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“My, how those eyes wander. Pray, what is it you find so bewitching? I would advise caution – with the way you stare, Alistair will be reduced to a simpering whelp within the hour, and none of us shall sleep before dawn.”
Morrigan’s voice made itself present well before she did, a hollow lilt that came with the burn of her amber eyes; the only things the escaped the cloak of darkness she had wrapped herself in.
“If Alistair takes issue with my gaze, he is welcome to air his grievances directly. It’s nothing so amusing, besides. I was only trying to observe and see if some part of myself would be present in them,” Aeres gestured softly toward the elves gathered around the fire.
“Perhaps mine eyes betray me, but, ‘tis a tribe of elves, yes? It needn’t require such scrutiny to find some shared aspect between yourself and our hosts.”
“By that logic, you and Leliana have as much in common as you and I,” Aeres hummed gently, catching Morrigan’s crumpled expression out of the corner of her eye.
“I… take your point. Still, you’ve been silent since we found our way from those ruins, despite the great interest you take in the workings of spirits and ancient magic. One might be inclined to think something is amiss, should the evidence be considered,” Morrigan nudged lightly, finally striding into the flickering firelight.
“My father was Dalish.”
“Pardon?” Morrigan blinked owlishly, facing Aeres now for the first time since she approached.
“My father… he was a Dalish mage. A wanderer, far from his clan. I never knew if Surana belonged to him or my mother or where his people came from,” she sighed softly,” I thought… I wondered if these elves could be my people. Looking at them now, it’s obvious I was mistaken. Foolish, really.”
Aeres regarded them carefully, eyes never leaving the creaking sails of the aravels.
“Your magic must have quickened at a very young age for you to remember so little. ‘Tis a wonder you have a family name at all,” Morrigan began.
“I was six when they took me. Two templars in shining armor snatched me from my mother’s apron, took me hundreds of miles across the country, and locked me in a stone prison. You speak of mages fighting back against their jailers, but I assure you there’s nothing I could have done,” Aeres’ voice was strangely still, but her palms belied her true emotion – they clutch at the edge of her sleeves, fingernails creaking down the fabric.
“But you grew, did you not? You blossomed into a formidable mage, one who can twist the very essence of the Fade to your will. Why should any prison keep you when you hold such powers at your whim?”
“You’ve never felt the touch of a templar’s smite, have you? Felt your magic snuffed like a candle at the simplest gesture. Had the very words meant to conjure up strength silenced in your throat?” Aeres turned to face her then, brows knitted tightly.
“We lived surrounded on all sides by such abilities. Alistair, for all his barb, has been very kind not to demonstrate. Even without the lyrium, he’s still quite potent. Even I would do well to remember that.”
“I invite him to try,” Morrigan huffed. “I am not some helpless whelp barely come into my gifts, and ‘tis the wise mage who knows better than to rely on simply magic for survival. But a child has no chance at fighting off grown men, so why then did you mother and father not wrench you back? Was it a fight so easily won?”
“My mother was a fletcher. She stood no chance at gaining the upper hand amongst two armored warriors, and if she had? It’s a capital offense to wound one the Chantry’s sentinels. My father wouldn’t have been any help in that situation even if he were there; he was a mage of little talent. And on the run from templars with a child in tow? One that had no control of her magic,” Aeres eyed Morrigan carefully, lips thinned tightly.
“It would have been disaster, then death, though I have wondered what sort of difference it would make. What kind of woman I would be had I been raised among my own people – people that consider magic a gift and nurture that blossom in its leaders and eschew any hint of submission. What freedom would have meant to my young mind. Alas, it wasn’t so. But you must wonder as I do, Morrigan – no one is immune to that sort of curiosity.”
“I… I never knew my father. Flemeth was like a spider in that way. I wondered for a time as one can only do when whispers of a ‘Chasind look’ abounds. But I was young. And as the years grew on, it became evident that it hardly mattered. Who we come from has little meaning in the face of what we are.”
“I’ll be sure to let Oghren know. He’s likely the only one among us that isn’t a bastard,” Aeres smirked.
“And there you have it, proof that a ‘traditional’ upbringing can rot the tree just like anything else. But there’s something else, is there not? ‘Tis obvious your morose glances stretch far beyond the realm of genealogy. What vexes you?”
And there it was – the softness Morrigan reserved for only her closest friend.
“That phylactery. It shared its memories with me – of a time before, when the first elven empire was at its height. I catch glimpses when my mind goes quiet, flashes of light that bring a lifetime of experiences. Words and songs, the weight of a sword in my hand, wrapping the Fade around my body like a cloak for protection. I can see it and hear it – feel it as if these memories were my very own. It’s almost overwhelming at times.”
Aeres stretched her hands out before her, eyeing them curiously.
“Have you come to regret unstopping the phial? ‘Tis a small price to pay for such ancient and useful secrets,” Morrigan told her with a roll of her shoulders.
“No. You know me better than that. I don’t couch disagreeable side effects in emotions like regret, not when I’ve gained so much. I only expected some semblance of… familiarity. If not through my eyes, then through the gaze these newfound memories have afforded me.”
And there it was: the simple truth of the matter unveiled.
“What fresh insights has this spirit afforded you among these long-suffering memories?” Morrigan asked, bracing her chin against her knees as the firelight danced in her gaze.
“Only this: The elves that were are no more. We are something different now – something new.”
[A conversation between the Hero of Ferelden and her companion, clandestinely recorded on the night of Keeper Lanaya’s ascendance and the official honoring of the Grey Warden treaties with the Dalish | late Solis 9:30]