Author's Note: This tale was inspired by a wonderful drawing I saw over here. It is called Meeting and it was created by Sia-Chan.
As much as I'd like to take credit the concept and inspiration belongs entirely to her.
Also certain quotes used in this particular chapter was borrowed directly from the game. So this too belongs to Bioware's amazing writers
Beta: Sadly none so far. So please excuse all spelling and grammar mistakes I swear they are not intentional.
Alisa always wanted to play the hero, to be the great knight-warrior who conquered evil and saved the innocent. Reality had long since eroded away such dreams, leaving in its wake only harsh truths and a sense of disillusionment. Now as she faced the powerful and ancient magister who claimed to be Morgan's father Alisa found it difficult to ignore the irony. Was this really the dream she had spent years divulging and pining after?
With her blade drawn and the flush of holy smite beckoning on her fingertips Alisa cursed Morgan's name for the umpteenth time before unleashing her righteous fury. The powerful mage was hardly damaged by the attack but it was enough to give the Warden and the warlock Wynne a chance to make their own attacks. Cousland, as always preferred to attack front and center. For all of her strength and skill the Warden was a tactical nightmare. Alisa could only marvel at Wynne's ability to avoid hitting the warrior whilst make his attacks against the ancient mage. Nonetheless, what Cousland lacked in skill she more than made up with enthusiasm. Together, they were a strange mix of power, magic and brute force.
The creature that had once been Morgan's father was quick to retaliate and no sooner had they shortly gained the upper hand he was taking charge. It was the greatest fight of her life and all Alisa could think of was all the ways Morgan was going to pay for this final insult. 'T'would seem Morgan has finally found himself a puppet to dance to his tune. Tell me child is he really worth all this?' the warlock taunted with a smirk.
Alisa thought to herself as she flooded the warlock with another anti-magic attack. The creature merely laughed as he extended his arms causing the ground beneath their feet to erupt.
'Pathetic worms, you try my patience! I have fought and defeated the eldest of the old gods, and have travelled to the golden city! What chance do you stand against me? Tis folly that you fight!' Massive rock formations shaped like spikes emerged all around them. The grassy knoll shook as enormous cracks tore the ground wide open in an attempt to swallow them whole.
'Still think Morgan is the victim here?' Alisa shouted to the Warden who was barely able to keep from being impaled by one of the rocky spikes.
'This was your brilliant idea Alisa not mine!' Cousland huffed in retort before jumping over one of the small cracks and rushing back towards the ancient mage.
'Not a chance!' Alisa retorted. 'It was Morgan's idea and I swear he's going to pay for it!
Even if it means I have to come back from the grave-' she began before her world was engulfed in flames. Instinctively the ex-Templar counter-attacked dousing the fire with cleanse. Despite her speed, the spell left her armour heated and damaged. Clearly unfazed by her defensive move, the Tevinter mage reached to the sky causing bolts of lightning to wash over them in a flood of waves.
Everything happened so swiftly, yet time moved at a crawl. All coherent thought was lost; leaving only years of training and instincts to guide Alisa's every action. In the end it was all that stood between them and certain death. The ancient warlock was more powerful than anything they had ever encountered before. Not even Wynne and the spirit that he housed was much of a challenge for the entity. With relentless strength, the ancient unleashed spell after spell without ever taking a moment's pause to gather his strength. Even his defensive manoeuvres left them struggling for their lives. Cousland was the first to succumb to her wounds, soon after even Wynne could not stand. The warden noble began the great battle and Alisa who ended the struggle.
The ex-Templar was on the verge of defeat when she finally drove her sword deep into the man's throat. With a soft gasp, the great being met her gaze with a smirk. 'Tis only the beginning child,' he rasped into her ears. Alisa never let him finish his statement. With a growl and a curse, she drew back her blade and swung it hard, severing his head from the rest of his body. The being's lifeless form fell to the ground, its head landing a short distance away.
Wynne was the first to recover and swiftly he attended to the Wardens near fatal wounds. Alisa too distracted to notice her own injuries, was entirely fixated on the lifeless form of Morgan's supposed father. His face, his real features were oddly familiar as though she had seen him in another place, another time. It was not until she caught sight of the pendent on his throat that Alisa realized his identity. As a Templar initiate she had been forced to study, all that had been written about the ancient magister's who sought the golden city and brought about the darkness. Alisa never placed much credence in the tales, but now there was no denying the magister's words. Truly, there had been a golden (black) city, and it would seem he was one of few remaining to have witnessed it.
Mustering the last of her energy Alisa tore the pendant off the corpse's throat and silently stuffed into one of her pockets. Every bone and muscle in her body ached in protest. It was the greatest battle she had ever fought in her life, yet the victory felt empty. Despite the intensity of the fight, Alisa knew it had been far too easy. If Morgan's father truly was indeed one of the ancient Tevinter, then there was no possibility that he would have succumbed to defeat so easily. The realization made the hair on the back of her neck prickle. Suddenly, Alisa wanted nothing more than to collect Morgan's precious grimoire and return to camp, anything to distance herself from this place of dark secrets.
Wynne healed the worst of Alisa's wounds as the Warden collected the grimoire. The ex-Templar was far from fully healed but it was all the warlock could do in his own weakened state. It was not long after that Cousland returned with the ancient book in hand. Whatever she discovered within the hut the Warden did not say; her troubled expression spoke for itself. Neither Alisa or Wynne dared to ask, and Cousland knew better than to tell. As they departed for their encampment, ex-Templar could have sworn she heard the dead man's words whispering to her in the wind.
Tis only the beginning.
Whatever had transpired in this place, it was far from finished.
The hour was late when they finally returned to the camp. Morgan as always, was lingering alone by his fire when Alisa slowly approached him. At any other time she might have been amused by his surprised expression, instead all she felt was furious indignation.
'You have returned from the Wilds…alive. What news-'
Alisa promptly silenced him with a clenched fist to his face. Immediately the warlock went limp dropping at her boots without a sound. Removing the heavy grimoire and the ancient Tevinter pendent from her satchel, Alisa tossed it to the ground by his side.
'Next time you need someone to fight your battles for you, find someone else. Better yet, grow a spine and do it yourself!' she growled before limping off to her tent.
A day later Morgan's right eye was black as his hair. Two days after Alisa awoke to the sight of a black rose by her pillow. They never spoke of either incident.