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Morrigan sighed softly to herself, leaning closer to the tiny fire and massaging her aching muscles. What a day it had been, storming Redcliffe Castle and wiping out veritable legions of the undead. Her skin still bore bruises from the revenant’s powerful blows. And thanks to their fearless leader’s baffling desire to please that self-righteous Templar fool, the hardest part was yet to come. She just couldn’t understand how someone so clever—
As if on cue, a small form padded lightly towards her tent. “Well-met, my Lady Brosca. What brings you to my humble abode?” The dwarf hesitated, hearing the sarcasm dripping from Morrigan’s greeting. She seemed uncertain, perhaps even a little hurt, by the cutting tone, but Morrigan was too angry to care. “I wanted to talk with you about what happened today.” The mage snorted, responding with a hint of petulance, “And what has changed? ‘Tis not as if you found much wisdom in my counsel this afternoon.”
Brosca sighed. “I DO respect your advice, Morrigan. I respect YOU—it’s just, well…” She trailed off, searching for the right words. Morrigan sat in icy silence, unwilling to bridge the gap. “Do you know what it is to care for someone?” The mage did not deign to reply. Brosca persisted, “Have you ever had a close friend? Someone you trusted?” “If this is the part where you tell me that ‘you’ve never met a man like Alistair before’,” Morrigan mimicked a sing-songy tone, “please refrain. I assure you, I’ve witnessed enough of these human mating rituals to understand what’s going on.”
“What? No!” The dwarf seemed genuinely taken aback by her gibe. “Stones, M, this is about YOU, not him.” “Me? But why would you want to bed ME?” Now it was Morrigan’s turn to be confused. Brosca laughed heartily, until tears sprang to her eyes. “You really don’t get it, do you?” She continued chuckling as Leliana groaned audibly in her sleep, and Alistair’s muffled voice whined from the other end of the camp, “Do you ladies mind? SOME of us are resting.” But her laughter stopped abruptly at the hard glint in the other woman’s eye. “Warden, if you think to make sport of me, perhaps you’d best leave.”
“Please forgive me, Morrigan, I wouldn’t mock you. You’re intelligent, talented, and passionate, not to mention devastatingly beautiful. I’d be lucky to have you in my bed if you’d allow it. But it seems I’m not your type.” Morrigan flushed slightly, feeling her skin prickle pleasantly at the unexpected compliments. “Then… what do you want of me?”
“Flemeth wasn’t one for nurturing, was she.” Brosca averted her gaze, speaking haltingly. “My mother’s a worthless drunk. Never had a kind word for me. Beat me black and blue until I was old enough to fight back and win.” “I’m sorry. I had no idea.” “No, that’s not… I try not to talk about her. I doubt I’d even be alive today if it weren’t for my sister Rica.” “What is she like?” “Rica? She’s kind. I’ve never understood why she’s not angry, like I am. Somehow, despite every shitlord in Orzammar treating us like dirt, despite all the terrible things that have happened in our lives, she manages to see the good in people. She always wants to help, to protect, even if there’s nothing in it for her. She’s the best person I’ve ever known.”
The fire crackled, shooting small sparks in the air, and Brosca continued to gaze pensively into the flames. She looked almost fragile, and Morrigan felt the sudden urge to crack a joke, anything to make her companion smile again. With mock seriousness, she murmured, “I fail to see how this relates to your infatuation with the Templar.” Brosca groaned. “Please, not this again.” “But truly, what do you see in him?” Morrigan cried, her eyes dancing merrily. “We have a dog, and Alistair is still the dumbest one in our party.” “I’m still awake, you know,” his muffled voice retorted snippily. Both women burst into peals of giddy laughter.
When the fit subsided, Brosca sighed, turning back to her companion. “About Redcliffe—about that boy Connor—“ “I think I understand,” Morrigan cut in. “When the time comes to enter the Fade and oust the demon, you may depend on me.” The dwarf flashed a genuine, if weary, smile. “Thanks, M. I always do.” Turning to walk away, Brosca said softly, “You know, you’re a better person than you give yourself credit for.” Morrigan rolled her eyes, and her friend whispered conspiratorially, “Don’t worry. I promise I won’t tell Alistair.”