26. Debts
Morrigan lost track of the hours from how intently she was concentrating. This spell was more art than technique, so a single lull in focus could have disastrous consequences for both herself and Breanne. She barely understood why she was attempting this at all. It would have been a simple matter to leave Breanne in the care of that irritating elderly mage, but the thought of doing so was repulsive.
This condition of Breanne's was by no means fatal, and the physical symptoms should even go away if Breanne stopped using magic. Being unable to use any more than the most basic of spells would be distressing to Breanne, certainly, but she would adapt. She always adapted. She would strengthen her archery and swordplay, hone her physical condition, and learn how to protect herself. All the teachers Breanne could ever want were in this group, after all, and even those who generally disliked her would aid her with unhesitant sympathy.
This injury was a result of Breanne's own recklessness and ignorance of her limits rather than an unavoidable incident. She overused her magic in a scenario that was dangerous but not necessarily fatally so, from what Morrigan had heard about the battle against the ogres.
And yet here Morrigan was, doing the same thing.
To keep these troubling thoughts from distracting her, Morrigan took a deep breath and cleared her mind. She remained in a meditative state for an indeterminate amount of time, searching mechanically. It was calming, Morrigan had to admit, this clinical analysis.
Finally, she felt an odd sensation enter the hand touching Breanne's, almost as though Breanne were tapping her fingertips against Morrigan's. She opened one eye but saw nothing physical. The tingling traveled through Morrigan's hand, and her skin began to prickle as though pulling itself out of numbness.
This was the essence of Breanne's magic.
As the light drumming sensation continued, Morrigan stared at her own hand curiously, half-expecting it to begin casting spells of its own volition, but it remained clasped with Breanne's. Morrigan had to resist the urge to wave her hand about, feeling as though she could relieve the numbness that way. In contrast to the deep, growing pressure in her chest that Morrigan felt while preparing a spell, this was a constant itch that she wanted to convert into immediate motion. Morrigan wondered how it felt to cast like this, how the feeling would change if she held or released a spell, if the itch would recede after she gave it direction. She dearly wanted to try, but she held herself back. That would ruin all of the progress she had made up to this point, and the process was nearly complete.
Now that she had found Breanne's mana well, Morrigan accessed her own. She slowly channeled a stream of magic to her tingling hand to mix with Breanne's own magic. The resulting sensation was disconcerting but not unpleasant. She closed her eyes, steeling herself for another long bout of concentration.
xXxXxXx
"...Andraste's... hyenas..." a soft murmur woke Morrigan. "Ugh, my head... Andraste doesn't have hyenas..."
Morrigan jerked her head upwards, horrified to realize that she had fallen asleep in her chair. Her bleary eyes focused on Breanne's face right in front of her, and Breanne yawned.
"Andraste doesn't have hyenas," she repeated sleepily.
"You would know better than I," Morrigan replied, grateful that Breanne seemed too disoriented to notice that Morrigan had been slumbering at her bedside. "Tell me," she urged, "can you use magic?"
"Hm...?" Breanne's dark eyes gazed hazily at Morrigan, no comprehension in their depths. "...Magic?"
"Attempt to cast a barrier," Morrigan ordered, and Breanne finally seemed to understand her.
The fingers on Breanne's left hand twitched almost imperceptibly, and a shimmer of green light materialized between Breanne and Morrigan. Breanne gaped at the twinkling light, her eyes wider than Morrigan had ever seen, and then a slow smile spread across her face. Instantly, the barrier gained density, becoming a thick, translucent green wall. Breanne's face was practically luminous as she flicked her hand, dissipating the barrier, and grinned at Morrigan.
"I can cast!" Breanne cried excitedly. "You healed me!"
Morrigan furrowed her brows and leaned back in her chair, regarding Breanne thoughtfully. "Wynne is the healing mage," she said. "I am not."
Breanne scoffed. She did not move her gaze from Morrigan even as she continued to cast small spells as though to make sure she really could. "If a health potion couldn't heal me, then Wynne couldn't heal me," Breanne stated disdainfully. "You're here and I'm able to cast. That means you made me able to cast."
"I may have aided," Morrigan acknowledged without emotion. "Does everything seem normal with your magic?"
"Mmhm," Breanne said gleefully. "Feels great!"
" 'Tis good to hear," Morrigan murmured, hiding her relief as best she could. "Is anything... different, however?" she asked carefully.
Breanne stared at her with a frighteningly calculated gaze before fluttering her hand fluidly. Instantly, a spark of electricity danced between her fingers. Breanne gasped in shock, staring slack-jawed at the lightning. She flapped her hand in panic, and the lightning disappeared.
"Knickers of Andraste's nonexistent hyenas," Breanne breathed. "I've never summoned more than static before." She gazed at Morrigan with unconcealed awe. "What'd you do, you brilliant sorceress?"
Abashed yet flattered, Morrigan shifted uncomfortably. " 'Twas nothing of consequence," she said with cold dismissal. "Most creatures have an instinctual need to survive, and you are no exception. I suspect that your overuse of magic triggered said instinct which caused you to restrict your ability to channel your magic, thus preventing your ability to cast."
Breanne tilted her head to the side thoughtfully. After a short silence she nodded. "That's a good explanation as any," she decided. "It makes sense that my hands would suffer the consequences, since that abrupt of a split wouldn't give the magic I'd gathered an outlet."
"I would agree," Morrigan replied, surprised and pleased that Breanne understood such hypotheses. "Had you not subconsciously severed your connection to the Veil, 'tis likely that your body would have been burned out by the quantity of magic or drained of all energy. Both would have resulted in death." Morrigan could not prevent a disapproving note from entering her voice, and she crossed her arms, biting back her desire to scold Breanne for her carelessness.
"M'kay," Breanne said. She gazed at Morrigan with an indiscernible expression, and Morrigan was again discomforted by her inability to read the young Warden. "You never answered the actual question," she commented. "I'll repeat it: What'd you do, you brilliant sorceress?"
"I simply restored your connection to the Veil," Morrigan replied stiffly.
"How?" Breanne shot back.
"One of the tomes you… acquired from the Circle," Morrigan began, "possessed a theoretical procedure to reverse the Tranquility. It failed," Morrigan added when Breanne gasped excitedly, "but it did inspire an idea."
Breanne quickly recovered from her momentary disappointment. She looked to Morrigan expectantly and did not speak.
"The tome described the possibility of reintroducing the Fade to a Tranquil by drawing upon another mage's connection to it. 'Twas thought that the Tranquil could use the other mage's example to replicate their own lost connection. In practice, the Tranquil gained a few moments of lucidity but that was all."
"I didn't go Tranquil, though," Breanne pointed out. Then, she widened her eyes in alarm. "I… didn't, did I?"
"No," Morrigan assured her. " 'Twas why it succeeded with you."
"Ah," Breanne murmured, again with acute understanding. "I still had a tie to the Veil, the Fade, even if it was slight. I see. You expanded the channel, which is different from reopening it, hm?"
"Indeed," Morrigan said briskly. " 'Twas a simple matter."
"A simple matter?" Breanne repeated, but with a hint of laughter and a smile twitching across her face. "It's a simple matter to channel your magic through another person, restore their connection to the Fade, and not lose your own magic along the way?" She turned serious as she leaned towards Morrigan, her eyes intent and piercing. "Morrigan," she stated gravely. "You risked far too much for me, and the debt I owe you is larger than every debt in my life combined. Without my magic…" Breanne glanced away, and Morrigan noticed her fingers trembling. "I am… very thankful. I don't know how to properly express it, but I…" Breanne took a deep, slow breath. "Thank you."
"Ah," Morrigan said, dumbfounded by such sincere gratitude. "You have no obligation to me. 'Tis is nothing but repayment for the various gifts and favors you continue to provide."
To Morrigan's surprise, Breanne smirked and slid herself out of the bed. She staggered momentarily on shaky legs, and Morrigan was reminded of the day Breanne had recovered from her injuries after Ostagar. She had seemed more childish and fickle in those days. In fact, to Morrigan, she already seemed more mature since leaving for the Deep Roads.
Breanne gazed steadily at Morrigan, her slight smile stretching into a sly grin. She leaned towards Morrigan, who was trapped in her chair, unable to distance herself without making an obvious retreat, another familiar sensation.
Breanne was unconcerned with or ignorant of Morrigan's discomfort, as she rested one hand against the back of the chair to prop herself above the other woman. Breanne's face was close enough that they were nearly touching noses. Morrigan forced herself not to blink, to flinch. She despised that her heart thudded painfully, that her mind turned blank of anything but anticipation.
"The idea of being in your debt is a bit... captivating," Breanne murmured. At this distance, Morrigan could notice how long and dark her lashes were, how wide her pupils were as she held Morrigan's gaze.
"You are not indebted to me," Morrigan said in a surprisingly steady voice.
"And that's no damn fun," Breanne purred, "so you're about to do me a favor."
Before Morrigan could wonder at her meaning, Breanne tilted her head and shifted even closer until her face completely filled Morrigan's field of vision. Morrigan opened her mouth to speak but was rendered unable to do so when Breanne's lips met hers.
It was a soft, gentle kiss, almost chaste, and lasted no more than a few seconds. Morrigan was vacillating between pushing Breanne away or deepening the kiss, so she instead did nothing. She remained frozen in place even as Breanne pushed herself away from Morrigan's chair.
Expecting a self-satisfied smirk on Breanne's face, Morrigan was perplexed to be met with a sober, thoughtful gaze instead. Breanne crossed her arms and finally smiled faintly.
"As I thought," she said in her melodic voice, "I like being in your debt." She waved prettily and flounced out of the room, humming under her breath.