CHAPTER 18
..x..
The gentle sound of chirping birds and rolling water lured her from the vivid images of death, blood, and monsters as her eyes cracked open, squinting at the morning light. With a quiet whimper, she rolled onto her back and stretched her arms, grunting as her joints and muscles regained feeling. For once in a long time, she felt oddly rested, the unpleasant dreams that plagued her having done little to disrupt the deep slumber she'd been under.
"Good morning, beautiful."
Everil groggily turned her head in his direction and paused. "I… uhm… morning..." she stammered awkwardly, blinking at the unexpected sight.
Alistair sat casually by the window, legs crossed and cheek resting on his fist as warm sunlight reflected over his gold plated armor, giving it an almost ethereal glow. It took her a few seconds to realize it was he she was seeing and not Cailan, the armor being a replica of the one worn by him in Ostagar, with the same royal emblem that marked him as Ferelden's king.
She slowly sat up, mouth agape upon finding the picture very attractive. She noticed the soreness between her legs and winced, the ache snapping her out of the spell.
With slight concern, he rose from the chair to sit at the edge of the bed, gently taking her hand. "Everything all right?"
Memories from the night before poured into her mind, bringing a smile to her face. "Yes… Everything's fine," she assured him with a light chuckle. "Just… still feeling last night."
"Oh, I see…" He smirked a little, mischief, and pride crinkling the corners of his eyes. "So I was a little too rough on you… I apologize, my love. Would you like me to lick your wounds?"
Heat rose to her cheeks and her parts throbbed at his insinuation before another amused chuckle escaped her. Smiling seductively, she leaned forward, pressing her lips to his as one hand came to rest on his chest. "Maybe tonight… If we can get some time alone."
He grinned. "I'm sure I can make time..."
"We'll see..." she teased with a wink, then patted his shining plate. "Nice armor, by the way."
"Ah, yes, this. I guess the arl picked it up from the royal palace before we left Denerim. They had it cleaned and polished before bringing it to the room," he said and then gave her a playful grin. "The three maids he sent with it helped me put it on while you slept." He then leaned in with a snicker. "You should have seen the look on their faces when they saw you lying naked on my bed… I told them to let you sleep because all the fun we had last night left you spent."
"Alistair!" she playfully smacked his arm.
He chuckled at her reaction, bringing her hand up to kiss her fingers. "Just kidding..."
She shook her head hopelessly. "Well, it suits you."
Sighing, he looked down at himself, the adorable look on his face resembling that of a dejected child. "I still like the Grey Warden armor better."
"I know you do…" She offered him a sympathetic smile while gently cupping his cheek. He leaned into her touch, placing his hand over hers before turning his head to tenderly kiss her palm.
"I should get ready…" She let out a breath and lowered her arm. "Arl Eamon and the others are probably waiting for us."
"Right… I actually have to meet with him before we go." He rose to his feet and then leaned over, giving her a soft kiss on the lips. "I'll see you later…"
Everil watched him leave, shutting the door behind him. At that moment, as she sat in the sudden loneliness of the room, thoughts of the Blight returned to her mind. Her gaze went to her sheets as the senior Warden's words about the Archdemon seemed to haunt her. There was a genuine possibility that Riordan could die trying to reach the dragon, or during his battle with it, leaving either her or Alistair with the responsibility of killing it.
If she were to make the choice, she would leave Alistair heartbroken. And yet knowing him, she knew he would likely be the one to do it so she may live. The thought of losing him instantly made her chest tighten uncomfortably. And when she imagined herself without him, the pressure became almost unbearable.
Not to mention that now it wouldn't affect only her. If he were to perish, Ferelden would be left without a king and would probably fall into disarray once again. Anora could take the crown back, but that didn't guarantee the Bannorn would be under control.
"I won't allow it..." she told herself, a confident look on her features. If the worst came to pass, she would be the one to kill the dragon. No matter the cost.
.x.x.x.x.
Days passed since they left Redcliffe, forced to take their army the long way north to avoid the blighted lands further south. As they marched, dwarves, elves, and mages flew their individual banners, while the human forces carried Ferelden's royal flag, marching in the front. Each group moved in an organized fashion, one after the other trekking after Alistair, Everil, and the rest of their party as they led them on horseback. Eamon also rode with them, serving as an advisor to the king after leaving Teagan to help handle matters in Redcliffe.
They had been traveling through the woods and by a nearby lake when they stopped for one last night of rest. It was the eve before the battle, and everyone in their camp was on edge. Soldiers of all races gathered around campfires that peppered the area, eating and laughing to forget the fear of the horrors they were about to face. While royal guards patrolled the clearing in constant surveillance, ready to sound the alarm should any enemy attempt to surprise them from the shadows.
Everil silently observed some of the men from beside her tent, arms folded over her chest as Bjorn sat beside her. Many of the people gathered before her would not survive past tomorrow. And many had families waiting for them back home. That knowledge weighed heavily over her as she recalled one of the many wise lessons her father taught her many years ago.
"Our soldiers and their families are our most valuable assets—even above coin itself."
"Why is that Papa?"
"Because they are the only ones willing to give up everything to protect us and our people. Their sacrifice makes peace possible. Never take them for granted."
Footsteps beside her drew her attention to one of the royal guards as he approached her, his helmet keeping his features hidden as he spoke with a fist to the chest. "General, the king sends for you. He and the arl are ready to communicate the last strategy for the battle."
"Very well. Take me to him."
The man walked ahead of her as she and her hound followed him to the edge of the wide clearing, where they'd set up a table with maps, candles, and markers. Alistair, Riordan, Eamon, and officers of each race stood around it, talking quietly amongst each other. The picture vaguely reminded her of Ostagar and the time just before the battle, but she shoved aside the comparison. This isn't Ostagar. This time, we will win.
"There you are," Alistair greeted her as she approached to stand on the other side of the table.
"I hear we have a solid plan?" Everil asked as she gazed at the map.
"Yes." Eamon replied, the light of the candle reflecting over the silver metal of his plate armor. "I drafted the quickest route for you and your chosen party to reach Fort Drakon. Unfortunately, there is a possibility that you will have to fight your way there." He then gestured towards Alistair. "Sire?"
"Right. So, over the past few days, I've been thinking..." Alistair folded his arms. "I seriously doubt that the darkspawn would just move in and stand around doing nothing while waiting for us. We've seen they're capable of building structures in the Deep Roads. If they have any brains at all, they will want to close off the roads to the tower to make it more difficult for anyone to reach the Archdemon."
"That's true…" Everil uttered quietly, a frown creasing her brow. "Then perhaps a detachment would have to assist."
Eamon nodded, hands clasped behind his back. "That is part of the plan."
Alistair continued, resting a hand on the table while leaning over the map to point at the paths charted on it. "We can send a detachment from each of our allies to follow the Grey Wardens and fight at their command, then you can use the back roads here and here to avoid the bulk of the horde. The rest of the army will focus on liberating each district from enemy forces, saving as many civilians as they can." He then gazed up at her and the others. "The primary goal is to kill the dragon, but we also have to keep the darkspawn on their toes, otherwise they will use their numbers against us. Which… wouldn't be nice."
"That sounds like a good strategy, though I would like to suggest a minor change," Riordan interjected somberly, arms crossed. "I would like to use the chaos to try and make my way to the dragon on my own. If we can defeat it sooner, we may not lose as many lives." He turned to her. "Everil, you will lead the party and fight your way into Fort Drakon. I'll want you there in case I need your help… Or in case I fail to kill it."
She dipped her head. "Got it."
"I'll be going with her too."
Everyone turned their attention to the king.
"Alistair, I don't believe that to be necessary," Eamon objected with a creased forehead.
"Sorry, but my decision is final. I'm also a Grey Warden and I won't let my comrades risk their lives without me," he insisted, leaving no room for argument.
"Then I suppose we will have to pray to the Maker so you and our General make it back alive, my liege," said Ser Donall, his new knight-commander, a grave look upon his rugged features. Eamon himself recently appointed him, having been one of his most trusted knights and someone who'd served under the arl since before he sent Alistair to the Chantry.
"Don't worry about us, just focus on leading the men against the darkspawn," Alistair replied with a friendly smile.
"Good then!" the dwarven general said with a smirk, meaty arms crossed as he ran his fingers through a white beard. "It sounds like we have what we need for the fun tomorrow."
"My archers will be available on command," said the Dalish commander. "Just make sure we have a perch to set on and we'll make our arrows rain down upon those creatures for you."
Everil smiled at her. "Thank you."
"Our mages are also prepared," added one of the senior enchanters. "We can assist with heavy spells on larger numbers should you become overwhelmed."
"We appreciate all your support in this. We really wouldn't have a fighting chance without you," Alistair told them all. "At any rate, we should go rest for the night. We'll be heading to battle at sunrise."
The knights brought both fists to their chests and bowed to him before turning on their heels and heading back to camp. The other races also dispersed, each heading for their own tents. Riordan gently patted Everil's shoulder, nodding to her before going back, as well.
"Well done, Alistair," Eamon praised, placing a firm hand on his shoulder. "Make sure you return in one piece tomorrow. Ferelden needs you."
"I'll do my best…" was all he could say.
He and Everil saw the arl also make his way to his tent as Bjorn lay down by her feet. A brief silence followed, the sound of the men in the distance the only background noise until she drew in a breath and turned to him. "I don't think you should come with us."
He shot her a critical look. "What?"
"As Riordan said, if he fails against the Archdemon, someone else will have to take the responsibility of killing it."
Alistair tensed, knitting his brow. "So you're telling me that someone will be you…"
"Yes," she replied without hesitation.
"No. You can't," he reproached, promptly stepping around the table to stand before her. "I won't let you do it."
"Alistair…" she sighed in both sadness and frustration. "You are the king of Ferelden now. Compared to you, I am expendable."
"No, not to me you're not…" He stepped closer to gently grasp her arms. "You're all I have... If I lose you, nothing else will matter."
"I know…" Everil shook her head and reached up to gently cup his cheek, smiling weakly at him. "I feel the same way you do... Which is why I want to do this. For your sake and for Ferelden's."
Another brief silence followed as the two held each other's gaze, standing close to one another.
Candlelight reflected over his ambers, illuminating the uncertainty and the dread swimming inside them. And in turn, he saw in her blue orbs the full confidence she held in her decision. Which meant that he wouldn't be able to convince her. That he wouldn't be able to stop her if that time ever came.
With a quivering breath, Alistair gently pulled her into his arms, one hand resting on the back of her head as he held her to him. She returned the bittersweet embrace, closing her eyes as the cool metal of his armor pressed against her body.
"Damn it…" he breathed helplessly into her hair. "I wish there was another way... There has to be another bloody way…"
"There is."
Surprised by the unexpected voice, they both withdrew just enough to look in its direction.
Everil blinked. "Morrigan…"
The witch was standing at the edge of the clearing, arms crossed and with her yellow glare glowing ominously in the dark as they stared intently back at them.
"You know about this...?" Alistair spun to face her with a scrutinizing look.
"About the need for a Grey Warden to sacrifice themselves to kill the Archdemon? Yes. Yes, I do," Morrigan replied dryly, then motioned towards the woods behind her. "Come... What I have to tell you mustn't be heard by anyone else, under any circumstances. Leave the mongrel too. We must avoid any unwanted attention it may bring if it barks."
Alistair and Everil exchanged glances before she turned to her hound. "Stay here, boy," she commanded, petting his head.
The hound whined curiously at her before seeing them disappear with the woman into the woods.
.x.x.x.x.
The pair silently tailed her, both wary of the witch's cryptic words as they crossed through the darkness with her. She led them deeper into the forest, far enough so they could only see the subtle glow of campfires from a distance. Thick foliage enveloped them, the light of the moon shining in thin streaks through the canopy above and casting moving shadows as the branches shifted with the breeze.
Finding a suitable spot to talk, Morrigan faced them. She unclasped her staff from her back, then tapped it on the ground, igniting the tip on fire for a bit of light.
"All right, Morrigan." Alistair began impatiently, crossing his arms before her. "What's this secret solution of yours?"
"Allow me to speak and you will know it, fool," she replied before turning her attention to Everil. "I know a way to save all Grey Wardens from death after defeating the Archdemon. It is a ritual taught to me by my mother, and the real reason why I was sent on this quest with you after Ostagar."
"The real reason…?" Everil repeated quietly, furrowing her brow.
"As you well know, the Archdemon was once an Old God, corrupted and awakened from its slumber by the darkspawn. When defeated by a Grey Warden, the Old God's connection to the taint will draw its soul towards them, destroying both of them in the process." Morrigan tilted up her chin, her expression cool and collected. "Old Gods are legendary beings who must be protected instead of destroyed, just as I believe ancient magic and lore should be preserved. My wish is to save this Old God and to keep its power for my own. To do so, however, I will require a vessel in its most pure state. This will allow the Old God to be reborn anew, with me to raise it as I see fit."
"So you want to grow your own Old God…" Alistair muttered uncomfortably, arching an eyebrow at her. "Ever thought of picking up gardening, instead? I hear leeks are nice this time of year."
Morrigan sent him a disparaging glare. "Someone with your level of intellect would never understand, Alistair."
He shrugged. "I'm just saying that you may be playing with fire here. What if something goes wrong and you doom us all?"
"Then 'twould be my burden to bear, not yours."
"How very responsible of you…"
"All right, then…" Everil then stepped in with a sigh, a little impatient. "What do we need to do, Morrigan?"
"The ritual I mentioned must be performed on the eve of battle. Tonight." Morrigan paused, tilting her nose up at her. "It will produce an unborn child—the vessel I require to capture the Old God's soul."
"A child?" Everil whispered nervously. "Do you mean—"
"It means that a male Grey Warden must lay with me tonight. The child created from our union will bear the taint, and once the archdemon is slain, its essence will seek out the child like a beacon. In this early stage, the child can absorb it without perishing. Thus the archdemon is destroyed without a Grey Warden dying in the process." Morrigan's chilling gaze shifted to Alistair. "Alistair… You are the male Grey Warden I need."
His eyes went wide, all color draining from his face. "W-What?"
Everil's expression mirrored his.
"Why must it be so surprising?" Morrigan smirked a little, unconcerned by their shock. "As I said… 'Twas the reason why Flemeth sent me with you. You were the one my mother chose from the very beginning."
"But why…?" Everil's astonishment quickly turned into an indignant scowl, her voice rising. "Why must it be Alistair! Why can't it be Riordan instead!"
"It must be a Grey Warden who has not lived with the taint for so long. Riordan would be unable to bear a child by this point," Morrigan responded evenly, chillingly calm. "So unless you know of someone else in the immediate vicinity, Alistair is the only one who can give me what I need."
Everil tore her eyes from hers, glaring weakly at the ground.
"I… I can't believe what I'm hearing…" Alistair breathed out.
"So what happens after... After it's over?" Everil questioned, chest painfully tight. She'd thought this woman to be her friend. Now, it was as if she'd never really known her. "What happens to you and the child?"
"'Tis quite simple, really…" Morrigan's lips spread into a wicked smirk. "After the battle is over, and I have what I want, I will disappear from your lives forever. The child will be mine to raise as I please, far from Ferelden. And no one but you and Alistair will ever know of its existence."
"I… Then…" Everil hesitated, nervously glancing towards the still stunned Alistair. "Then maybe we should accept the offer..."
"What? No!" Alistair objected, horrified by what they were agreeing to at his expense. "I'm not about to make the same bloody mistake as my father and curse some other child to live the life I did."
Everil licked her lips. "Alistair…"
"And just think about what you'd be asking me to do so that Morrigan can have her little pet." He curled his nose in disgust. "To perform some… sex ritual with her! How could you even consider such a thing? And you!" He directed his glare at the witch while pointing a finger to Everil. "How dare you force her to make that choice! She's to be my wife, for Maker's sake!"
"I am not forcing anything upon you! I am simply offering you a way out!" Morrigan shot back. "Do you not wish for the both of you to survive tomorrow?"
"Of course I do! But this isn't just about us!" Alistair snapped, then shook his head, taking a long, flustered breath as he rubbed the back of his tense neck. "If—and this is a huge if—I even consider doing this with you… What actual assurances can you give me that you won't use this child against Ferelden one day? What guarantees do you have for me that this bastard child of mine won't come back years later to try and take over the throne?"
The witch scowled. "None. You will simply have to trust me."
"Oh, well, isn't that just great?" Alistair threw his arms up, then whirled about to return to camp. "I'm done talking. I'm going back to my tent and then I'm going to pretend that this conversation never happened!"
Everil watched him go, lips pressed into a line, and for the first time, unsure of what to do or say. He was right to be angry at her apparent decision. Right to doubt the witch after her deception. And she knew she should be too. But all she could feel was dread, heartache, and doubt. What should I do…?
"Warden…"
Her lost gaze slowly shifted to Morrigan.
"If you wish to save that stubborn man of yours, go speak with him," she urged quietly, her expression hinted with aggravation. "Only you can sway him."
"Why, Morrigan?" Everil asked, her betrayal still stinging. "Why didn't you just tell me from the beginning?"
"We have no time for sentimentalism. And I have no interest in talking about this any further. I have said my piece. Now, 'tis all up to you." A deep breath escaped her purple lips as the witch looked away from her, pointing a slender finger to where they could see water glistening past the trees. "There is a cave on the other side of the lake, near the shore. Far enough from the campsite. Tell him I shall be waiting there, should he accept my offer."
"Wait…" Everil breathed with trepidation. "What about… What about this child's future? Will having the soul of an Old God inside not cause it harm? Perhaps... even eventually kill it?"
Morrigan paused for a moment, surprised by her sincere concern. Even with what was happening to her, the woman still found it in herself to worry about someone else. Someone she'd never even come to know if her betrothed were to agree to sleep with her.
She felt a pang of guilt at having to put her through this, yet hid it behind a cold facade. "No…" she answered quietly. "You need not worry. I can promise you that no harm will come to the child."
Everil sighed. "Very well…"
"I suggest you make haste, girl. We only have tonight."
With that, the witch whirled around and continued her trek to the lake, leaving her standing in the woods, alone in the dark with her unsettling thoughts.
.x.x.x.x.
Candles lit up the inside of his tent, flickering gently from the desk he'd used to read documents Eamon insisted he study during their travels. A trunk was beside it, full of clothes he never planned to wear out in the field. They'd also brought other, more unnecessary furniture for him, positioned by the bright yellow and red burlap surrounding him.
At the center of it all was his bed, wide enough for two people, covered in furs and pillows and admittedly more comfortable than sleeping on the ground. It was almost too much for him, to the point where, when he'd been first forced into it, he'd proclaimed it unfair that the rest of his party didn't get the same treatment. However, Eamon had those protests shot. So now his soldiers had to take down and move everything every time they changed locations.
With an annoyed grunt, Alistair set his golden armor on the nearby wooden chair, causing it to creak under its weight. He took the two steps to his bed and plopped onto the edge, glaring at the far corner of his tent with a huff. Needless to say, he was still aggravated by Morrigan's daring request and by her deceit. By the way in which she'd attempted to use their situation to her benefit.
Of course she and her mother had plans for them from the start. Probably from the very moment they stumbled upon her while searching for the Grey Warden treaties in the ruins. Flemeth, the Witch of the Wilds, couldn't have had much to worry about during a Blight, and she wouldn't have helped them out of the kindness of her heart. And now her daughter sought to continue where she left off. To offer her so-called help to gain something in return. The apple doesn't fall far from the tree…
Alistair blinked as those distant words resonated in his mind, reminding him of the phrase the old woman had used on him when he was drowning in his own grief over Duncan's passing. His forehead creased in consternation, trying to make sense of them. Did she mean King Maric? Would she have known about my parentage just by looking at me? His frown deepened. Does that mean she picked me for that reason? He shook his head. No… Coincidence… They needed a Grey Warden, not my blood…
Still, he felt a headache creeping in and he leaned over, elbows on his knees as he buried his face in his hands. "I don't care… I really don't..." he muttered while tiredly rubbing his face. He took in a deep breath, suddenly seeing Everil's smiling face and hearing the sweet memory of her laughter. "Maker... I don't want to lose her…"
If only there was something else they could do to make sure no one died. If only there was a miracle somewhere out there that could solve their problem without having to resort to someone like her.
"Your Majesty," he heard the guard call.
"Yes…" he answered while bringing his hands down, looking at the door.
The guard poked his head inside. "Lady Everil seeks to speak with you."
"Hold on…" Alistair pushed himself to his feet, then adjusted his white tunic while walking to the door. He opened the flap to find her and her mabari standing behind it, his stare promptly landing on hers.
The tortured look she was giving him made his heart twist with remorse. He'd left her in the woods with Morrigan instead of waiting for her. Too focused on his own emotions and on his need to flee from the deeply uncomfortable conversation. Who knew what she was thinking right now? Who knew what she was feeling?
His earlier annoyance dissipated as he extended an arm to her. "Come in..."
With a silent nod, Everil trudged inside, his hand on her back as he led her in. Bjorn followed her closely, no doubt sensing her distress.
Alistair turned his attention to the royal guard. "You can go for the night."
"But…" The boyish man gave him a worried look. "Arl Eamon said to guard your tent, sire."
"I know he did…" He let out a puff of air, then stepped up to him, placing a hand on his shoulder. "Look, I understand you're just doing your job. But do you know who it was that just walked into my tent? To me… that is."
The soldier fidgeted uncomfortably. "She's your betrothed, no?"
"Right." Alistair gave him a lopsided smile. "And I would really like to speak with her alone. In private. On the last night before the battle. Without prying ears to listen in on us... If you know what I mean."
"Ah… I understand." The man cleared his throat. "But what if the arl asks me why I'm not at my post?"
"Then just tell him the king gave you orders to go get some rest. That way he'll come yell at me instead," he answered with a grin, then motioned with his head to the campsites further down the hill. "Now, go. Get out of here. Spend some time with your friends or something."
"Very well…" He nodded before bowing to him. "Good night, sire."
"Good night."
The guard strolled off and Alistair's smile slowly faded before he went back into the tent. Everil was sitting at the edge of the bed, hands on her lap, having taken off her gloves while waiting patiently for him. And she didn't have to speak for him to know what she was going to say. "I won't do it," he said vehemently, then headed for the chair across from her.
"Alistair…" Her troubled gaze trailed him as he took a seat.
"And I can't believe you're still thinking about accepting her offer," he added, once again resting his elbows on his knees.
"It is the only choice we have..." she insisted weakly.
"Maker, how I hate that word…" Alistair ran a hand down his face, worn out and irritated by how helpless he felt.
Choices. It always came down to damn choices. He would never regret becoming a Grey Warden, but ever since everything began it had come down to kill or be killed. To live or die. He almost felt as if both of them were cursed with more than the taint. Cursed to always lose in order to keep what they'd already gained. To risk giving up their own happiness, their relationship or some other aspect of their lives just to hold on to a modicum of normalcy.
Doing nothing would mean he'd likely lose the woman he loved tomorrow. Or he could lose his own life and leave the throne empty, while also leaving her alone without him. And if he were to follow through with Morrigan's plan, he'd be sacrificing his own conscience and his own principles. Which he'd done for Everil once before, but not by producing a child with a woman he couldn't stand while also possibly putting at risk his lands, his future rule, or that of their children if they were to conceive.
Still silent, his gaze went up to Everil, observing for a moment the way she nervously fiddled with the ring on her finger, as if she too were searching through her feelings. He'd never seen her agonize like this over anything before. Or doubt herself this much. As if just talking to him about this were worse than facing the Blight itself.
"Hey..." Alistair whispered as he slid off the chair and fell on his knees before her, drawing her attention to him. He clasped her hands between his, stopping her anxious movements as his disconcerted stare met hers. "Why even consider it when it bothers you this much just to discuss it with me?"
"Of course it bothers me… Maker, just thinking about it is killing me..." she admitted, stubbornly gulping down the tears that threatened to spill out of her. "But… But even if it hurts to think of you with her tonight, it hurts far worse to imagine myself without you for the rest of my life."
He sighed for the hundredth time that night, an overwhelming mix of emotions battling inside him. Indignation and disgust at the task being forced upon him. The fear of losing her. The dismay, anger, and powerlessness at the circumstances. Duty and honor, both calling for him to place everything and everyone else above himself. Then there was the most powerful of all—selfishness. The desire to stay with her, no matter the cost.
And the more he looked into those blue pools. Pleading to him. The more he felt the inner conflict coming to an end. Only, he just didn't have the strength to win it on his own. Not without her. For if he was to ever be able to live with this choice, then he needed to hear that she would be able to, as well.
"Everil… You know that I trust you. And that I will ultimately do anything you ask of me…" he murmured, his voice quivering. "So if you're sure… If you're absolutely sure that this is what you want me to do for you... then… ask me…"
"I…" She wore her lip, the pain twisting her features as she willed herself to not to avert her stare in shame. "I… I want you to lay with… with Morrigan tonight..."
Alistair felt his chest constrict and his lungs stop the moment he heard her command. He took in a long breath, bringing her hands up to press her knuckles to his lips. Closing his eyes, he exhaled slowly, attempting to collect himself and muster the courage he needed to comply with her request. "All right..." he finally whispered against her fingers and then slowly rose to his feet, gently pulling her up with him. He gathered her into his arms, holding her tightly as she buried her face into the fabric of his shirt.
"Just please remember…" he murmured into her hair. "I'm doing this for us… Only for us. She means nothing to me."
"I know…" she replied, so quietly he barely heard her.
"Promise me…?" He held her a little tighter, squeezing her just as much as she was him. "Please promise me you'll remember?"
She slowly nodded against his chest, hands gripping his shirt. "I promise..."
"Good…" Alistair reluctantly pulled back and cupped her face. "I love you…"
"I love you too…" she whimpered, and he kissed ever so softly, over and over, his thumbs gently stroking her cheeks as her heart broke with each tender caress. For soon those lips and those hands would taste and touch someone else.
And as he prepared himself to leave the tent, with the directions she'd given him, Everil had to use all of her will to let him go.
.x.x.x.x.
Firelight filled the cave, showering it with its warmth as Morrigan adjusted the furs she'd laid upon the floor. She stood, walking over to the fire and adding in one more log before blowing on it, temporarily increasing the flame with her magic to keep it burning. She'd added a few herbs to the flames, their floral scent also filling the air, meant to help her with her focus that night.
Hearing footsteps, she looked over her shoulder and stood, turning towards the entrance just as a hooded figure stepped in from the darkness outside. "I see she managed to persuade you," she said, slightly amused and with a slight smirk over her features. "And you have kept yourself hidden from your subjects on your way here, as well. Very good... We would not want your future wife's reputation tarnished by this, now would we?"
"Enough, Morrigan…" Alistair reached up and slid the hood off his head, irritated ambers glaring back at her. "Let's just get this over with."
"Oh? Is that anger I hear?" The witch chuckled lightly, taking a few steps as she approached him, her proximity causing him to tense. "Odd for a man who is about to lay with a beautiful woman on the eve of a great battle. Most warriors would be thrilled beyond belief."
Her words brought a scowl of distaste to his face. "Everil's waiting for me back at my tent, alone in my bed, feeling and thinking Maker knows what about what's happening between you and me. While I'm here, spending part of what could be our last hours with you instead of her. So yeah… sorry for not being particularly excited about any of this. In fact, you're lucky I don't just turn around and leave right now."
Morrigan's smile spread as her hand reached up to the scraps covering her. "Come now, Alistair… She may hold your heart…" One side slid off her pale shoulders, then the next, revealing her chest to him. "But you cannot honestly say you would not also enjoy this..."
Warning: Strong adult content further down. It ends at the next divider if you want to skip it. The chapter continues after.
He narrowed his stare as it instinctively traced the perfect curve of her breasts, his pulse quickening despite the uncomfortable feeling in his chest. Then, standing still, Alistair watched as delicate hands raised to unclasped her pearls and her silver necklace, only to drop them upon the ground. Midnight hair came free from its bun, the soft traces falling like black silk over porcelain skin.
Unashamed by her nudity, Morrigan stepped closer to him, sensually swaying her hips as her skirt dropped down her legs. She stood before him, a different image from the bitter witch he so disliked. Delicate as a doll, pale as fresh snow in winter, enticing hourglass figure, and bright orbs that seemed to pierce into his soul.
Alistair swallowed, closing his hands into fists at his sides. He wanted to look away. To not like what he was seeing, but his racing pulse betrayed him.
Delicately, Morrigan's arms wrapped around his neck, making his cloak drop from his shoulders as she pressed her breasts against his chest. He opened his mouth to speak, but her purple lips silenced him.
Shock fell over him and he gasped, feeling her invade his mouth to explore him without care. And before he knew what he was doing, he was doing the same, his tongue stroking and dancing with hers while his hands slowly came to hold her bare hips. He released a breath through his nose as the heat rose up within him, climbing as the kiss became hungrier, more impatient as he suckled and nibbled upon her lips.
He slid a hand between their bodies, up along her torso to cup her breast. The moment her moan reached his ears, he snapped out of that lustful trance, hands flying to her shoulders to quickly push her away. "I… I can't do it…" he breathed, deep regret etched over him.
An irritated look crossed her flushed face, but a teasing smirk soon replaced it. "Is that so…?" Her brazen hand found its way to his crotch and pressed against his now prominent erection, making air catch in his throat as he throbbed under her palm.
"Morrigan…" he grunted, making a feeble attempt at glaring at her.
"Oh, stop wasting time, Alistair…" she chastised, her fingers finding the cord of his breeches.
Breathing heavily, he witnessed her undress him, feeling powerless to stop her. Everil was the one he wanted to be with. The one he wished to touch and hold until morning. But if there were anything more truthful in his life, it was that fate was a cruel mistress.
After sliding off the breeches along with his trousers, Morrigan slid her soft hands under his tunic, roaming his chiseled chest, feeling every outline of firm muscle. Her full lips kissed along his jaw as her breath caressed his skin, heavy and warm. Her fingers trailed up to his pecs, then slowly back down to his abs, leaving behind a hot, tingling trail as he stifled a groan. "Still…" He shuddered and absently held her hips. "I might not… be able to..."
Morrigan sighed in frustration, then leaned back to look at him. "If it helps, then pretend I am she."
Alistair gulped, then closed his eyes as she continued, kissing her way down his stout neck as her hand came down. "Ah…!" He gasped when she gripped him and began to stroke his length, sending electrifying waves flowing through him in streams.
"Hmm…" she hummed, pleased by the discovery of his size, fingers wrapping around his girth as she pumped him.
A throaty groan escaped him, lust quickly replacing all reason as he heeded her advice, imagining Everil's hand rather than hers as his hips absently bucked with her strokes.
And soon his body wanted more. More.
Suddenly he threw off his tunic, tossing it aside. Then he sought her lips, shocking her as he passionately devoured them. His tongue wrestled with hers, his teeth bit her lip and he suckled on her tongue as she moaned against his mouth. He may have been directing the passion behind that kiss at someone else, but that didn't keep her from throbbing with need for him. To grow moist in waiting, aching for his touch.
Their hot breaths intertwined as he slowly led her to the furs by the fire, just a few steps behind her. Alistair carefully lowered her upon them, her legs spreading open for him as he lay over her, pinning her down. He strayed from her lips, kissing his way to her neck as something hard entered her, making her gasp as he penetrated her moist depths. His girth stretched her as he slid inside, pushing his way in until his length reached deeper than most other men she'd ever had.
Morrigan moaned, fingernails slightly digging into his back as he thrust, his manhood reaching her top each time as the friction sent jolts up from her core. Oh, but he felt so delicious. So deep and so hard, stroking every corner within her each time he slid against her.
Alistair moaned breathlessly into her ear as her cave dragged along him, gripping him as pleasure sparked within him. His hand went up to her breast, seeking its rosy peak. He pinched and rubbed it between two fingers, earning a loud groan as his hips smacked against hers in steady, hard thrusts.
"Oh, Yes…!" she gasped, wrapping her legs around his waist. "Oh, just like that…"
He focused on the sensations spreading through him, his deep moans muffled by her neck. But no matter how much he tried to pretend it was his betrothed he was making love to, he couldn't fool his senses. She didn't smell like her. Didn't feel like her, or sound like her. Imagining Everil was becoming more and more difficult, and instead, he could only think of the sad smile she gave him before he left the tent.
Alistair leaned upon his forearms, panting for breath as he continued to pump into the witch. He gazed upon Morrigan's lustful, yellow pools, pleasure painted all over her features. She was beautiful. He'd admit that. Any other man would have been enjoying her body but he just couldn't.
All he wanted was to finish it. To be done with it so he could return to Everil's waiting arms. And he wouldn't be able to with Morrigan's presence all over him. "Turn over," he commanded, unexpectedly pulling out and off of her, going to his knees.
"What...?" She scowled with a hint of disappointment as her chest heaved.
"On all fours," he added sharply, the hunger in his eyes mixed with anger. At her and at himself.
With an irritated look, Morrigan did as she was told, rolling over onto her hands and knees with her rump facing him. She felt his sturdy hands take hold of her hips and then a loud moan escaped her when he suddenly entered her, the different position letting his manhood stroke another spot within her.
Gritting his teeth, he plunged into her sex, steady and deep as slapping sounds echoed within the cave every time their hips met.
"Oh, Alistair…!" Morrigan groaned loudly, gasping between moans as his hard rod stroked her loins. It all felt so crude. So sinful and wrong. She may not like him, but she was now lying with a king and an engaged man. And that thought only added to the thrill she felt at the obscene act they were both committing.
Again seeking a quick release, Alistair shut his eyes tightly and imagined Everil's naked body as he made love to her, remembering every inch of her beautiful curves. He thought of her bouncing breasts and the need in her stare as she rode him. Of the sound of her lustful voice calling his name when he pleasured her. Of the way her sex felt whenever she enveloped him. And he grunted as the memories drove him to thrust faster into her moist tunnel.
"Oh… more, Alistair!" Morrigan cried out as she reached down with one hand between her legs, shaking fingers stroking her sensitive core as the pleasure intensified. "Give me more!"
He huffed as he complied, pounding into her, slapping, wet noises growing louder with each clash of their hips. His thrusts rocked her body forward, making her let out a cry each time as her hand gripped the furs beneath her. She stroked her clit faster, her body tensing as she etched closer to the edge. Then he felt her insides constrict around him, and his fingers dug into her flesh at the pressure quickly building within him.
"Ah! Keep going! Please don't stop!" Morrigan begged, throwing her head back as she gasped for air, the intense tingling feeling between her legs coiling tightly within her, waiting to snap. Yet despite the ecstasy filling her very being, she could focus through the fog, summoning her magic as their campfire sparked into a flurry of red and black. Crimson streams of light surrounded her, the rays slithering around her like crawling weeds. They laced together with her blood and with her body, reaching into her womb as she willed it to perform its task without fail. The magic then flowed through her walls, enveloping his member in its cool, crackling touch while possessively taking control of the sensitive nerves along his shaft.
"Maker's… breath!" he grunted loudly, the sudden change in temperature and sharply intensifying pleasure sending him careening towards release. He clenched his jaw and came, his seed rushing out of him and pouring inside her as he willed himself to keep going, his orgasm so sharp it was almost painful.
One, two, three more hard thrusts and then the coil inside her snapped.
"Oh, Alistair!" Morrigan cried out, throbbing as he continued to pound into her. Her walls gripped him as she greedily took in every drop he offered and then the magic slowly disappeared. The two of them shook and convulsed, the waves thrashing against their bodies while their groans continued to pierce through the silence of the night.
.x.x.x.x.
Quiet soon came, the crackling of the coals and the flowing of the lake's waters the only sound they could hear inside the cave. Then there was the shuffling of feet and the rustle of clothes.
Facing away from the fire, Alistair bent over, riddled with guilt and remorse as he tiredly slid on his breeches. Behind him, Morrigan released a soft sigh and lazily rolled onto her side, gaze landing on his broad back as she propped her head on one hand. She stared, unfazed by her own state of undress, admiring the way the light danced over his muscles before taking notice of the slumping of his shoulders. "I must say…" she purred, unconcerned by his shame, a pleased smile on her painted lips. "I can see why she has kept you as her pet… You were much better than I expected."
"Just make sure you remember to keep your word… I don't want to see you in Ferelden ever again after this is over," he replied coldly, roughly tying the cord at his waist before retrieving his tunic and sliding it on.
"'Tis you who should remember, your Majesty." Her tone was just as frigid as she mocked his title, a wicked smirk spreading over her face. "You may have fathered the child, but 'tis mine and mine alone. Do not ever think to seek it out."
"Don't worry…" Alistair threw on his cloak, then angrily slid on the hood. "I won't…"
He strode out and Morrigan's eyes turned to slits as he disappeared into the darkness from whence he came. Then she slowly sat up, placing her hand over her womb, the smile from before dissipating into a wintry expression.
She'd gotten what she wanted. Now, all they had left to do was defeat the Archdemon. A challenging task, all on its own.
.x.x.x.x.
Alistair crossed the woods on heavy steps, shaking his head in a useless attempt to rid himself of the thoughts that now plagued him. He'd just made the same mistake his father did when he'd cast him out into the world, unwanted and with a mark that followed him everywhere he went. Everyone around that child would reject it or look down on it for being a bastard, and there would be nothing Morrigan could say to make it any easier.
His hands turned to fists as he paused, suddenly feeling filthy all over. He'd actually done something worse than his father did with him. As far as he knew, at least he hadn't been planned. He'd been an accident Maric wasn't willing to deal with. But instead of casting him into the cold, he had placed him in the care of an arl. In a castle where he lived in luxury and received an education, a warm bed, food, and a bit of love—however temporary it may all have been.
This child of his was, instead, something he was to use and then discard. As if it were rubbish he didn't want. Tossed into the frigid wilderness with a wandering, bitter witch for a mother, and who would continue to use it for her own, selfish means. Not to mention, it wouldn't be normal after the battle. It would change into something else. And he'd never come to know what affects carrying the soul of an Old God could have upon the poor babe.
Guilt gave way to self-loathing and he covered his mouth as a wave of nausea threatened to overwhelm him. He breathed laboriously as he forced down the vile, anguished eyes upon the ground. Maker, what have I done…?
The breeze blew on his cloak as it rustled the brush around him, the sound slightly soothing to his weary mind. He took in a deep, quivering breath, slowly picking himself back up before gazing past the woods at the faint glow of the campfires. He kept walking, faster this time, intent on reaching his tent as soon as possible and leaving this place behind.
He slipped through the back of their camp, expertly avoiding the soldiers for the second time. Any other night he may have sarcastically commented on how safe he truly would be if someone infiltrated the place and tried to kill him. But right now, he was actually grateful for the lack of security as most of the army slept or shared quiet conversations by the fire.
After sneaking past another group of half-asleep guards, Alistair could safely reach his tent with no one noticing him. But instead of running in as he'd initially planned, he found himself stalling before the door. He swallowed, staring at the bright yellow burlap for what felt like hours.
Promise or no... Would she ever look at him the same after what happened?
Would she ever let him touch her again?
Taking in a deep breath, he gathered his courage and stepped inside.
The tent was barely lit by dying candles, but they provided enough light to allow him to see her sleeping on his bed. She was curled into a ball, still clad in all her armor, hugging a pillow to her body. Her hound rested at the foot of the mattress, faithfully guarding her as she slept.
His chest hurt at the sight of her, the guilt weighing heavily upon him. With a furrowed brow, he quietly trudged up to her, sliding off his cloak and carelessly tossing it onto his trunk as he passed it by. He wearily petted the hound, muttering a quiet, heart-felt thank you and receiving a soft whine in response.
Alistair didn't even care that he still had his boots on when he slipped in with her, yearning to hold her like never before. He edged closer, rolling onto his side and moving up behind her. Then he propped himself up on one arm, seeking to look at her sleeping features as he reached down to touch her, stopping midway upon seeing her face.
Tear streaks covered her flushed cheeks, while her pillow remained moist where she'd wept over it.
He gulped the knot in his throat, then ever so carefully, ran the back of his fingers along the side of her face.
His soft touch stirred her, and she called softly, "Alistair…?" With a whimper, Everil turned to him, just enough to see his face above hers. For a moment she looked unsure of what she was seeing. As if he were nothing but a ghost. An illusion born out of her own tired brain.
"Hey…" was his feeble reply, a corner of his lips slightly up.
Realization dawned on her at the sound of his voice, a mixture of happiness and sorrow crossing her features as a single tear escaped her. Without another word, Everil rolled over to face him and threw her arm around him, burying her face into his shirt.
Alistair hesitated to touch her, his arm hovering over her. He'd thought she wouldn't want to be anywhere near him. That she would want nothing to do with him. But then quiet sobs came as her shoulders shook, causing him to wince as if he'd been physically hurt. "I'm sorry… " he whispered mournfully as he embraced her, holding her tightly while nuzzling her hair. "I'm so sorry… Please forgive me…"
"It wasn't your fault…" Everil whimpered through gritted teeth, shaking her head. "I sent you to her… It's not your fault..."
Anger.
Anger was all she felt. He had laid with the witch at her own request, and yet she felt utterly miserable. She had wept, waiting for him after struggling with the self-induced images of the two of them tangled between the sheets. And she hated Morrigan for it all. For having kept her secret from them from the very beginning, and for putting her hands on the one she loved.