A/N: Please note the warnings on this chapter.
I'd originally intended this to be in Sylvanna's POV, and that version of events was warning-free and very, very gentle, but it also completely failed to bring any of Morrigan's issues to the forefront so it was only really delaying the inevitable.
This is definitely a one-off; the dynamic in the follow-up chapter is going to be entirely different.
Acknowledgements:
With much gratitude to my beta, oneplusme, for the continued support and tolerance of my obsession, to juri for the early and recurrent feedback and to sqbr for the plot advice.
I have to thank Noah Sila for discussing Morrigan's self-control with me, and prompting the questions: what would it take for her to lose that control, and what would happen? I think the answers came up more in the follow-up passage (chapter 29), but they were also important in framing this scene.
Thank you to wayfaringpanda, interesting2125, mutive and Asher77 for putting up with all my whinging and flailing. I promise to get over it now. Maybe.
Thank you also to Snafu1000 for writing part 3 of Stolen Moments, which prompted me to frantically revise this chapter early on. I know most of you are already reading Moments in Time, but if you're not... you should be (f!Cousland/Leliana game novelisation).
Happy holidays everyone - this will be the last chapter before Christmas, and then posting will resume again probably in the new year. Thank you all for your support over the last nine months or so; it really means a lot to me to know that people out there are reading and enjoying my work. I was hoping to end the year with something fluffier, but well - I hope you'll forgive me.
Warnings: Possible dubious consent, violence, references to rape. Definitely NSFW. If you would like a censored version, please let me know by PM or comment, otherwise it will be recapped as usual at the start of chapter 27.
Recap - Morrigan, Sylvanna - chapter 23
[Redcliffe chapel]
Ghostly light: *glimmers*
Morrigan: Surely I am far too sensible to head towards an eerie glowing light without suspecting a trap. No? 'Tis a plot thing? Oh, very well.
Statue of Andraste: *is watching you and your guilty conscience*
Morrigan: Ah, a flashback to the night of my child's conception. Lovely. Can we get on with the maiming now?
Sylvanna: Have you noticed my knife? It's shiny. And dripping. I think it likes you.
Morrigan: Ugh.
Sylvanna: I still haven't forgiven you for raping my best friend, by the way.
Morrigan: And?
Sylvanna: I want you to die. Possibly, I think. Oh, the hell with it- *stabs Morrigan*
Morrigan: Ouch.
Ishantha: OMG, Mum! Mum, wake up!
Morrigan: I truly loathe the level of gore here. 'Tis so distasteful. Isn't there a setting for that?
Ishantha: Mum, I saved you!
Morrigan: Is that so?
Ishantha: Yes. Maybe? I mean yes! Of course!
Morrigan: ...
Ishantha: I totally didn't do the one thing you told me not to do, thereby leading inadvertently to your death! (Which I saved you from, btw. Yeah, that was me.)
Morrigan: ...
Ishantha: It was for the best! Really!
Morrigan: 'Twould be sensible for you to leave. Now.
Ishantha: But but-
Morrigan: Now.
Ishantha: *runs*
Morrigan: So, being an eminently logical and prudent witch, I stab the unconscious warden 'til she is dead. Yes?
Author: No.
Morrigan: I hate everyone.
*Morrigan disapproves -20*
Border Lines
.
.
.
Redcliffe
The stillness before the dawn's first light possessed a magic all of its own.
At least that was what a younger, more foolish Morrigan had once told herself, huddled tightly under her covers, waiting for the awful sounds from her mother's bed to fade away into blessed silence. The lessons from those days were etched deeply inside her, branded into her consciousness with a permanence born of awe and terror.
Morrigan doubted whether her own teachings had been so deeply received by her child.
On this morning, she watched her lover stir soundlessly in their bed. Her hands tensed as she saw Sylvanna's chest rise and fall, betraying nothing more than a deep and dreamless slumber. Gradually she relaxed the death's grip she held upon the dagger in her lap, deliberately forcing herself to settle back into the chair where she had kept her silent vigil.
Sylvanna had slept for the entirety of the night, utterly insensible. Morrigan began to wonder if she would ever wake at all.
.
.
.
"Bring her upstairs," Morrigan croaked, her throat dry as parchment. The two servants (sent by her daughter, she suspected) took Sylvanna's unconscious body between them, dragging her from the chapel floor.
Morrigan followed at a much slower pace, forcing herself to her feet. Blood dripped down the front of her robes, pooling on the stone tiles. She had ceased bleeding some time ago, but must have emptied half her veins before Ishantha had managed to find her.
No one could lose so much blood and survive. She was a walking anomaly, a woman who had been dead and yet was now breathing and moving like a living creature. Rather like that old bat, Wynne, though without the sanctimonious lecturing or the inconvenient spirit.
Morrigan coughed, and swayed on her feet. She clutched the dagger in her hand, as though it were her only anchor to reality, and lurched through the barren hallways of Redcliffe Castle.
One bath later and she was as free of blood as she would ever be, after scrubbing until her skin was an unhealthy shade of pink. She donned clean robes and left her bloodied rags to be burnt; no amount of mending or laundering could ever cleanse the fabric of the memories which had stained it.
Returning to her quarters, she found Sylvanna laid out on the bed, washed and dressed by the servants. Asleep, she looked so deceptively harmless. So blissfully ignorant.
Morrigan curled up in the chair beside her, and settled in to wait.
.
.
.
Dying, all things considered, had been far less illuminating than she had previously anticipated. In fact, the experience had been positively forgettable, with only the scar on her chest, the tenuous memories in her mind and the echo of her daughter's earnest assurances to remind her that it had even occurred.
Living was proving to be far more problematic.
She stared at the dagger in her lap, watching her blurred reflection gazing back at her. It was such a little thing, and so - so mundane. Not even magical, nothing there to explain why - how - such a thing could have found its way past her defences.
She stood and walked to the back of the room, throwing open the window and letting the breeze cool her fevered skin. Strains of music carried through the air, and raised voices; she turned to the bed, wondering if the sounds would prove enlivening.
Sylvanna failed to stir.
Morrigan paced, restless energy coiling within her limbs that threatened to break the perfect stillness of the dawn. There were things she needed to do. Plans she had to make. A daughter she had to find, and imbue with a sense of abject terror.
Instead, she found herself settling back in the chair beside the bed. There was an ache in her chest where the dagger had pierced her, releasing its virulent poison. Her fingers traced over the scar aimlessly, feeling the slight ridge of flesh where it had penetrated her skin, sliding between her ribs and biting deeply into a lung. It was a miracle, really, that she was still alive.
More than anything, Morrigan disliked leaving her fate on the knife's edge of chance.
"Morrigan?"
She startled, fingers tightening over the dagger in her lap. On the bed, Sylvanna sat up awkwardly, sheets clutched to her chest as she blinked in the grey, sombre light that suffused the room. Sylvanna's gaze slowly drifted down from Morrigan's face to the dagger she was holding.
Morrigan waited, dread turning her mouth dry.
Sylvanna frowned, but her eyes soon turned away, crinkling in puzzlement. "What is that... sound?" she asked, the timorous plea of a child longing for safe harbour from her nightmares and visions and the things that went bump in the night.
Morrigan released the breath she had been unaware of holding. "'Tis the Dalish, singing a dirge for their fallen warriors," she said, gesturing towards the open window.
Sylvanna slipped groggily out of bed, her thin shift clinging to her body. Morrigan watched the flash of bare feet as Sylvanna padded over to the window, placing her hands along its frame and leaning her head outside. A slight breeze brushed the hair back from her face, sneaking under the neckline of her shift and ruffling the fabric in small waves.
Sylvanna closed her eyes as she listened. "In uthenera na revas," she whispered, wrapping her arms around herself and shivering.
Those were the words that Leliana had taught her, Morrigan remembered, words of comfort in her time of need. She wondered if Sylvanna had already forgotten the sight of the bodies, stacked one on top of the other like a child's discarded toys, rotting and indescribably odorous in the heat, or the wardens, supplicating themselves in earnest devotion as Ishantha walked amongst them and stole the last breaths from their willing bodies like a vengeful god.
"Yes," was all she said, too weary to offer a disparaging retort. Even the sound of her own agreement felt unwelcome, interrupting the dirge with her dissonant voice. Morrigan carefully put aside the dagger, rising from her chair in a whisper of silk.
Sylvanna turned as she approached, and Morrigan saw her face blanch in horror, slender hands parting the fabric of Morrigan's robes and revealing the faint scar that marked her chest. "My love," Sylvanna asked, her voice trembling, "what is that?"
Morrigan felt her blood running cold. "You remember nothing?"
Sylvanna's eyes grew large. Morrigan watched them flicking over her neck and décolleté, a frown spilling over the warden's face before she slowly shook her head. Sylvanna's fingertips trailed hesitantly over her scar. The mark had already turned white as though it was an old, familiar wound, received much earlier from some indistinguishable battle. Morrigan shuddered at her touch, remembering the warden's expression as she plunged the blade into her, twisted with vengeance and filled with hatred. She turned away, but Sylvanna moved even closer, reaching out for Morrigan's cheek.
"You... you're crying," Sylvanna said in disbelief. Before Morrigan could protest, Sylvanna leant in and took her face in her hands, mouth warm against her skin. Cool fingertips trailed over Morrigan's cheeks, invoking a shudder as they brushed away hot tears. Everything about her was too soft - the pressure of her touch, the murmured reassurances spilling from her lips, the doe-like look of infinite pity in her eyes.
It would be easy to accept the comfort she offered. Easy to pretend that all was well, that her murderer could kiss away her tears without a second thought.
If Morrigan was any other woman, perhaps that absolution would have been enough.
Morrigan pushed her backwards and Sylvanna stumbled, reaching her hands behind her for support as her body hit the wall. Morrigan pressed her hard against it, her mouth savage, seeking, desperate, as she buried her hands in the warden's hair, holding her in place. Sylvanna faltered for a moment, overcome by Morrigan's vehemence, as the kiss burned away any last trace of sleepy morning haze that might have lingered in either of their minds.
Morrigan's hands raked over Sylvanna's body, leaving faint marks against pale skin. A soft whimper urged her to use her teeth against Sylvanna's throat, and she tightened her grip on her lover's shoulders as she shuddered and squirmed.
This was the woman who had killed her. This was the heart that had sought her demise, the hands that had sharpened the knife.
It was almost laughable.
The bites on Sylvanna's neck stood out starkly with their mottled reds and purples; she raised a hand to them as though to begin a healing spell.
Morrigan grasped her wrist, stopping her before she could cast. She bent her lips to Sylvanna's ear, unexpectedly gentle. "Don't," she murmured. "You look..." she pressed her mouth upon one of the marks, claiming it. Sylvanna moaned, her grip tightening on Morrigan's arms until the pressure was almost painful.
"So..." Morrigan swiped her tongue against the sensitised skin, following it with a tender kiss.
"Beautiful."
Morrigan knew she had been successful when she heard Sylvanna's breath catching in her throat. She slipped a knee in between Sylvanna's legs and then pushed up until she could feel the warmth of her against her thigh. She was bare under her shift, and Morrigan moved her hand until she found what she was seeking, feeling heat and yielding flesh between her fingertips. The elf made an inarticulate little sob, and Morrigan leant her full weight against her until there was no chance of her escaping.
If this was what had happened, that fateful night at Redcliffe during the end of the Blight, what strange and divergent paths their lives might have taken.
"Wait, Morrigan - talk to me," Sylvanna insisted. She was using a wheedling tone that had netted her an army. With that tongue, she had mended friendships, sought justice and coerced demons into submission. (Morrigan had always wondered if there had been some kind of magic at play. Sylvanna's arguments had never been particularly convincing, or even clever, but she brandished words like a weapon, and knights and brigands had fallen before her all the same). Morrigan knew that voice well enough, and she swore that it would not work on her.
Morrigan's teeth found the smooth ridge along one of Sylvanna's ears, and as she nipped at the delicate flesh, her tongue sliding over its hollows, she listened carefully to the rise and fall of Sylvanna's erratic breaths.
"Morrigan, please," Sylvanna murmured amidst gasps. The final word of her entreaty hung accusingly in the air between them, unspoken.
Stop.
She paused for a moment, idly caressing the tender skin along Sylvanna's inner thigh, feeling the elf shiver, her pulse warm and strong. There was a tension in her body, betraying an instinctual urge to flee that Morrigan intended to deny.
"Do you trust me?"
Sylvanna stared at a point just beyond her lover's face, her lips taking in a ragged breath. "Yes," she admitted, finally turning her eyes to look at Morrigan. "Yes, but-"
"That may prove to be unwise," Morrigan said softly, drawing out the sibilance in her statement. She watched a look of pain flit across Sylvanna's face, followed swiftly by a simmering frustration.
"What did I do to you?" Sylvanna demanded. "Talk to me, Morrigan, tell me-"
Morrigan clamped her free hand over the elf's mouth. "Be still, my love," she murmured, as Sylvanna glared at her resentfully. She slipped her fingers inside again, crooking them just - so, and Sylvanna moaned into her palm, her knees buckling.
Morrigan knew her lover's weak points, the cracks in her defences, how to exploit them and when. She knew just how much force to use to induce both submission and surrender, how to quicken a pulse and how to elicit the sweetest words of supplication from Sylvanna's lips.
But most of all, Morrigan knew that peace was something neither of them truly desired.
She drew near until their noses were touching, Sylvanna's breath tickling her palm, and lovingly placed a chaste kiss upon her cheek. Sylvanna flinched, turning aside as her hands pressed up against Morrigan's shoulders as though willing her to withdraw, a show of reproach at odds with the tantalising fervour of her body.
Satisfied that her lover was unlikely to move, Morrigan slipped her fingertips up in an arc to find Sylvanna's hard peak of tender nerves, the elf snapping back from her touch in affected distress. Morrigan briefly tightened her grasp on Sylvanna's jaw, muffled sounds of protest escaping from around her palm.
"Did you play such games with the templars?" Morrigan asked softly, lowering the hand covering Sylvanna's mouth so that she could answer.
"What?"
"In that cold, lonely tower," Morrigan purred, her lips shaping each word with a deliberate perfection. "Did they hold you as I am holding you now? Did they force themselves upon you, I wonder, or did you submit willingly, bargaining away your body in exchange for empty promises of freedom?"
"I - no - I didn't - it wasn't like that," Sylvanna stammered, flinching away from Morrigan's cold stare. "I-"
"Perhaps those were the circumstances that led you to favour your own sex," Morrigan mused, pressing her words directly into Sylvanna's ear as she felt the elf's hips twist away from her ministrations.
"Why must you be so cruel?" Sylvanna whispered.
"I told you," Morrigan snapped. "I warned you. 'Do not pursue this,' I said. 'Do not follow me.' And yet you heeded me not."
Sylvanna held her breath, and then the words tumbled out of her mouth in a rush. "I don't know what you want from me-"
Truth be told, Morrigan was not entirely certain herself - only that she would not cease until she had emerged the victor from the unspoken hostilities between them.
"'Tis your own fault," she claimed, her nails digging into Sylvanna's arm as she spoke. "You should have listened to me. You should have run whilst you were still able."
Sylvanna stared up at her with horror. "Morrigan, I love-"
She backhanded Sylvanna before she was forced to hear the end of that phrase. A thin trickle of blood seeped from Sylvanna's lip, and she slowly pressed a hand to her face, her fingers trembling. She was close to crying, judging from the glassy sheen in her eyes; it was entirely the reaction that Morrigan did not want to provoke. Even now, the sight of Sylvanna in tears made her feel weak.
"Did you welcome your imprisonment?" Morrigan demanded, hiding the tremor in her voice. "Did it remind you of home? The stone walls, the men at arms, the clawing of demons reaching for you through the Veil..."
"What are you talking about?"
"Fort Drakon," Morrigan elaborated, and was rewarded with a hardening in Sylvanna's eyes. "Did you scream, I wonder? Did you plead with them for your dignity, buying precious time with tricks and platitudes, knowing that the inevitable was yet to come? Did you-"
Morrigan felt the Veil shift around her but she was prepared, a shield in place before she felt the blow from Sylvanna's power striking against it. The spell was clumsy, artless - raw force without the precision of control or focus - a novice's mistake.
"You could do better," Morrigan taunted.
"Stop," Sylvanna said. "Be quiet Morrigan, please," she begged as she clamped her hands over her ears.
That would not do. She could pitch her voice so that Sylvanna would be forced to hear her, no matter how she tried to avoid it, but she loathed to shout when a whisper would be far more effective.
She grabbed the elf by her arm and Sylvanna lashed out with psychic force. The wave of energy burst across her shield, draining her; Morrigan flinched but did not hesitate. She pushed Sylvanna to her knees, twisting her arm behind her until she heard Sylvanna cry out in pain.
"A slight improvement," Morrigan said, hastily scratching out a glyph on the floor as she dug her knee into the small of Sylvanna's back, shoving her downwards. The warden turned, aiming a bolt of ice directly into Morrigan's face. She was heartened to see that the spell possessed real power, even as it fizzled out before connecting, the glyph of neutralisation flaring into life between them.
"You are a heartless shrew," Sylvanna snarled, struggling as Morrigan grabbed a hank of her hair, using her grip to push her flat against the floor.
"Far better to be heartless than heartbroken."
Sylvanna twisted to face her, straining against the fingers entangled in her hair. Something akin to pity crossed the warden's face as she looked up, a hand reaching forwards as if to brush the scar on Morrigan's chest.
She slapped Sylvanna's hand away, tugging her robes closed. "Tell me to stop," Morrigan whispered. "Beg me to stop, and I swear I will release you." Her fingertips drifted down Sylvanna's body, parting her damp thighs and the elf cried out as though in pain.
"No - Morrigan, just-"
"Beg."
"How dare you," Sylvanna said, and the smouldering ire in her eyes was delicious beyond words.
"Beg me," Morrigan instructed again. Her fingers delved in further and slowly began to move in a steady rhythm, her thumb flicking in tiny circles. Sylvanna's body knew this game well enough, barely offering any resistance despite the breathy whimpers that escaped her lips, completely failing to form a coherent phrase.
"Shall I continue then?" Morrigan asked with a smirk. "How very disappointing. I expected more of a challenge from the legendary 'Hero of Ferelden'..."
"Don't," Sylvanna snapped. "Don't call me that."
Morrigan leant down. "Make me stop," she hissed. "The glyph has faded. At this range, a successful spell would be fatal."
"I don't want to hurt you," Sylvanna said wearily, as though recalling the last time she had spoken those words.
"Then you are either a fool or a liar," Morrigan declared, making it abundantly clear which was the more pitiable. She shifted her weight, a spell arcing through her fingertips that caused Sylvanna to writhe beneath her, nails digging into her shoulders.
"Morrigan. Morrigan-"
"You must have offered more resistance than this to your unwanted lovers, did you not?" Morrigan asked. "I have seen your scars." She brought her free hand to Sylvanna's face, her thumb running across the elf's jaw. Sylvanna stiffened, shrinking back as though she could disappear into the floor, her eyes staring right through Morrigan as though she was seeing someone else. "I never did learn how you acquired this one..."
Morrigan scraped her fingernails along the thin lines of scar tissue marring Sylvanna's cheek, pressing down firmly enough to leave a mark as she followed the lines down to the corner of her mouth.
In that moment, she felt Sylvanna breaking.
Sharp nails dug into Morrigan's back, drawing blood; even if she wanted to, she could scarcely withdraw. Sylvanna's body entrapped her, the elf wracked with shudders; Morrigan found herself feeling unexpectedly magnanimous. She murmured a number of pithy statements, soothing nothings, gently cradling Sylvanna as her lover helplessly struggled. She was unsure if Sylvanna could even hear her over the wretched sobs that were emerging from her throat.
When Sylvanna regained her voice, she began to curse, a half-inaudible string of expletives tumbling off her tongue. Morrigan thought, with some detachment, that she could make out the words 'bitch' and 'shem' amongst the less offensive terms, and idly wondered if she had gone too far.
The torrent of words eventually slowed to a trickle, as Sylvanna clumsily pushed Morrigan away from her and began to cry: ugly, helpless noises that she made no effort to conceal. Morrigan ran her fingertips along Sylvanna's body, gently tucking a limp strand of hair behind the elf's ear.
"What - what do you want?" Sylvanna asked, her voice breaking through her tears. "For pity's sake, just tell me."
Morrigan drew her into the circle of her arms, finding her unresisting. She tilted Sylvanna's face towards her and kissed that bruised mouth, tasting the traces of blood and salt that had reached the corners of her lips.
She would do anything for you, a voice purred inside Morrigan's mind. It sounded disturbingly similar to her mother's. You could take her. You could devour her whole, and she would submit with a smile. Probably even enjoy it, the little slut.
Morrigan allowed her hands to drift downwards, cupping Sylvanna's hips as she kissed the warm hollow of her neck, feeling the shudder as she touched the soft, defenceless point of skin just below her pointed ear. She could hear Sylvanna's pulse flowing through her body, feel the warmth of her blood racing through her veins. She imagined calling to that blood, ripping it out to feed her unbearable hunger.
Sylvanna gazed at her with a complete lack of artifice, as if she could see through to the monster Morrigan had become and was not afraid. "Tell me," Sylvanna demanded, anger in her voice, her face blotchy with tears. "Tell me what you need." Her lips parted slightly as though in surrender, and the untamed desire rose in Morrigan again, the deadly voice that told her she needed this, that she deserved this, that she could drain every last drop of blood from the warden's body and that Sylvanna would use her final breaths to beg her not to stop.
Morrigan needed to kill.
The revelation was like a cold shock to her system, and she pushed herself away with a clumsiness that spoke volumes about her shattered state of equilibrium. Sylvanna gazed up, her eyes filled with accusations. Still, she did not rise to follow, nor bid her to return, and for those small mercies Morrigan was endlessly grateful. Behind her, she could hear the sound of Sylvanna's blood still thrumming with life (and part of her whispered that she could go back, that she could still give in to her urges, and just what was she waiting for?)
The words of the transformation came to her haltingly, her tongue feeling thick and slow, but at last the magic took hold and freed her from the darkest reaches of her temptation. The air shimmered around her, the spell bending and shaping her. Within her new body, her clothes slipped free and then she was airborne, the mistress of herself once more, unfettered and wild.
The hawk spread her powerful wings, catching the rising rays of the sun as she climbed higher and higher into the open sky.
.
.
.
A/N: Sylvanna quotes from Leliana's Song: "in waking sleep is freedom".
With many thanks to my reviewers: Asher77, Auroraas, Misdirection, Mm-Burnt-Toast-mM, mutive, PhoenixFawkes310, Spikesagitta, wayfaringpanda and Zero-Vision.
Obviously I have strong feelings about what I wanted to achieve in this chapter. I'd really, really appreciate any concrit or feedback, especially since I haven't written something like this before, and I accept anonymous reviews. In particular:
- How did it make you feel? If you hated it, which aspects and why?
- Did it come across as OOC?
- Who do you sympathise with the most, if anyone?
Thanks guys in advance.