A/N: Thanks to Jaden Anderson for her beta of this chapter, and to WhatComesToMind, who kept me company as I wrote. :-D Much love, reader! And should you see fit to review... well, reviews help me get better, and they inspire me to continue. :-D
The story that Morrigan references can be found on this site! It is the fabulous work entitled "Through The Looking Glass", by Jaden Anderson, but other than a trip through the mirror, its similarity to Lewis Carroll's excellent work ends there - okay, it's *also* about an alternate universe, but one that makes a lot more sense than Wonderland. I highly recommend it. It isn't silly fluff at all - only Morrigan would think such a thing.
Mother was busy. Now was the chance.
Morrigan slipped through the brush, paws falling silently in the thick moss that covered the understory. She nosed her way past a leafy shrub to scent the air... the carriage was deserted, and no one was in sight. She would slip inside, just for a moment - see what it was truly like to be one of these people...
"Cailan! Caaaaailan!" Voices from across the clearing... Blast, they were seeking the foolish young man already. Mother was playing with him, and he wouldn't be back until Mother was good and ready to let him go, if she let him go at all. Why she wanted to... do... the things she did with young humans was beyond Morrigan's understanding. Her wolf-self understood it on a more instinctual level, but her ten-year old mind found the whole thing disgusting. She would never do that.
Ever.
No one was looking. Lighter than air, she leapt into the carriage.
Ah, the smells! 'Twas richness and civility mixed with the lingering scent of leather and violets. Morrigan buried her nose in a silken curtain, the smooth texture rippling beneath her nostrils. The teasing odor of paper wafted through the air, and her nose led her to a veiled alcove just above the seat she was perched upon. She nudged the fabric aside to reveal... a line of books! Books - the best find of all! What she wouldn't give to read them. Could she... borrow one, perhaps? If it were a good volume, Mother might not even mind...
She nosed one of the volumes aside, and leapt in surprise as a golden disc slid from a small compartment. It fell to the seat below, soft beams of sunlight sending glimmering rainbows dancing over the walls.
Morrigan's tongue darted out and wet her nose, a small whine escaping her throat. She crept over to sniff at the golden disc, which had fallen over to reveal a silvered circle framed by the gold. When a black wolf snout appeared in the circle, she snorted and leapt back in surprise.
What...?
She slunk forward again, and this time when the snout appeared she put her senses to use, snuffling at the air. It smelled like nothing, nothing but glass and metal - but there was a tinge of violets, as well. This object belonged to the young princess!
She recalled her mother's mention of such a thing. A looking glass, she had called it... the elves made use of such things. Magical, they were... called eluvian. Flemeth had refused to teach her any of the secrets such a mysterious thing held, though.
Mirror. She recalled the more casual name for it from a story in one of mother's books - something about a woman who had gone through a mirror and found an alternate world on the other side. It had been years since she had read the story, although she recalled thinking it silly... the woman had found her lost love, the double of a man who had been killed in her own reality after sacrificing himself for the good of humanity. Romantic, but pointless. Flemeth enjoyed such fluff, however.
The mirror was a lovely thing, encrusted with pearls and crystalline gemstones. A ray of sun set everything a-sparkle... Such a lovely thing...
The drab cold of their subterranean home came back in a crash, the furthest thing in the world from this carriage, these people, this mirror. Her mother was a powerful enchantress, but the mud still squished between their toes, and they still only owned one garment each. What use to yearn for things, Flemeth said, when magic could craft castles in the air!
What use, indeed, when magic never did.
Morrigan had read stories of princesses and brave knights, of great battles and grand love affairs. The women were beautiful and charming and the men were handsome and strong. Certainly, these two fit that description...him, young and golden, and her, slender and smiling.
She must have many beautiful things, Morrigan thought. And I... I have nothing.
The eluvian was magic, this was what she had been told. Should it not stand to reason that this mirror could have some magic of its own? She should take it, study it. Perhaps Flemeth would even appreciate her forethought in bringing such an obviously magical item to her.
In her heart, Morrigan knew that none of this was true. The mirror had no scent of magic about it, and Flemeth would not be pleased. But her desire for the exquisite mirror was such that she ignored the practical half of her conscience. She was a little girl who had seen a pretty object, and wished to have it for her own.
Before she could think further on the matter, she grasped the circle of gold in her teeth and leapt from the carriage, running through the bracken without a backward glance. Past the spot where her mother was fooling with the human, through the trees to a remote spot in the hollow of an old, dead tree. It was hours from their hut, even with Mother's magical influence to speed them and strengthen their endurance. The scent of the metal in her mouth was harsh, and there was a bitter, tongue-curling taste to it. She wondered if it had been polished with a serum to obtain its high sheen, and if so, what had been used. The taste was awful.
She curled herself around her tail, settling down into the cushy undergrowth. Laying the mirror before her, she concentrated, willing herself to change...
A shimmer of magic, and Morrigan felt the unwelcome sensation of fur sliding away, skin crawling back into place, hair shifting and bones rearranging. 'Twas becoming easier to handle the transitions to and from her human form... the first time, it had taken nearly an hour to manage the change, and had left her aching for days. She'd been almost afraid to change back, and 'twas only her mother's threats that she would lose her humanity and spend all of her days as a wolf that finally convinced her to enact the magic.
How Flemeth managed to alter her appearance with such ease, and without the study normally required, 'twas a mystery to Morrigan. She had made herself into the image of the princess with little more than a glance. Morrigan despaired of ever mastering such magic herself, although Flemeth had assured her - with years of practice, she would be able to take another form, even another human one - although 'twould no doubt require much study of the person in question.
The hours that would need to go into such a study - the effort hardly seemed worth it. Whyever would anyone wish to be someone other than who they were?
Her shift from wolf-to-human complete, Morrigan drew up the mirror with a sigh of delight. The hem of her blouse made an excellent rag with which to wipe the bit of drool she had smeared across the reflective surface. She held it up, bright eyes shining with anticipation.
Her face was smeared with mud, browned by long afternoons in the sun. Feline eyes, dark gold and narrow, slanted back from a long, thin nose. Her smile seemed out of place, and indeed, hers was a face that did not often smile - 'twas an expression she'd stolen from the royal. That smile faded as she took in her reflection; dirty, flushed, nothing at all like the princess in the forest. Her hair was not honey blonde or shining, but black as a raven's wing, scraggly with twigs and hanging in tangled knots. The only thing beautiful about the reflection was the mirror itself, and Morrigan lowered it, disappointment curdling her stomach.
"Morrigan?"
Damn!
She slid the mirror into a fold of her blouse and bounded out from the tree.
"I am here, Mother," she said, somewhat breathless. The mirror seemed almost to catch fire against her skin, and she schooled her face into stillness, hoping against hope that Flemeth would not catch her with it.
Flemeth's eyes narrowed, and Morrigan's heart fluttered like a frightened bird.
She knows... Morrigan thought, fear cutting off her breath.
But after a moment, Flemeth turned away and stalked off into the forest. "Come, girl," she called over her shoulder, and Morrigan hurried after, a mute sigh of relief spilling from her lips.
.oOo.
The carriages stopped when the sun began to set.
Cailan was acting strangely. Nervous, stammering, and he couldn't keep his eyes from her. Quite the change - he'd begun eyeing her with more interest than he had in days, which was somewhat refreshing. She'd been wondering if there was something wrong with her. He'd been all but unstoppable before, with the wandering hands and the begging for attention. It was only since the day she'd found him in the trophy room of Eamon's castle that he'd seemed to have lost interest.
But this renewed lust in his eyes was encouraging. It made her wonder if she might get her chance to be alone with him even before they got back to Denerim.
Following dinner, she made a show of yawning and stretching her hands.
"I'm off to bed," she said, and the king barely looked up as she stood to walk the few steps to her tent. Her father flickered a glance at Cailan, and gave her a bare nod of approval, the unspoken command loud and clear. Arranging her face into what she hoped was an appealing expression, she glanced at Cailan, and his eyes fairly glowed.
Tonight, then... a wedge of ice settled itself into her stomach. Not the way she had pictured her bridal night - a tent in the grasslands of the Bannorn - but then, she was learning that there was much in life that was different from what you expected.
He'll be bumbling, and not know what to do, she thought in disgust. She doubted he even had the small education she'd gleaned from the few romance novels she'd read. In books, sex was so... romanticized. But given that nothing was what it appeared to be, she was apprehensive. She knew it would hurt, but beyond that, she had only written descriptions to go on.
Lowering herself to her knees, she began to undress, shaking hands fumbling at her hairpins. Honey blonde hair cascading around her, and she bit her lips to turn them red. Why was she cold? It was warm in the tent... Icy fingers pressed into her cheeks, which were hot enough that her frozen touch was soothing. Her body seemed to be at odds - shaking, burning and freezing, all at once. Perhaps she was ill...
When she had neatly folded her dress, brushed her hair and drawn on a thin shift, she sat back on the blanket and listened. Male voices were still echoing through the camp... she had time yet. Preparations complete, she folded her hands and began to pray.
.oOo.
"Isolde has proven herself trustworthy," Maric said. "She's received my endorsement. Haven't we put Eamon through enough hell? Let him be, Loghain." He snapped a dried stick in two and tossed the kindling on the fire. The glowing embers shifted, falling in on themselves, crackling with heat and launching a blaze of sparks into the inky blackness.
"It isn't Isolde I am concerned with, my liege," Loghain said. He reached into his pouch, and then hesitated. All noise had ceased in Anora's tent, something he had been listening for.
"Cailan, you look tired. Are you for bed, then?" Loghain asked, and the boy jumped.
"Uh-" Wide eyed, Cailan stammered, looking for words. "Bed. Yes. I-um..."
"Maric, I must speak with you privately, in any case. Will you walk with me? I don't want our conversation to keep the children awake," Loghain said, and Maric brushed his hands over his legs and rose.
"Sleep well, Cailan," Maric called, and Loghain could have sworn that Cailan's eyes grew twice as wide as they'd been before.
Loghain led Maric well away from the encampment, until the sounds of the night covered any noises that might be coming from... elsewhere.
"I've received word. From Orlais." He pulled the missive from his pouch and handed it to Maric, who unfolded it, squinting in the faint moonlight to read the words. A sigh escaped the king's lips, and he raised his eyes, unimpressed with Loghain's sense of urgency.
"Loghain, this is completely cryptic. A friend? ...I know you've been keeping up the networks in Orlais but really, it's time we brought those people home. They're risking their lives for nothing. The war is over! We drove them out sixteen years ago. There's no reason-"
"There is plenty of reason!" Loghain cried. Why couldn't Maric see? Hard, furious lines creased his forehead as his brows crept downward, and he gritted his teeth, eyes telegraphing the black ire that was almost blinding him in its intensity.
Maric seemed not to notice, sighing and running a hand over his tawny hair. Loghain had never gotten over his anxieties about the rebellion. It had to be admitted - Emperor Florian was an ornery son-of-a-bitch, but they had dealt Orlais a decisive victory, and Florian had been licking his wounds ever since.
"Ferelden is what matters now. Not Orlais. They can play their games and dance their dances and live in sin and eat cake. We have a kingdom to run." Maric thrust the paper back into Loghain's hands. "I'm calling all of the Fereldan operatives home. No more spies, Loghain. Leave them be."
"Maric, are you insane?" One hand clutched at the king's shoulder, knocking him back a step. "We need those eyes and ears! Some of them have been in place for years - the contacts they've made, the level of intelligence they're able to grant us -"
"It's over, Loghain," Maric's voice was sharp. "As you said, some of those people have been in place for years. They've given up years in service to Ferelden! Let them come home. Let them live their lives." A twitch of his shoulder, and Loghain's hand fell away. "I am the king, Loghain. You've been helping me since the beginning, and I'm grateful. You're the only man I want leading my armies." He leaned forward, his face hard. "But some things are outside your jurisdiction. Alistair, for instance. That boy is my son, and I've decided to let him go to the chantry - for now. But know this - it isn't because of you, and your insufferable attitude. Fiona asked me not to interfere in his life, and after considering, I've decided to honor that. It's the only thing she'll let me do for her, and I should do it, though it kills me not to have him."
"You're a fool, Maric," Loghain snarled.
"And you are a righteous ass," Maric said as he turned. The king's footfall's faded away as he headed back to the camp, and Loghain caught his silhouette ducking into his tent. Cailan was nowhere to be seen.
.oOo.
'Twas lovely.
Morrigan sat in her room, a small chamber dug out from the very earth. 'Twas dark, but one small hole in the ceiling made a window through which she could see the crescent moon. She twirled the mirror in her fingers, admiring the sparkling gems encrusted over the back. Pearls, their ethereal shimmer drinking the pale moonlight. Opals, glimmering white with fiery highlights of red, green and blue. Clear crystals, as opulant as rippling water in the sun.
The mirror fit beautifully in her two hands, and she gazed at her reflection, which was far cleaner than it had been earlier. A dip into the lake had cleared the mud from her face, and she had done her best to finger-comb her hair and pick the briars and bits of crust from it. 'Twas smoother, at least. She set the mirror on the pallet, propping it on a bit of wood she used as a shelf, and twisted her hair up into a knot high on her head. She had a few smoothly carved sticks she used for tapping out musical rhythms, and she poked one of these through her hair, attempting the same look the princess had achieved. Her hair had been up, that was all she could remember. Once she had most of it off of her neck, she scooped the mirror up again, and inspected herself.
'Twas messy, that was certain.
She pulled the sticks from her hair and began again, determined to discover the trick of it. Weave it through here...a bit more there...
The door flew open, and she snapped the mirror up to her chest and shoved it into the folds of her shirt. There was silence behind her, and Morrigan was certain Flemeth was listening to the pounding of her heart, smelling the fear that must be pouring off of her in waves.
"What are you doing, girl?" The voice was low, and dangerous. Morrigan hitched a shuddering breath.
"Thinking. Meditating," she said, and soft footfalls signaled her mother's approach. She swallowed, trying to still her beating heart. It had been wrong to steal the mirror, she knew it - but she feared losing the pretty thing more than any punishment Flemeth might dole out.
"You've been quiet today," Flemeth said. She lowered herself down to the pallet, and Morrigan let her hands drop away from her chest. The mirror settled itself into a small fold in the fabric, and she tried not to think about it. Flemeth claimed she couldn't read thoughts, but Morrigan was honestly not sure if that was true. Much of what her mother said was worth questioning; this she was learning more than anything else.
"I've been... practicing," Morrigan said. "Practicing the ice spell you taught me."
"Have you," Flemeth said. Her voice was thick with amusement, and Morrigan's dark brows drew together. She felt a flash of anger. The woman found her funny? She hated to be laughed at!
"Yes! Look!" One hand shot out, and a spume of ice unfolded over the earthen wall of her dugout room. Frost crept upward to touch the ceiling, thickening dangling roots into icy ropes, then into shining icicles. Within seconds, the wall was a slick of ice and cold. Morrigan smiled in triumph. Ice was a medium she felt at home with, and it was thrilling to prove her competence.
"Hmmm," Flemeth said, inspecting the wall. "Now melt it."
"I have done so, half a dozen times already," Morrigan scoffed. "I need not do it again."
"You lie," Flemeth said, her voice velvet and laced with danger.
Morrigan flushed. "You do not know that," she whispered.
"I do, and 'tis only because of your own foolishness," Flemeth said. Her fingers caressed the nape of Morrigan's neck, and then tightened. "Melt it." Her fingers squeezed again, and Morrigan wriggled away. She scowled, wondering how she had been caught in the lie, and then stretched out a hand to use a fire spell.
Fire wasn't as easy; much more draining. After a moment of concentration, waves of heat began shimmering from her hand, and then a stream of fire flowed from her fingertips. It collided with the wall, melting the ice in a slowly-expanding circle of dirty, dripping heat didn't spread the way the ice had, and Morrigan concentrated on aiming the spell higher and lower, moving the flames as necessary to fully melt the wall.
As it melted, the earth began to fracture, driblets of mud and earth plopping to the ground. There was a shifting above them, and Morrigan's heart gave a nervous thump. She hesitated, looking to her mother.
"Continue," Flemeth said, her face hard. Morrigan swallowed her fear, and continued her fire spell. The area near the floor was mostly melted, and the wall seemed to... sag...
"Continue." Flemeth's voice was frightening in its intensity, and Morrigan shot her hands toward the ceiling, aiming the flames high. She struggled to pull more mana, draining herself more quickly than she had thought. Fire was difficult!
The flames petered out, and she smiled at her mother. All was melted...if somewhat less shapely than before.
"Now. Freeze it again," Flemeth said softly.
Morrigan tried. She was exhausted, and even ice was challenging now. After a moment of harsh concentration, she summoned the ice, but the earth took to it with much less aplomb this time. Ribbons of cold snaked through the muddy wall, and in a moment she bent her head, exhausted.
Flemeth said nothing, and Morrigan breathed deeply, trying to find the will to continue. 'Twas important that Mother not see her as a weakling...
A strange, wet sound, and her eyes widened in a moment of fear as the wall began to collapse.
Flemeth stalked from the room, and slammed the door shut.
A rumbling in the ground, and Morrigan pushed herself to her feet as the wall began to slide inward, filling the little room with earth, mud and stones. Morrigan backed toward the door, setting her feet into a run. It was a bare few steps, but time seemed to slow, and the earth was approaching her feet as she yanked on the door handle, grasping to pull it open.
It didn't budge.
"Mother!" she shouted, the flat of her hand banging on the rough wood. "Mother!"
Horrifying silence. She pulled on the stubborn door again, the splintered handle cutting into her flesh. She was trembling, terrified that she would be covered in the earth, that it would creep up her legs and freeze her into place, blanket her with loose dirt and crush her lungs, fill her mouth and bury her alive...
"MOTHER!" she screamed. Wailing her anguish, she clawed at the door, her nails breaking and fingertips bloodying. Something brushed her arm, and she whirled around, a sob choking from her throat. The ceiling was collapsing...
She began to hyperventilate. There was too much air, and yet not enough... it was making her dizzy, and she stumbled to the center of the room, falling to her knees and then pushing herself back up on scraped hands. The window!
She jumped for the tiny hole in the ceiling. She could claw it open, widen it enough to squeeze her skinny body through. It would work. It had to!
She wasn't tall enough.
"NO!" she shrieked, and pure panic clouded her vision. She whipped around, seeking something, anything!
The wall was sliding faster now, and there was dry, solid earth behind it, falling away in larger chunks. A fist-sized clod fell from the ceiling, breaking itself into two pieces on the floor, and she stared at it, mind awhirl with fear and confusion. Sudden inspiration struck, and she began to gather the earth, packing it into a ramp. The mud made it more difficult - what had possessed her to freeze an earthen wall?
Her hands were shaking so badly it was hard to control them, hard to get up enough strength to pack the earth tightly enough to hold her weight. Her feet came into play, and she tamped it down on hands and knees, testing it as she went. It grew, slowly, so slowly, but she gained confidence after a moment and continued the job, using bits of the ceiling and walls as they fell in.
Another moment, and she clambered up the ramp and made a desperate leap for the hole in the ceiling. Her fingers closed over the edge, and she began to sob with relief as she pulled herself up. Her muscles were shaking, her stomach heaving with nauseated angst.
It was a dirty, dirty job, to haul herself through the tiny hole. Pillbugs fell into her hair and she felt their disgusting legs wriggling over her neck as she squirmed the rest of the way through the hole, pulling herself up and onto the soft grass. Her arms nearly gave out at the last, muddy tears stinging her eyes, soft whimpers spilling from her lips. Never, never in all her life had she been so frightened. She rolled onto the earth, laying flat on her back as she panted. From a corner of the sky, the moon's smile shone down on her, and the scattering of stars twinkled, uncaring that she had just won a battle of life and death. Breath came easier, tingles of exhilaration sang over her skin, and a deep, deep ache flooded her bones. She began to cry again - relief paramount.
Why hadn't her mother helped her?
She sat up a moment later, sniffling, and lifted her chin to see Flemeth's bare feet coming across the grass.
"Mother," she whispered, and rose to reach her arms around her mother's waist. Flemeth's hands caressed her sodden hair, wiped bits of filth from her cheeks.
"Give me the mirror," she said, and Morrigan's heart stopped beating.
Without a word, she slipped her hand into her shirt and withdrew the precious treasure to drop it into Flemeth's fingers.
"You would risk our very lives...for a bauble." The words were thick with disgust, and shame flooded through the girl.
"'Twas beautiful..." she whispered, and Flemeth's hand crossed Morrigan's face in a stinging slap.
"Look at me, girl," she said, and Morrigan raised her eyes, shimmering with tears of pain and humiliation.
Flemeth lofted the mirror high into the air, and it hovered there, a bit of glitter decorating the night sky. A scant moment later it burst into a thousand pieces, becoming dust on the wind that rained across the forest, golden debris drifting across the Wilds.
"Come," Flemeth said. "We must find a new home, as your foolish behavior has destroyed this one. She strode into the forest, and Morrigan shuffled behind, her heart bleeding.