The Boy Who Would Be King

Chapter Three

He sank into the chair, head falling into his hands.

Still she stood a moment, gazing up at him, the image seeming to waver beneath the empty, yawning shadows. Her husband, her king. But still the tears would not come.

At the other woman's approach, she spun, the sob biting.

Her words had been true, her ritual a success, but there was no triumph in the witch's gaze. She had roused slowly, shrugging off the attention of the Circle mages, but still she looked exhausted. And for once she knew enough to hold her tongue.

Alistair, though, raised his head, the words coming flat and cold. "What. Did you. Do?"

Defensiveness stirred, but still she looked tired... defeated. Morrigan shook her head. "I did nothing."

"Yeah? Everything was fine, fine, before you came."

"Was it?" Something of her old smirk had returned, eyes flitting to Elissa.

But Alistair had subsided, head falling back against the chair as he slouched lower still. His eyes were pinched shut, lips twisting beneath the words. "What... what do we do now?"

"Your mages have him in hand for the moment, keeping him in the Fade. Though that is a task that I do not envy them." Something seemed to stiffen behind her eyes. "And this hold will not last long."

Alistair grimaced, but still his eyes would not open.

"Take him."

"What?"

She felt the words come shuddering, but the witch's surprise only seemed to strengthen her resolve. "Take him. It's what you wanted."

"What?!" Alistair was on his feet then, rocking unsteady.

"Oh, a fine plan. 'Twas my original intention, in fact. But I cannot."

"What do you mean 'cannot'? You wanted to raise a god. You can... control him."

"If raised since birth, perhaps." She shook her head. "But from what I have just seen... There is also the matter of blood. It provides a certain... leverage. And, sadly, this the child and I do not share."

"Blood magic."

"In its way, perhaps. But, for whatever reason..." The scowl there now was clear. "...the god chose you."

She could remember it then, high atop Fort Drakon, the battlements crumbling around them, the dead... so many dead. As that terrible light had broken, Morrigan had thrown back her arms. Morrigan had laughed.

But there had been no glory in that moment. Elissa could remember picking herself up off the ground, broken, bloodied, her arm horribly twisted. And the god had chosen her.

There had been gentle hands there, helping her to her feet as they watched Alistair wrench his blade from the creature's skull. But that touch had lingered, something behind the elf's eyes too searching, too concerned. She had shrugged him off.

And now he was gone, she realized. He had been there during the ritual, crouching uneasy in the corner. But then Duncan... She felt the sob welling as she turned round. She hadn't seen what became of him, hadn't thought to... Her eyes searched the shadows, but still there was no sign of him.

Morrigan was watching her, something of the bitterness fading beneath her curiosity.

"Blood magic, then." Her head snapped up, eyes locking to those of the witch. "Use it. Take me."

Alistair was there then, rushing down the steps to lay a heavy hand on her arm. "Elissa!"

"No." She turned to look up at him, fingers twining over him. "Remember Connor? Isolde explained it to me. When she... when she offered herself. And if a mother's blood is what's needed now..." Again, she turned to Morrigan. "Do it. Enter the Fade and drive it out."