Wild

"No." Her daughter's voice was easy to hear from inside the back bedroom. She had been talking with the elven one, and he appeared to be flirting, despite his less than ideal state. Typical man.

Flemeth looked toward the window, and saw clearly the elf-blooded bastard prince standing by the fire. He wasn't taking the loss of the Wardens well, but Flemeth knew that. She'd always known he'd be hurt, but that the break would only make his heart grow back stronger.

"You are impossible," Morrigan huffed from the back room. "Get dressed." She walked out of the room, her annoyance palpable.

"Good morning," Flemeth said, smiling in the way she knew only needled her daughter.

"You should have left that one to die," she said, glaring in the direction of the back bedroom. "He is a fool, and his companion is no better."

"Morrigan, be kind," Flemeth said, chuckling as she set to brewing tea. "They're both destined for great things."

"Great things," Morrigan spat under her breath.

"Hey, shemlen," the elf said, stumbling a little as he made his way out of the back bedroom.

Flemeth could tell he was still deep in the throws of grief over a lover, but she wouldn't deny he was good at hiding it. He was a sensitive soul. She turned to the pot to stir at the tea brewing over the fire. "I'd give that friend of yours a few more minutes."

He turned to the window and noticed the elf-blooded man. He nodded, a painfully empathetic look on his face. "Shit, I hope he'll be okay," he sighed, fidgeting with his belt.

He still hadn't put his chest piece on, but it was doubtful it wasn't an active choice. It was strange, how fate played out, how this elven man was the doting cousin of the girl who would free her of her amulet in Kirkwall.

"Tea, young man?"

"Uh, sure," he said, smiling a little shyly. She nodded toward her daughter to sit, Morrigan complying with a glare. She sat opposite the elf, Morrigan beside her, and set a cup in front of him. "Are, well, are you really Asha'bellanar?" He asked, holding the cup tight.

She laughed, nodding. Even if she knew what he would achieve, it was still surprising to see him as such a childish little thing. Only twenty years old, still so naive. "That is what you call me, yes."

His eyes sparkled and his ears flushed a little darker. "Fuck, that's cool."

Oh, she liked him quite a bit. She wouldn't protest the soul of Urthemiel being a part of a being he helped create. Such a pretty little thing it would be, on the outside.

"So you're her daughter, huh?" He asked, leaning forward on the table to look at Morrigan.

"What else would I be, living out in the Wilds with this old woman?"

Something had stirred in the air around the table, and Flemeth felt something shift in a poor direction.

This man was a danger is a very unique and unforeseen way. It had taken a minute, but as he chattered at her daughter, she could sense it. Affection. He was full of unbridled, boundless affection and she could feel it starting to poison the household so unfamiliar with it. Attachment was woven into his very fibre of existence. Attachment was dangerous. A man attached to her daughter meant a higher chance of rebellion, and at that, a higher chance of consequential rebellion.

She only hoped her child was stronger, that she had raised her to resist the siren call of love and warmth and fulfill her duty to her mother.