She would never admit it to him, but Morrigan found herself envious of Alistair on occasion. Only on occasion, of course, and for one reason only. A reason she doubted very much he'd appreciate; the idiotic, bleeding-heart goody-goody.
She rather envied his ability to kill.
Oh she had killed, of course. With curses, poisons, spells. She'd set them on fire, frozen them, drained the life from them, confused them into killing themselves, made them explode; she'd killed in so many interesting and painful ways. But from a distance. Where she would be safe, untouched. Alistair, on the other hand got right up into the fray. He could see the fear in their eyes, feel their heart thudding in their chest, smell the sweat and heat of their breath as they fought in vain for their miserable existence. Then, when the fatal blow was dealt, to have the blood and viscera come welling up, hot and wet, tasting of iron and life, spattering over armor and weapon like a badge of victory.
Her way was better, of that she was sure. More efficient, cleaner, safer. She didn't have to wear bulky armor, or exert herself to the same extent; in the time it took Alistair to land a killing blow, she would have already dispatched with three others. Still, she imagined that his way was far more satisfying. Maybe not to him, Alistair didn't seem to enjoy killing. But that was part of the reason why she was envious of him specifically and not the others in the party who also got up close and personal with the enemy; Alistair in particular didn't seem to appreciate what he was capable of.
Such were the thoughts on her mind as they trudged through the Brecilian Forest, sent on another fool errand. Morrigan didn't understand why Faleni put up with it; the treaties should force people to help the Grey Wardens, and yet everyone they encountered refused to honor their promise unless Faleni cleaned up whatever mess they made first. Yet, instead of taking them to task for dereliction of duty, the Dalish Warden acceded to their requests. If Morrigan didn't know any better, she'd have thought Faleni was a city elf, born and bred to serve. Though that was unkind; at least in this instance. After all, this time it was the Dalish, Faleni's people, they were helping out. Maybe it was some sort of elven honor thing.
"Bandits!" Alistair shouted, several paces ahead. Immediately, a large group of scruffy-looking men had swarmed over the ex-Templar. Faleni drew her knives and whistled, getting the attention of her pet wolf. The large beast snarled and lunged, sinking his teeth deep into the calf of one of the attackers. Wynne was behind Morrigan, and she was already preparing a spell that would hopefully protect Alistair from too much harm.
The bandits had the element of surprise. Alistair laid all about him with sword and shield, trying to keep the bandits from getting through his defense. Faleni and her wolf methodically worked their way through the pack, picking off their targets one by one, trying to give Alistair some breathing room. The swamp witch watched the battle her staff at the ready, but there was too much going on; too many people moving too much. She tried to find targets, but every time she thought she had locked in on one, they disappeared. With Alistair and Faleni in the middle of it all, she couldn't even conjure up a good storm without risking their lives as well. It was an unmitigated disaster.
Which only got worse with Alistair's strength failing. Wynne tried to bolster him up as much as possible, but the Circle mage was old and slow, and their opponents too numerous. A shield caught Alistair upside the head, knocking his helmet off and sending him sprawling, unconscious, into the dirt. Morrigan caught Faleni's eyes; she could see the fear in them. She knew why. Faleni was deadly with her knives, but she couldn't hold up against multiple opponents for very long, neither could her wolf. Wynne was... well, not useless, but she was hardly a fighter. It looked bad for all of them.
She smiled. Maybe they didn't have to die.
"Cover me!" She shouted at the Dalish Warden. The elf furrowed her brow in confusion, but nodded. The elf started dancing in and out of her opponents, trying to get their attention while still keeping out of their reach. Her daggers flashed, though few found their mark. Morrigan didn't pay attention to it though, she couldn't divide her focus; the spell she was casting was much too difficult.
It didn't happen all at once, and the Witch of the Wilds could feel every change in her body. Her skin prickled, her muscles rippled and stretched. She felt heavier and more powerful. Her hands shortened and grew clumsy, and she could see brown hairs poking out of her arms, her fingernails lengthening into claws. Her vision grew weaker, but the smells grew stronger.
When the prickling finally stopped, the girl in rags was gone and in her place stood a large brown bear. She roared, and the remaining bandits looked up in fright. That was all the signal she needed. Morrigan attacked.
She had no armor, but her fur was thick and her hide tough. She had no sword, but she had teeth and claws. The bandits attacked her en masse, but she was strong and powerful, more than a match for a few paltry bandits. She bit and kicked, swatted and swiped. Blood got in her claws, sweat in her eyes, and she felt the sting of several cuts as a few lucky stabs found their mark, but in the end, the bandits were slain.
They made camp there, mostly so Wynne could take care of the injured Alistair. Faleni would not leave the injured Warden's side and set her wolf to guard over the camp. Morrigan sat by the fire, in human form once more, but she could still taste flesh on her tongue and smell bile in her nostrils. It was disgusting and vile. It was glorious.