When Fate Summons (a Dragon Age fanfiction)

Spinning Wheel

The group trudging along the narrow mountain paths was largely silent. Xandros ranged ahead, his usual quiet heightened by the tensions around him. Morrigan accepted his comfort occasionally in the privacy of her tent, but withdrew into herself more and more as they journeyed. He found himself increasingly affected by her emotional state, to a degree he felt was dangerous at times. As the party's scout, he felt he owed it to everyone to remain somewhat objective and maintain a certain emotional distance, one that was hard to hold on to when he could see the torment written all over the apostate's face, and felt the tangle of her feelings reach into him as well.

Morrigan was restraining herself to the comparative slowness of human form with very obvious difficulty. Pieces of her would transform under the pressure of her intense need to go faster—her arm would become a wing, a spider's leg would sprout from her side, the occasional suggestion of a canine tail would peek out from under the hem of her leather skirt. She understood Thora's reasoning, and certainly had no intention of becoming a mere vessel for all that was Flemeth, but the thought of what the ancient witch could be doing to her child, the guilt that her own intentions toward Cybele had led them to this pass, the friction between the woman she had once been and the mother she had become all writhed in a ball of fire at the core of her being, and all of it urged her to hurry, hurry.

Oghren drank. And walked. And drank some more. If he thought of his family back in Amaranthine, if he worried about the little girl he loved at the mercy of Flemeth, or if part of his mind walked the Deep Roads with his closest friends, he didn't say, and no one asked.

Sharing both Morrigan's need for hurry and Oghren's unguessed concern over the party in the Deep Roads, Alistair felt miserably torn. He'd grown used to feeling Thora's presence, the hum of her nearness comforting and energizing, and felt disjointed without it. Right now all he felt was Oghren, which was an entirely different sensation. A creature of action at heart, this protracted chase where he was unable to actually do anything made Alistair acutely nervous, and he was aching to pull his sword and just hack away at some horrible monster. Pushing the impulse aside, he sped up, catching up with Morrigan and walking alongside her.

"To what do I owe the great gift of your attention? Lack of your erstwhile paramour to disturb?" she said coolly, but out of habit. There was no venom in the words.

"I thought ..." His voice trailed off. He didn't entirely know what he'd been intending. Just that he couldn't walk along in silence, alone with his thoughts.

"You did? How enterprising of you. Please, share with me the scintillating results of your mental efforts." She was actually looking at him, though, and seemed willing to listen.

Maybe Morrigan, too, could do with a distraction from her thoughts, Alistair realized with some surprise. He'd never thought of her as someone who might need the company of other humans. "I wondered if we could talk about what might happen after the ritual."

"You mean, in the presumption that we will not all perish?"

"Right. Definitely in that presumption."

Morrigan looked at him sideways, and he braced for the cutting words, but was stunned when she said, "I am sorry, Alistair. For ... all this."

His step hitched and he stumbled. Nothing in their shared experience had prepared him for her to say something like that to him. Ever. "Uh ... that's okay?" he offered. He was rarely at a loss for a remark, but what are you supposed to say when the world starts spinning backwards?

"Really." Her eyes narrowed, and he waited for the inevitable jibe, but she said nothing more.

They walked in silence for a few minutes.

At last, Morrigan sighed. "I do not know that it is possible to forecast what might occur after the ritual. It is ... I think there is a chance we might want to ..." She swallowed hard before going on. "Take the girls to the Tower."

"The Circle Tower?" He stared at her. "Did I hear that right? Are you advocating not only going there, but taking your—our—daughter there?"

Morrigan nodded, looking profoundly unhappy. "If—and it is a large supposition, to assume that any of us shall survive—" She broke off at his look, shrugging uncomfortably. "My mother is much, much more than what she seems. She will not take kindly to this pursuit or the endangerment of her goals."

"And you think she's just going to kill us all?"

"It is a possibility I cannot discount." Morrigan studied the tips of her boots. "As I say, if either of the children survive, it is best if they are looked after by other mages. Where there are ... books, things to research. Flemeth's is old magic, and there may be nothing to tell us how to counteract it, even if such a thing is to be done, but if there will be ... I would assume it must be at the Circle." She glanced at Alistair, then away. "The Circle under your reign is not what it once was. No longer a prison, it is becoming a center for scholarship in the magical arts." At his look of surprise, she nodded, a hint of a smile crossing her lips. "Even I occasionally hear things. You have done much that is good. Surprisingly."

"Um. Thank you." The "surprisingly" sounded like her, but the rest of the sentiments? They sure weren't the Morrigan he knew. He stared at her, looking her over carefully. "Er, Morrigan?" She turned her gaze on him. "You haven't, you know, been taken over by any ancient magic rituals, have you?"

She gave a small, surprising snort of laughter. "In a manner of speaking, you might say so." Alistair raised an eyebrow, waiting for her to elaborate. "Motherhood, Alistair. I seem to have ... been overtaken by what is termed the maternal instinct. It is most disturbing."

Alistair looked at her, unsure how to respond, and then suddenly the last thing he expected happened. He and Morrigan were laughing together like old friends.

Behind them, Dirnley shook his head. He'd been listening in on the conversation, his expression dark. The conflict that had shown in his face for most of the journey suddenly smoothed out. His mouth compressed in an angry line, and abruptly he turned, disappearing into the trees.