will let him. I laugh softly. This draws an odd look from the young serving girl Eamon's seneschal assigned to me, who sits by my door folding linens. I barely notice her glance.

Problems solve themselves when I least expect them to, apparently. But why does this answer feel so much like it is the wrong one?

No. It is not just that this answer of all answers was wrong. This entire situation is wrong. Duncan lied. This was why we need Wardens during a Blight. It was bad enough when I had believed I would die fighting darkspawn on the Deep Roads. And, despite all of the darkspawn we had faced until now and no matter how poorly I had fared against them, some part of me had always clung to the hope that I would survive this Blight and live those last few years of my life until my Calling. But to face the possibility of death so much sooner—and not even just death. The Wardens asked me to give up my life to them, and I did. But my soul?

And I had dragged Loghain straight into this mess by letting him live. He deserves to die, but to die like this? He will be my responsibility in the end. And his death will be my own stupid fault.

Blessed Andraste and the Maker, what choices are these? Why are they in my incapable hands? There must be another solution. Traps always have releases; trip wires can always be cut. Show me where the answer is, Maker. I swear I will take it.

"You have a visitor, serah," the girl says as I draw closer. She stands and folds her small hands before her stomach and looks up at me expectantly. She has a round face and brown eyes that are almost too large for her face, and her hair is mostly blonde. It gleams vaguely reddish in the low lights of the torches that burn along the walls, but not nearly as red as Shianni's. And she is elven, of course, but still an adolescent—her age makes her one of the few people in this castle who is actually shorter than I am. I wonder where her parents are before I catch myself. The halls and common areas and every available room in the castle is filled to capacity, but many of Redcliffe's people had not survived to see tonight.

I return my thoughts to what the serving girl said. "A visitor?"

"I tried to send her away, but she...insisted." The girl fidgets on her feet and drops her eyes to her toes.

I feel a smile touch my lips. "Black or grey?"

"Pardon, serah?"

"Her hair."

"Black, serah." She swallows. "And yellow eyes, like a cat's."

Morrigan, of course, but I do not know why she is here. "I hope she didn't scare you too badly."

"She threatened to turn me into a newt, serah."

"She can't do that. Don't worry. Thanks for letting her in." I pause as I reach for the handle on my door. "What was your name again?"

"Everyone calls me Melly, serah."

"Is that short for something?"

She swallows audibly. "Melon."

I can see why she is called that, looking at her plump face, but that does not make the name any less cruel. "That can't be your real name."

"It's what everyone calls me." She looks at her toes again. "I don't have parents. The servants in the castle raised me."

"Do you like being called Melly?"

Melly looks at me like I have sprouted a second head. I have to smile at that. "It's better than Melon."

"Okay, Melly. I'm Daen. It isn't short for anything. Just call me Daen, would you? And you don't have to stay out here all night."

She eyes me beneath the scruff of bangs scattered across her forehead. "Serah, if you don't mind me asking, are you looking for some privacy for a reason? Because I've never seen an elf with a human woman for a lover before. I know you're a Warden, but how did you manage that?"

I laugh awkwardly. "Er, how old are you, Melly?"

"Eleven." She lifts her chin at a defiant angle. I like her instantly. "Sometimes the other servants get sent to one of the Arl's guests, or have to stay in a guard's room all night. I've heard what happens in there."

"Oh." I should have known that Eamon's household would not treat their elves any differently than the Denerim nobility did.

"Eda keeps telling me that I'm going to have to take my turn when I get older, but I'm going to leave Redcliffe before that happens."

I nod. "That sounds good. Be careful out there."

"I'm making friends with one of the mabari. I'm going to take her with me when I leave."

This only makes me like her more. I hope Melly does manage to escape before anything bad happens to her. "Well, Melly, to answer your question, Morrigan is just a good friend of mine, and she probably needs to talk to me about something. I just don't want you to feel like you have to stay out here because you're probably tired after today, and I can take care of myself."

"I don't mind."

I give her a stern look. "Get going. You can tell Eda or whoever that the Warden ordered you back to your room because he needed some privacy."

Melly twists her short fingers in her skirts and scrunches her brows together. "Are you sure?"

"I'm sure, Melly. Now scoot."

I wait until her little back has disappeared around a corner before entering my room. Morrigan is the first thing I see—but how could I not? She stands haloed in light, her eyes glowing as though the light of the lit fireplace behind her has leaped into their depths. Her arms are folded across her chest, and she studies me silently as I close the door behind me and turn back to her.

"'Tis about time you came in. I thought that insufferable child would never leave."

"She meant well." I raise my brow. "Did you really threaten to turn her into a newt?"

"I did." Morrigan sniffs and uncrosses her arms to rest one hand on her hip, the other grasping her staff firmly at her side. "If you are looking for your mutt, I sent him off to the kennels for the night."

"Why's that?"

"Because I wished to speak with you in private."

"Well, I guess this is as private as it gets, then." I shrug and unbuckle my armor. My pack waits for me where I placed it at the foot of my too-large bed before leaving to speak with Riordan, and I bend to rifle through its depths in search of oil and a brush to clean my armor and weapons with. "What did you want to talk about?"

A hand reaches out and covers mine, and I nearly jump out of my skin and look up to find Morrigan's face mere inches away from mine. I did not know she could move so quietly. Either that, or I am more tired than I realize.

"What?" I say blankly. She does not reply. I leave off searching for my cleaning supplies and stand, taking up Morrigan's hand in my opposite one and holding it against the back of my other. There is a strange strained feeling in her eyes tonight, as though she has not slept in a few days. I had not noticed it earlier today. Perhaps she was simply weary from healing as many wounded as she did today, but Morrigan is like a bird—she never shows anything until she cannot muster the strength to hide it any longer. There is something disturbing her mind tonight, and I can only hope it is not more bad news like Riordan's.

"I'm sorry about what happened at the Arl's estate in Denerim, Morrigan," I finally say.

She raises a brow and draws her hand away from mine. I feel some relief when she finally replies. "'Tis the past."

"I should have—"

"What? Protected me?" Morrigan snorts. "I need no protecting, Warden. No, 'twas you who needed the protecting then." She pauses. "And later as well, perhaps."

I do not know what she means. She looks at me and lowers her voice. "There are some advantages to being able to shapeshift into animals. They have much keener senses than humans."

"What do you—oh." I nearly choke on my tongue at that.

Her voice softens almost imperceptibly. "I...am glad you returned to us."

I laugh and scratch my head. "I don't know why I try to hide anything from any of you. You all always find out in the end."

"Well, 'tis certain Alistair never knew, the addlebrained idiot."

"Thank the Maker for that, I guess."

"Indeed." She pauses. "And did you kill them?"

"All of them, eventually."

Morrigan smiles.

I laugh nervously. "But you're right. It's the past."

"Ah. I see."

"Are you all right? You seem a little tired."

She turns away abruptly. "I am not tired, my friend."

"Okay," I say soothingly. "I'll take your word for it."

Morrigan stays with her back to me, her shoulders gathered like a hunting cat's just before it springs upon its prey. I decide to take a seat on the bed while I wait for her to speak again, and it creaks comfortably beneath me as I settle myself down. I pull my boots and socks off and stretch my toes out before me. The give of the mattress hints at how soft the bed will be, and every inch of me longs to crawl beneath the thick covers to sleep today off. But I cannot rest until I know that Morrigan is well. She has never approached me in the past year that I have known her, always waiting at her own tent for me to come to her first. I can only guess that waiting for me in my room tonight means that she has something to say to me that I will not like.

Morrigan whirls around so suddenly that I actually do jump in my seat. Her eyes are narrow and sharp, all signs of weariness gone so completely that I wonder for a moment if I had only imagined what I had seen earlier. "And how did your talk with the Orlesian Warden go?"

I blink. "How did you—"

"I did not know. I merely knew that it was to happen. And I knew what he would speak of."

I nearly leap back to my feet at that. "You knew? How long have you known?"

"Since the beginning." She levels her eyes on me again. "It is why my mother sent me with you."

"She sent you with me because she knew that I was going to die if I killed the Archdemon." I laugh bitterly. "What am I missing?"

"You are missing that she sent me with you as a solution to your certain death."

I do not move, but my heart leaps in my chest. "A solution?"

"Yes." She slinks forward, the point of her staff clicking against the bare stone floor with every step. "You were informed that the Archdemon's soul slips into the nearest darkspawn upon its death and survives in that form unless the soul is a Warden's, correct?"

I hide the shudder I feel running up my spine. "Yes."

"Then here is the solution." She rests an open hand on her abdomen. "Lie with me tonight, Warden. With the aid of my magic, we shall conceive a child together who carries the taint within it. When you go to slay the Archdemon, take me with you. When you dispense the final blow, the Archdemon's essence shall be drawn not to you, but to the soul of the unborn child within me."

"I...that can't...that can't be possible," I stammer. I shake my head and steady myself. "Isn't that just going to kill the child? You can't possibly—"

"The babe will not die," Morrigan interrupts smoothly. The click of her staff falls silent as she stops in front of me. I have to tilt my head to meet her eyes above mine. "Recall that the Archdemon is but a corrupted Old God. The child will take the Archdemon within itself, and from that will be born something even greater."

"A monster," I say weakly.

"Nay. An uncorrupted Old God, pure in every respect." She reclines her staff on the side of the bed, leaning towards me as she does so. She is so close that I can smell the elfroot on her skin. She has been working with it all day. I breathe that astringent note in and can feel my mind weakening with every breath. Is this a better answer than the one Loghain offered to me only moments before?

"I can't...do this," I finally croak. I pause to clear my throat. "You'll bring another Blight on the world."

"I have my ways," she says calmly. "I promise you, the child and I will not be the cause of the next Blight." I am not convinced. But...

No. "I can't do this to Zev." He is a reason—and an excuse. I ask him to forgive me mentally.

"Think, Warden. Think of what you will be doing to him instead when the Archdemon slips inside of your soul and destroys you completely." She leans closer, resting her fingertips on either side of me. I scoot away an inch, but can go no further. "I have seen the way you two look at each other. 'Tis sickening. And a foolish sentiment, but not one without its uses. Why ignore the hope it gives you? Do you not wish to see what life will be like with him after this?"

I swallow. "Loghain's already offered to take the blow."

"Excuses, Warden. I know you far better than you give me credit for. And it does not change that it will only be you left to kill the Archdemon should he fail. And should you fail as well?" Morrigan tilts her head to one side, but slips her hands over my shoulders rather than answer her own question. "Why the reluctance, Warden? Is it that you have never lain with a woman before?"

My fingernails bite into my palm. I gulp again before I lift my eyes to meet her gaze. Women were less likely to come through the alienage than men, but more than half of my clients at the Pearl had been female. And they had all been humans, of course. Even twins, once. But...

"None of them were you," I reply honestly. I feel her draw back ever so slightly at my words.

None of them were. But no one else could be Morrigan, wild, proud, beautiful Morrigan, with eyes brighter than the unclouded moon and hair as dark as a crow's wing. Morrigan the apostate, who could care less what the world thought of her, Morrigan the strong, who had given me a ring once that she said would keep us together. But she would not let me get any closer, and I had to give the ring back.

I killed her mother for her. After she told me what Flemeth had planned for her, the choice had been easy. I owed Flemeth for saving my life, and Alistair's—but I could not bear to see Morrigan as anyone except who she was. Her life was hers and hers alone, and she made sure everyone knew it.

I used to wonder how different things might have been. But I would not give Zev up for anything now.

This thought freezes my mind, and I feel my fingers relax and ease my nails out of my own flesh.

"Do not make this any more complicated than it need be, Warden," she says quietly, as if she reads my thoughts. I had given the ring back to her a few weeks ago, but Morrigan had never needed it to know what I was thinking. She is right; I give her much less credit than she deserves.

"If I do this, what happens afterwards?" I ask.

She tilts her head. "You go your way. I go mine. We do not meet again."

I look away. She catches my face with her hand and turns it back towards her, forcing me to meet her yellow-eyed glare. "Do not be a fool like the rest of them, Daen. This is your chance to live. 'Twill mean your death otherwise."

"I might die anyway," I temporize. "I don't think the Archdemon's going to just roll over and let us stick him in the belly."

Morrigan sighs. "Jokes will be the death of you. 'Tis meant literally. Take your blond twit as insurance, if you are so worried. He did perfectly well against my mother."

"Your mother almost swatted him into her hut."

"A pity she did not have better aim."

"Hah." I smile because I know that is what she expects. Morrigan has always had a very strange way of comforting me when she knew I was not feeling well.

"Well, but he returned all in one piece, did he not?"

I manage a laugh. "You weren't there. I don't think Zev does well against dragons. I don't want him to get hurt."

"My apologies. Did you not receive the note about this being a Blight?" Now Morrigan gives one of her rare laughs, although hers are never any more than a few dry chuckles. "He constantly hovers over you, even when there is a gate between the both of you," she continues wryly. "He will get hurt, believe me. With a bodyguard like that, 'twill be you who has the best chance of coming out of this in one piece of us all, Warden."

I cannot laugh at that. I cannot even try. I am a fool. Of course I know that he will get hurt in the days to come. But the thought of him getting hurt because of me chills me to the bone, almost as much as the idea of dying and losing my soul in the process.

Something must have shown in my eyes. Morrigan leans forward again, replacing her arms on my shoulders, and drifting so close that her lips lie directly against my ear. My senses drown in elfroot immediately. "He will not let you die, Warden. You know this as well as I do. You can only save him by saving yourself."

Sweet Maker, is this Your answer, then? How could You ask for such sacrifices when it is You who stands with Your back to us?

"You shouldn't have to do this, Morrigan," I whisper, and encircle her slender waist with my arms and hold her close between them. "Not for anyone or anything." And I close my eyes.

Note: Sorry, sorry, sorry. Work is killing me. The good news is that the next chapter should be posted as expected next Sunday...and, appropriately enough given its contents, just in time for Valentine's Day. Mwahahahaha.

I've always found the whole Dark Ritual thing to be very uncomfortable and a cheapening of Morrigan's character.

Denfree, Cielshadow17, anestezja—thank you so much for your kind words.

Until next time.

-K