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Ever since the landsmeet there’d been an edge of the surreal, the impossible and strange that threatened to overtake her thoughts and cause her to burst out in laughter at the oddness of it all. Sometimes she wondered if she’d never opened her eyes and her body still lay in the cold grime covered floor of the circle tower, a demon leering over it in triumph. If that was the case she’d be tempted to shake the hand of the sodding demon that had imagined up such a bizarre dream world to trap her. A world in which lords of the assembly and the surface turned to her for aid, advice and support. Where mages and elves had gathered at the call of a casteless carta thug and those who fought for thrones abided by her call whether it was for their ascension or fall.
It was very strange indeed. Somehow after all those months since she, Alistair and Morrigan had tramped out of the Kocarri Wilds to Lothering, her with mud up to her cheeks and a looming sky that was still new to her, somehow she’d ended up here. Daggers of fine dragonbone at her hip, glowing with arcane light as enchantments bolstered their already fine craftsmanship. Armour personally fitted to suit her fighting style, coloured the deep purple of drakes wings which made up the majority of hits material, studded with bright metals. Now her face was clean, save of course for the ale she’d spilled down her chin as she’d pretended to take a sip when offered. And her brand, still scarred black on her warm brown skin and no longer hidden by frizzy scraps of hair. But it still hadn’t stopped the warriors, dwarves whose ancestors had fought darkspawn and stood second only to nobles for time untold from offering her a drink.
She’d taken the mug, her hands shaking so hard she would have dropped it if not for Loghain’s stern gaze. It had been his idea, to walk among the army in an attempt to bolster their morale before the long and desperate march to Denerim tomorrow. It was a good one, and despite that edge of anger and pain she still held with the memory of Duncan’s death she’d followed his advice. As they’d walked the camps, sharing a word here, patting a hound there and encouraging the troops that anger faded just a little more. The man was hard as granite, proud as a Paragon despite his fall from grace and no wonder, from the stories he’d risen from a farming family to stand as a warrior and walk with nobles in his country’s time of need. But despite that brittle exterior even one such as she could see his loyalty to fereldan, his fondness and protective instinct for his troops. Perhaps she was not the only grey warden still mourning the losses at Ostagar.
He’d almost seemed glad too, to be a soldier once more and not rule. That particular task lay before his daughter, the equally icy and ferociously determined Queen Anora. Her growing fondness for the human aside, (another odd feature of these strange times) she did value his counsel. Sure she’d come a long way from being known as nothing more than Beraht’s lackey and Rica’s little sister (of the two titles, it was the latter she’d always been prouder to claim). She was a better fighter, instincts sharpened with experience both personal and shared by her companions. She’d learned more of tactics, of geography, of history and even magic. Ancestor’s underpants she’d even learned to read, if she survived the battles to come maybe someday she’d be writing letters home to Orzammar.
But she knew little of commanding an army and certainly nothing of leading one as large and diverse as the one she’d gathered. And there was little time for her to learn, after tonight the stones would fall where the ancestors willed, and short of fighting her very best there was little she could do to alter their collective fates now.
It was funny how even the steps, carved far too deep for her dwarven legs and rather shoddily by her dwarven eye were mundane to her now, the familiarity with which she stretched to clamber up them so bizarre by its existence. She’d been granted one of Redcliffe’s finest guest rooms for her last night of peace, a gesture that she was pretty sure was the work of the grateful Isolde rather than her dour and furious husband who glared with revulsion at Althie and Loghain every time the wardens entered the room he was in.
Unfortunately whatever rest she would be able to grasp from the Archdemon’s whispers in her dreams, yet another oddity a dreaming dwarf, it would have to take place later for Riordan had summoned her and Loghain to his own chambers on urgent and apparently secret warden business.
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Her teeth gnawed her fingers and her elbows jammed into her ribs through her armour as she sat hunched on the end of the bed. When Riordan had fallen silent she’d stood staring into the fire, unable to move for fear her throat would burn and her tears would flow. Of course she couldn’t survive the end of the blight. Of course a duster like her had to die to end it. She’d been foolish to dream of a future where she could write fondly to Rica, enjoy the sunshine without fearing the clouds of the blight’s storms and just be with Morrigan. She’d been so caught up in her despair she’d barely noticed as Loghain sheparded her from the room, half carrying her dead weight.
She did tear her eyes away from the maps that covered the bed as he re-entered the room though, carrying a water ewer and what looked to be a jug of ale. He nodded as he met her gaze, dropping the drinks one of the few surfaces left uncovered, along with the mugs he’d somehow fitted under him armoured armpit.
“Well you’re no longer in shock at least, an improvement.” He commented as he poured out the water. He handed it to her, his eyes noting her shaking hands. “There’s ale if you want it, I know you rarely touch the stuff and wisely so, but if there was ever a time to start…”
The water helped cool her throat and let her swallow past the lump, allowing her to speak. “I can’t” She confessed. “The smell, the feel of it, the taste. It all reminds me of my mother. She never stopped drinking and I can’t even remember when she started.”
He nodded again. “As good a reason as any, not that one was needed.” He lifted his own mug to his lips, still watching. “So I take it from your reaction that this news was a surprise to you too?”
Althie almost laughed, the strangled gasp that she produced instead was grim mockery of the mirth she’d shared with Zevran earlier as they joked. “I didn’t know. Duncan didn’t tell me, I guess he didn’t have time.”
Loghain scowled. “Well I wish the man had told me at least. Not sure I would have believed him but perhaps Cailan would have agreed to stay out of the vanguard if he’d known the “glory” of the slaying the arch demon couldn’t be his.”
Althie shrugged. “He thought we were invincible, that we didn’t need a bigger army or anything as long as he had the grey wardens with him.”
“He knew alright, the boy was not such a fool. But if I wouldn’t let him have the Orlesians he wouldn’t let me wait for more forces from Redcliffe.”
“Then why didn’t you just let him?” Althie sat upright and glared back at him. “You knew how badly we were outnumbered, you knew we needed the help. I know the Orlesians did terrible things to Fereldan but Orlesian wardens wouldn’t have been the same.”
“Wouldn’t they?” He countered. “I know more of your dear brothers and sisters across the border than you I’m afraid if you really believe that. They’ve worked towards Fereldan’s ruin on the command of Orlais before, they’d do it again I have little doubt. Your Duncan could have told you that himself, if he’d had the time.”
Althie wished she could have been shocked by his words, or even disbelieved them. But she’d seen how people overlooked the dangers of the blight in favour of their own power, revenge or politics as she’d sought out aid. Even in Orzammar where they battled darkspawn daily and clung to the memories of the glory the fiends had stolen from them.
“What about Maric’s other boy?” Loghain asked, interrupting her thoughts. “The warden who wanted to kill me. The one who left. Did he know only a warden could kill an Archdemon?”
Althie stared at her feet as they hung off the bed. “I don’t know. I’d like to think he doesn’t.”
Loghain’s sigh seemed heavy enough to blow the roaring fire to ashes. “How you still wish for the best from people despite your past I really don’t know warden.”
“It’s a gift.”
“Or a curse. Or perhaps both.” He looked away as he spoke, his stare drilling holes in the wall. “I know what it’s like to walk away and abandon one’s allies to die. I’d like to think for Maric’s sake that his only living child isn’t going to be forced to live with that guilt for the rest of his days.”
“I hope that too.” She whispered. The room was silent for a minute but for the crackling of flames. The shadows they carved in the human’s face seemed even longer than the ones in his eyes.
“The duty should be mine when we stand before the Archdemon.”
Althie shook her head in disagreement, her hair catching on her tear-stained face. Apparently she’d wept some point since she’d left Riordan’s room. “I’d think you’d know better than me that things don’t often work out that easy. Maybe Riordan will do it, maybe I’ll be the only one there at the right time.”
“I’d say I don’t need the lecture on the unpredictability of a battlefield but I feel I’d be dismissing your impressive experience.” His voice was dry but definitely not sarcastic as she’d expected. “I’ve fought less of darkspawn than you, and I’ve certainly never fought a dragon, though Maric told me about the experience once.”
“But if it should come down to a choice, then it should be my blade that ends the beast, my soul at peril.”
Althie shook her head furiously. “Why? Why should you have to die? It’s not fair, it’s not right but fuck it when is my life ever been fair? I should be the one to finish this.”
Loghain lowered himself into a chair, he was still not at her eyeline but he was closer. “Warden, Althie…. You know what I’ve done during this blight. I’m older than you, and while I may have survived your blighted joining I doubt I’ll be as long in this world as you. Let me do this.”
Althie thought of the guilt in his eyes earlier as he’d spoken with nervous elves in their ill-fitting armour as they clutched their bows, the confidence they’d gained as he spoke of the achievements of the Night elves. She remembered the children in cages, packed so tightly their ears poked out through the gaps. Of the blood mage Jowan, miserable and repentant as he confessed of his orders, his bloody hands as he held himself upright on the bars of his cell. Of Duncan’s supporting hand on her shoulder as she walked past the fuming Proving Master and the guards, as she walked into the sun and a new life.
But she also remembered walking away from Avernus, uncertain if he’d keep to her definition of ethical experiments, watching Lord Harrowmount’s head roll across the Assembly floor, of the refugees who had attacked her in Lothering, the village of Haven full of corpses. She thought about murdering the merchant who made the mistake of cheating Beraht out of lyrium in the middle of a tavern.
“You’re not the only one who has done terrible things during the blight. And before it all you were a hero, while I smashed in the knees of people who pissed off my boss. And worse. So if we’re measuring it like that, I’ve got more to prove to the Ancestor’s than you do to your Maker.”
“I should have known better than to argue with one whose stubbornness has already beaten me. Should you survive I’m sure you and Anora will have great joy and frustration working together to rebuild.”
“You’re right on both accounts. So maybe this can’t be worked out with a game of who is the worst. Want to make it more traditional? First one there kills a god, last one there is a bronto’s ass?”
She could hardly believe it when Loghain laughed, it was a brief and bitter affair but a laugh all the same. “Those terms seem acceptable. I warn you though warden, you may think yourself quite the rogue, but don’t be fooled by my choice of arms and armour, so was I once. If you think to trick me into allowing you to take this upon yourself you’ll be sorely mistaken.”
Althie swung herself down of the bed grinning, her dire mood had vanished as suddenly as it had arrived once they started speaking of killing a corrupted god as though it were a race for the last nug steak. “We’ll see about that.” She promised cheerfully.
“Indeed we will.” He replied as he turned to watch her leave. “Sleep as well as you can warden, a commander needs all the sleep they can get to keep their mind ready to make whatever decisions may come.”
“Sounds good to me. Good night.” Having said farewell she headed down the corridor, intent on searching the castle for Morrigan. She didn’t always wish to sleep beside Althie, sometimes she preferred to be alone. But right now Althie really wanted to see her.
She paused however as she neared her own room as she heard movement inside. She peeked through the crack in the doorway, knife drawn in her left hand as she pushed the door open. Her surprise at the intrusion gave way when she saw Morrigan silhouetted against the fireplace, her purple robes shaded black in the gloom. The witch didn’t turn as she approached, nor look at her when she stood beside her, her knife stowed away once more.
“Morrigan?” She reached for her hand, gently pulling it from its prison in Morrigan’s tightly folded arms. The tense energy that thrummed though the witch was nothing of arcane means, of that Althie was sure. But its real source was as unknown to her.
“I know.” The witch’s voice was usually warm and beautiful to Althie, and rarely filled with the caustic venom she sometimes directed towards their companions. But right now it was full of nothing but dread.
“You know what?” Althie asked, the bottom of her stomach dropping away into the castle’s dungeon. She and Alistair had often speculated how much Morrigan and her mother knew of the Grey warden secrets and exactly how Flemeth knew so much about the blight and darkspawn. Given her conversations with Riordan and Loghain there could only be one secret in particular she was referring to.
“We do not have time for games or riddles Althie. I know how the Grey wardens kill an Archdemon. I also know of the sacrifice that must be made in order to achieve this. And I am here to tell you…” She finally turned to look Althie in the face, “That it does not have to be this way.”
“You knew.” The lightness she’d managed to catch in Loghain’s room evaporated away with the words. “You knew all along? Or did you find out from the grimoire?”
Morrigan’s face tightened at the hurt in her voice but she continued on with resolve. “I knew from the very beginning. It was for this purpose my mother sent me with you. But even with her gone, at least for the moment the plan still has value.”
“She raised you to use you in pretty much the most literal way possible! Do you really believe anything she wanted could be right?” Her shock at Morrigan endorsing her mother’s plan eclipsed her pain at the realization of how long Morrigan had known what was to come and how many times she must have lied to her.
She sighed. “In this? Yes. She may have planned to use it for her ends but I will not allow that. Without her influence I truly believe there is merit in it.”
“I don’t believe this.” Althie turned away from the witch, stalking over to hang her weapons up.
“Believe what you will, but please. For the sake of our friendship and all we have shared listen to me. And at least consider it. I do not come before you simply for my own benefit. What I have to tell you may save your life, should you choose to act on it.”
Althie closed her eyes and tried to ignore the flash of hope she felt. “And the price?”
“The price is the value of which I spoke, so it is not such a heavy price at all.” She heard the witch sigh over her shoulder. “If you trust me. And if you do then we may well spare you from dying, an act which I would gladly pay a far worse price to achieve.”
She turned back round to face Morrigan. “Tell me then. But don’t lie to me. Not again.”
“I never.” She stopped and bowed her head. “Perhaps I did, by omission. But you cannot claim I did not warn you. I told you I would not always prove worthy of your friendship. If your optimism was misplaced, I cannot be held responsible. Not for that.”
“Morrigan, I love you. Whatever you tell me now that isn’t going to change and you will always be my friend no matter what. So let us get it over with, the hour is late.”
“You senior warden has no doubt told you that when an archdemon dies its soul shall travel to another tainted vessel. Another darkspawn or the grey warden who ends it. And upon the entry of this soul into the warden’s body the warden’s own soul is destroyed, along with the archdemon.”Her words were obviously carefully chosen and practiced.
“However what he won’t have told you, as he doe not know is that it is possible to divert the soul, so that it neither kills a warden nor enters a new darkspawn.”
“How? And how did Flemeth know about this if the wardens don’t?”
Morrigan shrugged. “How she learned of it I do not know. As far as I am aware it has never been done before, yet she seemed certain. As for how it is done?
The soul must enter the body of a being too young to possess a soul of its own. One formed from a warden, so that it bears the mark of the taint.”
Althie’s heart was pounding in her ears. “You mean a baby? A child?! How could you do that to an innocent?”
“The child would not be harmed. In order for this to work the unborn would need to be very new, as such it won’t possess a soul of its own. And past its birth it shall not be tainted, nor will the soul within it be.”
It was an impossible idea to wrap her head around. “If that’s the case…. What will it be?”
“A new chance. The pure soul of an old god in the body of an infant. It shall grow as any human would and I shall care for it. As a mother should.”
Althie was so stunned she went to join Morrigan on the bed upon which she sat before her feet gave out.
“And your mother wanted this child to what, make a new body for herself from?”
“Perhaps.” Morrigan’s voice had wavered during the delivering of her explanation but now her voice was firm. “But I shall not allow that occur. I have time until her return, time to plan and to train, both myself and the child.”
“So uh….” Althie could feel the blush on her cheeks and knew it would be visible even given the room’s dim lighting and her own skin tone. “How exactly are you going to get a grey warden’s baby?”
Morrigan’s frown was spectacular, Althie hadn’t seen her produce one so impressive since Alistair had left. “My mother did not see any reason it would need to be done through any means other than… the most traditional ones. I assume she planned for me to lie with Alistair.”
Althie would have laughed at the look of disgust on the witch’s face if she hadn’t known it was directed at more than just the idea of the former warden she so despised. A sentiment with which she could sympathise. She caught Morrigan’s hands in her own. “And what do you want? I won’t have you do this just for my sake.”
Morrigan clasped her hands tightly. “I believe I would. But that won’t be necessary.” The fire had faded down to embers as they spoke, but her eyes almost glowed in the darkness. “There is another way should you agree. With magic there are possibilities that are unimaginable for those without my arts. Including the possibility for procreation without the usual physical act. But it does require a powerful bond between individuals.”
“So this child would be ours?” Althie had never expected to have children. While Rica had lain with noblemen in hopes of a child that would lift their family out of Dusttown she had spared her younger sister from following her path. And for people like her there was little point to bringing more children into the world to suffer the ancestor’s displeasure. Even if her own preferences hadn’t been solely in favour of woman she wouldn’t have wanted to make a child suffer as she had.
“Yes. But before you agree I have to tell you. Once the battle is over and the blight is ended you can never see me again. Or the child.”
“I….” The idea of never seeing Morrigan again hurt so much. But if that was the sacrifice that had to be made to make sure the blight was ended with as little death as possible…
“I’ll do it.”
Morrigan slowly moved her hands up to gently hold Althie’s face. As light wisps of magic escaped from her fingers Althie’s eye’s began to droop with sleep. Before she lost consciousness she felt Morrigan lean in close to kiss her forehead.
“Then let us begin.”