"Mother, I have some peculiar and disturbing news for you," she spoke, taking a step alongside me with a well-known smirk on her face. I tersed my lips in agitation to her riddle-like speak. How childish it was.
"Well which is it, girl? Peculiar or disturbing?" I asked, gesturing irritably with one hand. "Or perhaps it is one while the latter is disturbing." So many possibilities it could be.
"Well, I-" she stuttered on her words, perplexed by my short words as if they had conjured adjacent to me. Was this not a surprising thing, my chastising?
"Quit being so vague, dear," I added, this time a bit more gently. I had forgotten, or did forget at times that children had soft minds. They needed to be spoken to… kindly. Annoying things.
Morrigan seemed entirely content by my response, and flashed a crooning smile in my direction. I reflected the bitter grin on my old lips, feeling my skin dry and stretched across a fanged face that was not my own. I was too old and wrinkly for this smiling business.
"I have met some guests," she finally corrected herself in triumph. I raised a brow and looked about, not seeing another body in my company.
"Well, then where are they?" I asked in irritation. Her triumphant grin fell to a flat, dull frown when she absorbed this information as well - truly, it was hard to forgive the girl for her daftness at times - then strengthened when she saw my look of false appreciation singing in my eyes.
"I have not truly met them, so to speak," she admitted in a meek voice. I huffed.
"Do speak up, Morrigan. You mumble as a mouse, sometimes," I snapped while stepping back over to my stew boiling over the fire. She stood idly to one side for a moment, watching me as she nervously crossed and uncrossed her arms in a force of habit. "And do something useful with your hands if you are going to flail them about all day," I added. She quickly leaned over the pot and took over stirring for a moment while I fetched the spice from our rack.
"So," I spoke in a more cantering tune, a lighter stem of amusement from this newfound morsel of news she had brought me. "Who are they?" I raised a spoonful of the stew to my lips to taste.
Needs more salt.
"Wanderers… scavengers.." she picked apart possibilities like random stars in the sky. I sighed irritably and stood to my feet.
"..Or perhaps tulips dressed as daisies!" I shrieked in my impatience, throwing my hands into the air.
"I have only watched them mother!" she stood to her feet, angry now at my intolerance. I scoffed.
"And by watching you should learn something, should you not?" I snapped. "And what right gave I to allow you to flounce about the woods so close to strangers again?" She fell back on her heel in a dull stupor now, surprise written on her face.
"Aha!" I barked. "So I have caught you on it, then have I? Thought you could be sneaking around mother's back when she isn't looking - well I'm glad I taught you so well to turn your back on me so quickly, daughter!"
"M-Mother, I didn't mean-" she started, but fell short as the words fell short in concept. Too tired for her senseless ramblings, I heaved a great and heavy sigh and fell into my armchair, letting my arms rest listlessly over the sides.
"Just as well," I murmured, "You are a smart and conniving witch." I felt a little laugh catch in my throat, ending on a bitter note. "Much like myself," I sighed, feeling the anger leave me all with one breath. I shut my eyes.
"I-I am… sorry if I angered you mother," she spoke, now at my side. I opened one eye to glance at her, then felt it was too much effort and shut them again. Her hands rested on mine.
"I was afraid they would discover us, so I followed them instead," she explained.
"And what were they doing?" I asked, the weary anxiousness beginning to creep back into my tone. I had little to no tolerance for strangers wandering about in my wilds. The darkspawn knew well of that rule, and had learned to keep it.
"I-I don't know," she answered. My eyes snapped open to look at her again, demanding more information. She looked away.
"I think they were searching for something," she said while standing to her feet, frustrated with her own lack of knowledge. She truly was ignorant to the situation, wasn't she?
"And that elf mage," she hissed. "I cannot believe the way she just parades about our woods as if she owns them!" I could hear the anger and jealousy entering her voice. It amused me.
"Feel you will be outmatched by a little elfling?" I laughed. "That is unbecoming of you, my daughter." She whirled on me then, furious.
"You did not see her, mother!" she yelped. "She contorted an entire horde of darkspawn to her will, even making them turn on one another!"
Now it was time to be interested.
"What do you mean, girl?" I asked cautiously, my eyes narrowing and fingers digging indentions into the ends of the chair. Morrigan shook her head in disbelief.
"I've never seen magic like that before," she said gravely, then turned her accusing eyes to me. "Why haven't I seen magic like that? Am I not strong enough to practice it?!" I found her accusations blind and dry, and her suddenly threatening gaze rather amusing.
"Ha!" I scoffed. "You think I would secretly keep magic from you simply because you cannot handle it?" Oh, the notion!
"Foolish girl," I glared, leaning forward more in my seat and pleased at the sight of her crumpling back into her posture. "Magic is only restricted by our willpower, and nothing more. You are free to practice anything you wish if it is within your control. I have no reason to stop you."
She seemed to accept this answer, and fell short on her anger, glaring at the floor as an outlet for such misplaced anger. I ran the idea over in my mind, and felt a sudden, brilliant epiphany all of my own come staggering to my heels.
"Morrigan," I spoke. She looked up in an instant, drawn like an obedient dog to my command. Such a silly girl.
I grinned.
"Tell me of her magic," I purred. "I would like to know what this little elfling has up her sleeve."
"Mother?"
"Bring her to me," I ordered. She looked at me as if I were speaking another language. Foolish daughter.
"Bring. Her." I spoke the words clearly and slowly, so that she may understand with her deaf ears. "-To. Me." Stupidity makes for stupid conversation.
"Yes, mum." she nodded and headed towards the door. Daughters did not need to be told twice, or it was surely a lashing.
Mum truly is the word.
This girl, this little elfling was far from what I had expected.
Of all things, she was easily and so readily killed by simple arrows! Well - almost killed. I had been a somewhat timely intervention on that part. But still-
"You are not what I had expected," I spoke rather amusedly as I saw her approaching out of the corner of my eye. She fell to a dead halt on her heel when I interrupted whatever private thoughts she had been battling. I turned to look at her, doe-eyed virgin thing that she was. She did not look like her, did not even have the presence of she. I narrowed my gaze.
"Well speak; you have been addressed, girl," I spat. This seemed to alter her persona to a more fierce, bristled elfling that mirrored more of what I expected. I grinned.
"I do not speak on command, witch," she snapped back at me. I could see that her eyes were red from fresh if not recent tears, which meant her guard was down. This was not her full potential. A pity, really. I wanted to see it.
"Funny, I thought that was what you were, girl," I chuckled, crossing my arms to turn my attention back to the muggy swampland of my wilds. A pleased grin began to spread across my face as I recalled the fireside Chasind tales in my mind.
There once was a mage called Mahiel.
"I am not a witch," she said too defensively. I turned to her then, perking an expectant brow. "I am a Circle Mage," she added, her voice forceful and biting on the end. I felt my eyes were laughing, now. What a treasure!
What a find. Of all places-
"Then what are you doing outside of your cage, little mageling?" I poised, crossing my arms importantly and turning back to her. "Or have they changed the rules while I was not looking? Tower birds are meant to stay in their tower." I laughed, cruel and happy. This seemed to rile her, but also close her up more. She was building her walls again, and I had little time to delve my prying witch fingers into the cracks before she shut me out completely. I saw a fiery twinkle in her pretty brown eyes.
"My history is none of your business," she cut in, her fists tightened at her sides. Such a fighter for such a small mage, wasn't she? I felt like putting a mocking hand to my chest.
"I am not one to be trifled with girl," I lowered my tone now, demanding that she show a bit more respect. She seemed to get some shred of absorption from this silent threat, and loosened her shoulders. Her eyes flicked away from mine.
"And what history is there to know?" I asked, curious. A flickering grin passed over my lips as I saw her visibly shaken by my choice of words.
Perhaps it was more than a "too-good-to-be-true" sort of truth, after all. I could feel my fingers curling around the answers with each passing second.
"How did a mage like yourself end up at the Circle?" I tried again, realizing she was not a creature to butt heads with for answers. No, the Witch of the Wilds would get her answers through compromise and alliance, not arguing and snapping at each other like blind dogs.
"I-I don't know," she spoke after a long, affording pause. I ticked a brow in surprise.
"Do not know or do not wish to tell?" I asked, tilting my head to the side. She looked up at me, her fire eyes speaking unhappy sincerity. A thorn in her side.
"I don't know."
Well now we had danced back to ground one, now hadn't we? I felt a slightly agitated frown beginning to pull at my lips, but breathed in deep and decided to dig further. This could not be coincidence.
"Perhaps an apostate father?" I asked harmlessly, gesturing with my hand as I pretended to conjure random ideas out of my head. "Or maybe an apostate mother?"
She looked at me, unmoving. Unharmed by my words. A solid stone wall. I resisted the urge to twitch my lips in agitation.
"….Or perhaps both?" I tested, my voice a bit lighter and quieter. Many questions now presented themselves in my head, one of which seemed entirely fantastic and ridiculous and rather… clever.
"Did you not ever wonder why it was that you could not talk about your parents, little elfling, why every other child could?" I asked, now truly curious as to the root of this puzzle. How I did love a good puzzle - but this was a very important piece.
She looked troubled now, even frightened, as she took a small step away and flashed her eyes over the ground, searching it as eyes search a book for a missing phrase. I took a prowling step forward.
"That you could even remember the color of your mother's eyes? The sound of her angry screams when she sent you away? Or perhaps the solemn sounds of her sorrow as they took you away?" I hissed to her, taking closer steps forward as she continued to take more away, her fearful eyes now staring, penetrating and petrified, into mine.
"I-I don't know," she breathed, but it was nothing more than a terrified whisper.
"Have I hit a sore spot, elfling?" I cooed. "Or do you not wish for me to know?" I was a foot from her now, looking deep into the eyes of truth, and found them surprisingly blank. I gasped; quiet.
"Someone else that does not wish for you to know.." I murmured, studying her wide eyes, suddenly realizing the great mystery of it. It had to be-
"What are you talking about?" She was gathering her legs again, standing back up to combat me with fierce eyes and tightened hands. I had found what I sought. Abated, I stepped away and smiled wide.
And of Mahiel the Devourer, there was one but She, his Kaidasa, that bore him his only child. The beginnings of a great purge in the eyes of an elf-child.
"What if I were to tell you that you could give you your history back, girl?" I smiled, cracking my lips wide across my old face in a faint memory of long ago.
"What price shall I wager, in exchange?"