Chapter 53: For the Sake of a Tear

Morrigan

They move too slow…

Even when they rush their feet drag. It is how humans are, for they are mortal and in dallying they are subconsciously trying to delay death. They think of death as a destination and are unaware of Death as an incarnation. He is following at my heels and so I must herd them forward or push them as necessary.

It was only on that day that I had some slight pause and felt a similar reluctance, for I had become aware of the humor of Fate. My seeking the object had to have a price somewhere. It would have been too much to expect that my past would remain behind me from where Death would chase me on while I ran headlong into that which I would have rathered forgotten. I was still human after all but I had to come into contact with my humanity before I could completely tear it away as discarded plumes.

Apparently the Reluctant King was a player in this farce as well. I should have known!

When I came upon my fuming knightly chieftain, I had merely planned to wait as he spent his fury in pacing and muttering. I had doubted eavesdropping would be fruitful from his anger sharpened dullness, but I listened anyway for one never knows and oh what a gem tumbled from his sneering lips. His ranting spat forth the title of "king" and my ears prickled as if needled by the wind.

The "king" had saved him and had been lost in the woods with the dove-like sister.

Yet, I had found the sister dangling in the tree and the "king" was no-where to be seen.

I knew this "king." Even the scent of his presence in my vicinity made me cringe. He was a pebble in my shoe that irked but could never be shaken free. Far away, sitting on his unearned throne, he had been out of my realm of consideration and swept to the farther corners of my mind along with the memories of the woman who had loved him, though he did not merit her devotion.

He had been an evil hope once, the potential father of a soul-cast child. The necessity had irked me, but it would have provided me with a pawn or a shield to keep Flemeth at bay and would have saved the life of my friend. For myself, I would have been reluctant to take such a man's seed into my body except I saw the potential for a few moments of sweaty beastliness to yield happy results, not only for me but for all involved.

I knew he would refuse. He had two true emotions that constantly radiated from his person and was not manipulated by his bent of honor: his love for Tabris and his tooth-grinding dislike for me. He loved her for who she was and did not care about her parentage or race. He hated me for the fact that I tormented him with a witty sobriety. To appeal to him would have yielded nothing and I appealed to my friend, knowing that if she asked he would acquiesce.

I did not foresee her staunch refusal. The shock had caused me to behave petulantly, I could see that now, but at the time I had been grieved and angry. I offered her the opportunity to preserve her life. Mortals would do that without question…she however would not and I was forced to consider the inevitable conclusion of her decision and I was helpless. The woman who would willingly save me would not let me save her and I would have been forced to stand by and watch.

I could not accept that. I had bounded off into the night in the form of a wolf cub because wolves don't cry and I desperately wanted to at that moment. Escaping into the wilds I howled my frustration, my sorrow, my torment and she marched off to her destiny.

While the months following the Blight had passed, I wandered; searching for a way to save myself from Flemeth's wrath that I assumed had to be lying in wait. Eventually I stumbled across a Dalish clan and was allowed to shelter with them. The Keeper had pieces of lore, old tomes and relics that spoke of things near forgotten by her people. After lulling the Keeper into complaisance, I stole the most prized tome. It spoke of doorways, of places between and beyond, of treasures that offered power to those bold enough to claim them and warned of prices that can be paid for relics wielded without caution.

There was no room in my fevered mind for caution. I felt myself snared in the web and groped for a knife to cut myself free. What cared I if the knife should nick me in the process as long as I was free afterward? Let drops of blood fall, whether my own or that which belonged to others, so I could survive.

The prize was close; I could feel it thrumming with power as we retraced the addled Sister's likely route. The old woman clucked over her like a hen and eyed me with something between suspicion and pity, neither of which was of any use to me. I held my tongue. I nodded my acquiescence. I sighed in my relief as we finally parted company with the old Knight and headed toward my desired destination, but even then it was a drawn out parting that was maddening in its plodding.

He took his leave slowly from both the Sister and Bruna, as a man might take leave from his own family.

When I had first met him the man had held a mercenary by the throat, even with an injured arm he had seemed an immovable force to be reckoned with, even if he was older he was also strong, decisive and bold. In those stolen moments before we parted company, something seemed softer. There were lines of worry in his face; wrinkling age crept into his forehead and eyes. It was not reassuring to see him in this light before he was to go off to battle. This display stood as a testament to the truth I had long ago discovered: "One's emotional attachments made one weak."

He stood before the Sister a moment, each of his hands resting on her shoulders, his eyes searched her face. The Sister looked back at him with a glassy, sad look, as if she were trying to place a face that tarried on the edge of her memory but could not quite match a name to it. Seeing her confusion, the Knight smiled sadly and kissed the Sister's forehead, which she allowed with an almost awed silence.

Next, he turned to the Older Woman and initially I thought she might rebuff him since she seemed sullen. Her eyes were downcast and her jaw was tight, she was reluctant to look at him directly. With a pair of fingers he lifted her chin to cause her eyes to meet his and as they looked at each other, something of the softness of his mien transferred into her gaze as he spoke with a raspy tone, "This is for the best. Take care!"

"I do not take orders from you, Ser Lion!" she sniffed slightly, trying to hold back a smile.

He chuckled at that, "Do you think I am a dullard, woman? Do you think I have learned nothing from my time? I am making a humble request of my Lady, whom I would hope to find looking on me with favor when I return to her."

"I am no Lady," she sighed, "I am a cook and a cackling hen."

"Why is it the tradition of the true Ladies in these lands to claim to not be Ladies? One claimed to be a Fool and you claim to be a Hen. As surely as I am Ser Lion, you are a Lady! I will have it no other way! You are MY Lady, battered tea pot and all!"

With that he gathered her into his arms and kissed her with a hungry eagerness that broke his stern demeanor. He went from being old to being young with passionate vigor and the woman surrendered to the kiss as a simpering maid might, belying the matron she had seemed mere moments before. The Avvar warriors, who accompanied their ordained chieftain, whooped and roared with laughter. They had not understood a word of the exchange between the man and woman, but they had understood the leave taking and voiced their approval noisily.

I refrained from rolling my eyes and bit my tongue to prevent remarks that would not aid in moving us forward. If they wished to dawdle there was only so much haste my presence could elicit.

When the pair finally parted, their eyes were twinkling and their hands slowly unraveled as they stepped away from one another. The Knight's resolve seemed newly reborn upon his face, but there was something else with it that went beyond stiff determination. The Avvar Woman smiled and nodded, speaking not a word more, but turned toward us, gesturing for us to follow the path that we had already decided upon. We walked into the woods, a handful of scouts serving as our protectors, as the Knight and his warriors watched us withdraw from them.

For a long time, we all walked in silence. The shadows lengthened in the trees as we ventured further toward the cave entrances that we had determined were the likely exits that the Sister had taken in her escape from the Templars. The Avvars had long been aware of them, but had avoided them since the tribesmen had claimed that the mountain openings reeked of death and decay. It implied that the caves also might have been places where darkspawn had a tendency to surface. The Sister's patchy remembrances also seemed to match the descriptions of these openings into the dark, since one particularly large cave had a large stream issuing from it and she spoke of swimming through the dark at one point.

Tiring of the solitude, I stated pointedly to Bruna, "I had not realized that you and the Old Knight were so inclined towards one another."

A ghost of a smile danced across her face, but the woman remained silent.

The walking continued and her silence needled me somehow. She was smug and satisfied and I was irked by it, so I spat, "It seems folly to have maintained a strong independence for this long in your life and then allow yourself to fall into such an infatuation. What is he to you? It is just another rope to tie you up and hold you back."

"Once I might have been tempted to agree with you," she offered quietly, "I am now bound to him. However I have recently discovered that at times having a rope is one of the few comforts afforded to those who find themselves dangling over a precipice. He is only ONE of my ropes and, in a sense, he is what is enabling me to hold on. What do you have?"

I scoffed, "I need no rope!"

She looked at me then with a weary look that bored into me, "And yet you are grasping for something to cling to! You claim to need nothing, but a chasm is yawning beneath you and your fingers are slowly losing their grip. You are seeking something to sustain you, to hold you up. Child, you desire a way to protect yourself and yet you despise your own need for a rope."

My mouth went dry, but I huffed to myself and strode ahead in feigned indignation. It would be unseemly to acknowledge the truth to either her or to myself.

She was right! I resented the fact that she felt secure, though she was embroiled in an impossible situation. Her peace was unflappable and it rippled out, carrying on the Knight with her. He, in turn, drew strength from her, even more so than the needling that I had performed. I offered insight, but she sharpened his teeth.

I had to find the Lady's Tear in the bowels beneath the Cauldron Mountains. It might be the one thing that could protect me from Flemeth's wrath. It was getting harder to cling to the edge of the cliff…

…but what was truly hindering my survival was that I was running out of reasons to continue to hold on when all I wanted to do was to let go.

The plotting was all for the sake of a legendary tear that had mythologically fallen from a goddess in sorrow.

I had a goal, but no purpose. I had a life, but no soul.