Chapter Text
She finds the Warden in the far west—where the Blight is but a legend, whispered to frighten children who misbehave.
Tahnen Brosca is in an ancient ruin, lifting a torch to the wall to examine strange markings left by ancients. Her two-handed sword is slung across her back, barely touched in recent days if Morrigan judges it correctly. Her casteless brand scars her face, a reminder of her origins, even ten years later; despite the fact that now, she is called “Paragon” by the very people who once had cast her out. She’s cut her hair—instead of the long braid she wore it in during the Blight, it now hangs just below her ears, muddy brown and thick.
“Morrigan!” Tahnen has spotted her, and jumps toward her, grinning broadly. Her smile is wide and bright and… genuine, no undertone of bitterness or sorrow, not like Morrigan would have expected. A wave of cold hits Morrigan, as she realizes that she doesn’t know. Leliana’s messages have not reached her old friend, telling her of what transpired at Adamant.
“Tahnen,” she whispers, dread creeping through her. She had never thought she would have to be the one to deliver the news—she’d been certain that Leliana’s messages had reached the Hero of Ferelden. She swallows, her throat tight.
The dwarf pauses, angling her head up to look at her. The torch lies, forgotten, on the ground, flickering, sending shadows dancing across the cave walls. “What’s wrong?” She asks, like she had when Morrigan had clutched a grimoire with white-knuckled hands and told the Warden of a fate that Flemeth was preparing for her.
“Tahnen,” she pauses, trying to think of what to say, of how to phrase it—she has no skill for the parsing of words, for gentle tellings. She’s suddenly grateful that she left Kieran at the inn—the two blows might be too much for her oldest and dearest friend. “Tahnen… it’s Alistair.”
Tahnen’s face freezes, understanding. She is a Warden, after all, and she knows the risks that the title implies. “No,” she whispers, blue eyes flickering across Morrigan’s face, as if searching for a way out, an answer. “No.”
“I’m sorry,” Morrigan says, hollowly, wishing she could tell a different story. She is no good at this. “It was the Fade. A demon…”
“No!” Tahnen’s voice breaks, and she crumples to the ground, tears flowing freely. Morrigan catches Tahnen in her arms, and cradles her friend, trying to comfort her as best she can.
“We almost were done, Morrigan,” Tahnen whispers. “I’d almost saved us.”
“I know,” Morrigan does her best to soothe, rubbing circles on Tahnen’s back, as she had done for Kieran when he was a babe. “I know.”
The tears continue, and Morrigan holds her, and she curses the fool for not remaining by her side.