Song: Tomorrow Never Dies (Sheryl Crow) (970 words)
"But you bet your life every night while you're chasing the morning light – you're not the only spy out there..."
No. There had to be a limit.
She had agreed to let her join the group because she really had no saying at that point – though if it had been for her, she would have left the silly, giggly redhead behind. She was no general, and her strategy was always "survival first", but she felt that the fact that the bard was a good archer did not mean that Bryan had to take her along everywhere, whereas she, a Witch of the Wilds that had tested her mettle against abominations and demons, had to stay in camp, avoiding the lecherous elf, the mistrustful golem, and the enchanting simpleton. She was just as good as anybody when it came to ranged attacks; why couldn't she go, instead of her?
She had seen Alistair's cruel pleasure when he had suggested that Bryan should take Leliana with him to test the political waters of Denerim instead of her, simply because she was not a people person, and a normal-looking couple would be less suspicious than a group, especially one with what he had called "an unkempt witch". She scoffed. She was supposedly more eye-catching than a drunken, booze-reeking, trouble-making dwarf? Leliana had giggled. Exotic, the two-faced, Orlesian-speaking idiot had called her. "Oh, Morrigan, it's true! You possess such exotic beauty! All the men will have their eyes on our little party if you're around!"
But making her worried sick for him while he was gallivanting with her – that was the limit. There was a moment in which lines had to be drawn, and Morrigan decided that that was one of such moments. Four days had passed and they had not returned. That night, she decided to use her old magic and go back to her canine, shapeshifting ways. They would not recognize her – they had never seen her like that, and she could be stealthy when she wanted; after all, she had lived in the Korcari Wilds all her life. The only problem would be his stubborn mabari; if he picked up her scent, then things could get complicated. As she conjured the spell, she thought of him, cursing him for making her act like that; regretting the smiles that he had given her, the times that she had caught him gazing at her so intensely that it made her body shiver with fear and desire.
"I'll bring you a present," he had promised, embracing her from behind, warming her cold hands with his. "I might have something to give you in return if you do," she had replied, showing him her most precious possession.
Morrigan ran across the forest that separated the road from their camp – far enough not to attract any guards' attention and at the same time close enough to be there in a few hours. But she hadn't run for long when she found them.
She was not prepared for the scene in front of her eyes. An exhausted Alistair was digging a large hole in the ground, using a piece of hard bark, and the Sten was helping him, his badly-injured face reflecting a mixture of rage and sadness that Morrigan had never seen in him. Leliana was grinding something against a rock, and her gesture was so desperate that it made Morrigan's heart race in panic. She looked around and found him; barely breathing, shivering and broken, a cold sweat covering his face. He mumbled something and Leliana let out a sob. In the distance, the body of his mabari lay cold, waiting for his grave, and then she understood that something had gone horribly wrong.
Alistair screamed when the bark he had been using broke in half, injuring his sword hand with countless splinters. Leliana cast a quick look at Bryan and ran to aid Alistair. Morrigan took the chance to get close to where her warden was lying. Being near him at that moment was like being in a cloud of entropic energy – she could feel his life force ebbing away, tugging at her heartstrings; something that only he had ever managed to do.
She approached Bryan silently. He shuddered and a weak groan escaped from his lips. She remained immobile, looking at his bare hand – so tender and firm at the same time, the kind of hands that she loved to observe when he was not paying attention and that she loved to feel on her when he was. Too late she realized that he was looking at her.
She saw him give her a broken smile, and from his chapped lips two words came out.
"My witch..."
Morrigan lost control of herself, and her spell vanished. Her long, black hair fell loosely over her shoulders as she scrambled to hold him in her arms. His scent was almost gone, and she knew it – she knew it. It would not be long.
"No... Do you hear me? No! You will be fine," she murmured. "You cannot leave me! You can't..."
He looked at her with those blue eyes that spoke volumes. He did not want to leave. His fingers found her waist and pressed it with the little strength he had left. She was aware that the others had seen her, that they were standing nearby. She did not care anymore. Her lips found his and she kissed him until she no longer felt his breathing.
"Morrigan..." Alistair murmured, his voice strangled with emotion.
But she just kept holding his body in her arms, unwilling to let go. When she finally raised her eyes, he saw the black grimoire that he had found for her in the Circle. The ring that she had thought of giving him –what she loved the most– looked plain and obscure in her finger, and her hands looked empty, and she knew that they would never feel warm again.
.
A/N: Just like Anora and Leliana, this is also the first time I write from Morrigan's perspective. This is after the events of Broken Circle - Wynne has not been helped by a spirit, and Alistair is the ultimate warden.