Salem

"Damn it!" I swore, spitting dirt out of my mouth. Zevran's laugh echoed across the wind.

"Good try, warden!" he called.

I wanted to murder him. I wanted to take him by the throat and choke the life from his scrawny assassin's neck. It had been Sten's idea to bring the Antivan into our training. According to the qunari, Zevran would provide a different challenege, a stealthy and swift approach. His attacks did not use strength to gain the upper hand, unlike Sten's. I had agreed, hoping to make at least some progress.

But no. Sten is slow and I can barely sense his attacks. Trying to fight Zevran finds me...eating dirt.

"It was not good." Sten groused. "And it was not a try. Pick yourself up, warden. We begin again."

I stood up and yesterday's bruises twinged. Leliana is going to flay me alive.

I brushed sweat from my face, trying to forget about last night. The dream had been so vivid, so real. I had not been able to distinguish it from reality when I awoke. Leliana had been quiet all day, guiding me, silent, waves of guilt emanating from her and thickening the air.

How can she blame herself for my own demented dreams? After all, when is my sleep ever pleasant? It is my own tainted blood. My blindness is my fault.

"Warden, focus." Sten ordered.

"No." my mind was too crowded with other thoughts. I would find myself tasting the earth once again if I continued. "No more for the moment. Burrow."

The mabari raced up to me and barked, standing still as I grabbed the scruff of his neck. He had adapted more easily to my blindness than I had, anticipating my needs and guiding me when Leliana was not there to offer her eyes. We took slow, hesitant steps towards the camp. I bit my lip and stopped, feeling a familiar numbness spread across my side.

It had been happening ever since Wynne brought me back from the edge of death. My skin would go cold, and even if I pressed my hand against it, I could feel nothing. It worried me, but I would not speak to Wynne or Leliana about it. They agreed too much about the state of my health. I would not be relegated to my tent while the days waxed on unendingly.

Why do the both of them seem to forget that we are racing against the sun? I wondered. Burrow led me to the campfire and I sat down, staring towards the flames, only able to feel their heat...not able to see their dance. I did not ask for this measure of loyalty. I smiled, along with my thoughts. I did not expect this measure of love. Perhaps that is why my dreams have changed. My greatest fear is no longer the evil of Howe's men, or the battle with the archdemon. It is losing Leliana.

"Well, don't you look fabulous?" Morrigan's saucy tones insinuated themselves next to me. "I had heard sweat-sheen and mud were the height of Orlesian fashion. How do you manage, Lady Cousland?"

"I can scarcely bear the weight of my own magnificence." I muttered, wondering at the witch's almost mirthful tone.

"Oh, come now, warden. Is it too much to ask that my melancholy remain my own? Although I must admit, 'tis not fair that you play it so well."

Your humor has greatly improved since your mother cast your lot in with us. I am glad of this, if only for the fact that it keeps me from fearing for my life.

"I thought a darker hue might serve me better."

"Tiring of your little sun-spot songstress are we?" Morrigan snarked, coy.

"No.": I hastened to disagree. "Not that." Never that.

"But if the world is dark to your eyes, it must be so to your heart as well." Morrigan guessed with her eerie intuition.

I do not want this conversation. "Perhaps."

"Do not think we are blind to your struggles, warden." Morrigan read my tone. "I've watched from afar as the qunari tries in vain to separate your mind from your sight. 'Tis not womething well understood by those such as you."

"What do you mean?" I asked, relieved.

While Sten was blatantly honest concerning my ineptitude, he had given me the hope that I could improve, and Zevran had spouted nothing but encouragement the entire evening. In truth, both of them had made me utterly miserable, hope and encouragement juxtaposed against condescension and brual honesty serving to impale me with knowledge of my failures.

"You are too grounded in that which is seen." Morrigan quipped. "Perhaps it is to do with your nobility. Those of noble blood quite often ignore the world around them in pursuit of ever distant horizons. Without those horizons in view, you are quite lost."

I definitely do not want this conversation. "Well, now that you have laid all my weaknesses bare, do you intend to leave me with naked wounds?"

"Now why would I do such a thing?" I could have sworn she grinned. "You would simply ignore them and forge ahead."

Not you as well, I groaned inwardly. "What do you want, Morrigan?"

"'Tis only my intention to help you." she admitted, shocking me. "After all, and I should sever my tongue for speaking these words, but...it meant a...a great deal...when you placed your trust in me. I should very much like to aid you."

My curiosity piqued. "Go on."

Morrigan took a deep breath. "The qunari is right in his assertions, but his methods are quite mournfully askew." another light laugh. "I doubt a warrior such as he could accurately describe the actual severance of Self from the physical world and melding of it into the natural."

"And you can?" I wondered, allowing myself to hope that the feral witch could help me understand Sten's cryptic instructions.

"But of course." I felt an awkward hand on my shoulder. "'Tis is exactly what is done every time I shift my shape. The human consciousness recedes and the primal comes forth."

That makes...sense. "But you told me you could not teach someone without magic how to shift shape."

"And, as usual, I would be right." I wanted to see her catty smile, feel it catch in a moment of camaraderie. "I cannot teach you to alter your shape, but I can change your mind with magic, suppressing the part of you that craves sight and allowing your intuition to take over. To find your own primal nature and bring it forth."

"In truth?" the excitement in my voice frightened me.

"Of course." pride flowed from the witch. "Although 'twill be quite uncomfortable. I feel I must warn you. Those who are not born to magic often suffer from its touch, no matter the intent of the user."

"I know." I recalled Wynne's healing spells, how they burned, how they tore me apart even as they forced my body together. "I'll do anything, Morrigan. I cannot keep existing as a burden to everyone that I care about. I need...I need to be useful again."

"While I completely disdain your altruistic reasoning, I find your drive intriguing. Take my hand, warden. We shall see how this suits you."

I reached out, waiting for her to take my hand. I felt her fingers entwine with mine and an unfamiliar magic wrapping around my skin. I released my thoughts, reaching for Morrigan's magic in my mind, willing my intuition, my primal sense, to come to the forefront.

"Stop." a dark presence invaded all of my senses.

"You disappoint me, Salem." Morrigan sounded...hurt?

"No, it's not that." I rose, hand on the hilt of my weapon, habit and instinct that would do me no good. "Not that at all."

"Darkspawn!" I heard Alistair's voice from across the camp. "Darkspawn approaching!"