Campfire Tales – The Perfect Gift
Dawn had come to another day in southern Ferelden. As the sun shown through the small slits in the tent opening, the Warden grumbled to himself and rolled out of his bedroll to face another long day in his quest to gather an army to fight against the darkspawn. Morrigan was already up before him, as was usually the case. Her back was to him and she was straightening her clothes and brushing her hair before once again twisting the long raven strands up into a tight bun on the back of her head. She stayed with him in his tent regularly the past few weeks, since the others in their group were already aware of their relationship, there was little need to be discreet about it any longer.
"Good morning, Sunshine." he said to her with a broad smile on his face.
"Ah, you are awake, at last." the witch returned, "We've much to do today, so you had better get yourself dressed and ready."
His smile turned to a sly grin, "What's the rush?" he asked, "We still have a little time for another round..." he said while he patted the empty space next to him in the bedroll.
Morrigan chuckled a bit and shook her head, "Perhaps another time, my sweet. I've just made myself presentable and have no wish to have to do so again."
"You always look perfect to me."
"Flatterer." she said, staring at him with her hypnotic eyes, "But we've no time to dawdle. If you will remember, today is a very important day."
"How can I forget? I go through the same thing every year."
"Every year? But you told me you've never even been to the Brecilian Forest before."
The Warden's face scrunched up in a confused look, "I haven't. What are you talking about?" he asked.
"Surely, even you cannot be so forgetful. Today is the day you are to meet with the Dalish. Their hunters are the most skilled bowmen in all Ferelden. They would prove an invaluable asset against the darkspawn."
"Oh, right..." he said, finally remembering.
"What did you think I meant?"
"Nothing. Don't worry about it." he replied, brushing the topic aside. "I better get dressed."
"Very well..." she said as she tossed open the flap on the front of the tent and crawled outside only to be greeted by a pair of leather boots. The witch looked up to see the bard, Leliana, standing over her with an expectant look on her face.
"Leliana..." the witch said, startled, "I did not see you there."
"Is he awake?" the bard asked impatiently.
"He is. Why do you ask?" Morrigan answered as she stood upright with a slight grunt.
"Oh, it's nothing important." the bard replied with a shrug of her shoulders, "I just wanted to give him his present."
Morrigan eyed the bard suspiciously, "What sort of present might that be?" she inquired; her arms folded and her eyes formed into a menacing glare.
"A birthday present, of course. What other kind of present could it be? It is his birthday, after all."
"His birthday?" the witch asked, surprised.
"Don't tell me you didn't know. We were talking about it a few weeks ago, don't you remember? We talked about what each of our birthdays was like growing up. Everyone except you, that is."
"Of course I am aware 'tis his birthday. Do you honestly believe he would have not told me such a thing?"
"Then you won't mind if I give him this gift." the bard said, holding out a small box with a white ribbon tied around it for the witch to inspect. "It isn't much, but he's always doing nice things for me, I just wanted to give him something in return for once."
"Very well." the witch relented with a groan, "He should nearly be dressed." she said and walked off in the direction of her own tent witch was some yards apart from the others.
Soon afterward, the Warden emerged from his tent and was immediately greeted by Leliana. Morrigan watched the bard as she thrust out the gift for him. He stepped back, surprised at her actions, and making Leliana giggle while her cheeks turned bright red. The witch spied intently while he undid the thin white ribbon and opened the box. A smile beamed across his face when he pulled from the box a long leather belt which had several large pouches stitched into it and an elegant, but small, silver buckle.
"It's a shoulder strap. You wear it over your shoulder." Leliana informed, "Do you like it?"
"I love it. Thank you." the Warden replied, still smiling at the bard.
The blood in Morrigan's veins began to boil as she watched Leliana reach her arms around him and give him a long hug. The witch wore her jealousy openly, but would never admit to such a thing. Instead she watched from her tent and fumed while the anger bubbled inside. And to make matters worse, she had been completely unaware that it was his birthday. Aside from the conversation Leliana mentioned, which Morrigan failed to pay attention to, the Warden said nothing about the date of his birth. It was probably due to that fact that the witch previously told him she had no idea when she was born or even her exact age. Knowing the Warden as she did, Morrigan felt he probably didn't want to make her feel uncomfortable.
Still, it was his birthday and he would require a gift, she thought. The problem, though, was that Morrigan had never given anyone a gift of any kind. It was yet another new experience for her to be introduced to because of her warden. The witch knew enough to know the gift had to be special. It was a way of telling a person how well you knew them. Better still if it was something only she could give him. But what, she asked herself. She could give him something of a sexual nature when they were alone, but they did that nearly every night. And while special, Morrigan would hardly qualify it as a gift.
The nearest human village was days away even in her bird-form, and there was little chance of there being anything worthwhile in the Dalish camp, not that the witch had much money to spend. She could attempt to make him a gift, but Morrigan never thought of herself as the creative type. She thought perhaps she could give him one of her own possessions, but most everything she owned served a magical purpose and would be of no use to the Warden.
All day the witch internally debated the problem. Even while the Warden, Morrigan, Leliana, and Alistair left camp to meet with the Dalish and tried to convince them to aid against the Blight, the witch considered what might be a suitable present. She wrestled with herself about how to give the man she loved a gift that showed him he is valued, yet not come across as a weak and sentimental fool. She had never even told him those three little words aloud, and probably never would. But it was still secretly important to Morrigan that he knew how she felt about him. The witch knew their time together was limited. Before she was ready for it to be over, he would soon have to face the Archdemon and their paths would part. This was her only real chance to tell him everything she wanted to without the burden of having to say a single word. To make things worse, others in their group had already given the Warden several presents. Namely, Alistair, whose gift was a pair of spectacles so that he might better see the creature he was involved with, and the elf, Zevran, who had given the Warden a small ceremonial silver dagger with a blunted edge; a symbol the Antivan Crows used to show the person who received such a gift that they would never again be the target of an assassin's blade.
Morrigan began to stress over the situation, but hid it well and did not allow the others to see her internal struggle. Still, the witch was beginning to sorely hate birthdays. The fact that The Warden made no mention of it to her as the day dragged on made things that much more maddening. If only she had paid attention when the others were discussing their childhood experiences she might have been better prepared. But she hadn't and now her time was running out.
That evening, back at camp, Morrigan saw the mage, Wynne, give the Warden an old manuscript. The old woman said it contained a story he might enjoy, something to allow his mind to wander for a while and forget about the Blight, at least for a short time. Morrigan cursed the mage under her breath, but was surprised Wynne didn't offer something more magical in nature. And just when all hope of finding him an adequate gift seemed to fade, she got an idea. There was something that only she could give him, after all.
The Warden was too distracted talking to Alistair to notice Morrigan sneaking into his tent. The witch hastily shuffled through his belongings until she located what she was looking for: his personal stash of dark ale. She quickly snatched several bottles up, stuffed them under her clothing, and rushed back outside. Morrigan grabbed a metal pail that hung next to the fire and headed back to her tent. Once inside, she grabbed a rag and cleaned out the pail as best she could. Pulling the bottles from underneath her clothing, she stuck them into the pail one-by-one. With a wave of her slender hand and the proper words, Morrigan caused the pail to be filled with chunks of ice. Vapors of extreme cold radiated off the metal bucket as the witch grabbed another rag and covered the pail, concealing it. She then made her way from the tent and across the encampment to her warden, pail in hand.
He was still chatting with Alistair when she walked up to his side and gently tugged at his arm to gain his attention. "'Tis time for you to receive my gift." she said to him.
"You got me something?" he asked, amazed, "You didn't have to do that."
"No I did not." she agreed, "But I did get you a gift, so you had better appreciate it." she finished as she held out the covered bucket, which he took.
"What's this?" he asked while he pulled away the cloth, revealing the bottles.
"Isn't that your beer?" Alistair noted, trying to get a better look, "You're giving him his own stuff back? That's hardly a present."
"True, 'tis his." the witch answered, "But see what I have done to it."
"You covered them in ice." The Warden said as he pulled a bottle from the pail, "They're freezing cold."
With his thumb, he popped the cork that sealed the bottle and lifted it to his lips. The Warden tilted the bottle back and took a long drink while Morrigan watched and waited for his reaction.
"Wow!" he exclaimed, "That's good!"
"So, you approve, then?"
"That's the best ale I've ever had. And after what we did today, it's exactly what I needed."
Relief filled the witch and she allowed a small smile to creep across her face. "Truth be told, I was unsure if you would consider it a proper gift." she said.
"It's a fine gift. Only you could have given me the coldest ale in all Ferelden. You're the greatest, you know that?"
"As usual, you state the obvious."
"Let me properly show my gratitude." he said as he moved in to kiss her.
"Do not try to kiss me! Your breath stinks of beer!" she exclaimed and shoved him away.
"Uhm..." Alistair mumbled as he eyed the other bottles, "I don't suppose I could try one of those?" he asked sheepishly.
"Here you go." The Warden replied as he grabbed another of the bottles from the bucket and handed it to Alistair, who quickly pulled out the cork and tossed back the bottle. A loud "Ahhh!" escaped him as he lowered the ale from his lips.
"Thanks." the Warden said to his witch, "I mean it. You didn't have to do this."
"You may expect the rest of your gift later tonight."
"I am one lucky man."
"Yes you are." Morrigan purred, "Happy birthday, my sweet."