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Morrigan stood slightly behind the stone pillars of the garden’s staple gazebo, silently taking in the passing Chantry sisters with her sharp amber irises. Contempt was poorly hidden within the golden orbs. Occasionally a sister would notice her lurking, immediately disconnect eye contact and scurry away as if they were afraid of being bewitched by the mere sight of her. She had that affect on people though she cared not. She hadn’t had a need, or a want for that matter, for company in quite some time. Morrigan held all the company she desired in Kieran.
The court had kept her busy, but the people of Orlais were intolerable at best. Surprising to even herself, Morrigan delighted in returning to her son and keeping him entertained, and vice versa. He kept her busy with an endless stream of questions about herself, about life, about the past and she satisfied his thirst for knowledge with an innumerable supply of stories; both new and old. Although he knew a great many of these tales, he always savored her words over the vague memories scattered hazily across his young mind. He would attempt to tell these stories to his mother but they often came out jumbled and indirect, so he preferred listening.
It seemed to her not possible at just how attached she could become to one being- and so instantaneous as well! The way he rested his head on her knees, listening to her tales or how his slight smiles made all the time in the world seem to halt. These smiles also somehow stretched forgotten feelings back into shape. It was quite the fortune she hadn’t truly hardened into her mother; and for that, she was thankful. She could hardly imagine not appreciating the little things Kieran brought to her life. He was a part of her, as she with him.
If one had foretold of her current position ten years prior she would have happily laughed in their face and ruled them out as insane. Fortunately, she was mistaken. She could only recall having tasted devotion of this kind one other time in her life and her gut twisted in a guilt-ridden, shameful yet welcoming frenzy whenever the memories crossed her mind. It was a memory long since past, but Morrigan greeted it as an old friend. Some part of her hoped the feeling would stay despite its heavy presence. “What was the Hero of Ferelden like?”
Morrigan’s thoughts broke at the gentle quake of Kieran’s voice echoing out from behind her. He was playing with a doll made of straw; the one the bearded warden had generously produced for him. His careful fingers thoughtfully entwined with the blue lace wrapped around the doll, but his big eyes stared up at her curiously; his dark hair catching rays of the sun’s setting beams as they peaked through the gazebo’s openings. The question had caught Morrigan off guard.
She spoke carefully, “Brave and loyal, courageous and just. She was a warden like all before her.” Hopefully the flat line in her voice would cease the questions. Any other inquiries of her life would suffice, but Morrigan would have none of her. She’d rather keep those thoughts as far away from the light of day as possible.
Of course, the brief yet tantalizing summary had not a single chance of quenching Kieran of his curiosity. He fiddled with the doll trying to keep his yearning hidden. “She was an elf, yes? You both were friends. I’ve read some stories but I want to hear them from you. Please, mother, you tell the best stories,” Kieran pleaded. His large, brown eyes worked her like an instrument, pulling at her strings and loosening the lips she desperately wanted to keep tight.
She sighed as she looked back out to the garden. Embrium and Crystal Grace lined the walls meticulously as elfroot peaked out from underfoot leading single files lines around the Inquisition’s statues, creating a vibrancy of color as well as aroma. The sight reminded Morrigan of the Hero; bright, earthy, beautiful. For a second she could have sworn she felt a lump arise in her throat. She obliterated the unwanted sensation.
She looked back down to her son who had clearly not given up on the subject. His eyes were patient yet earnest. In fact, seeing his resilience to her firm obstinacy quite reminded Morrigan of the Warden. She too was not one to stray away from words left unspoken. Morrigan marveled at the comparison. Despite being Alistair’s child, Kieran’s likeness to her was unmatched.
In the beginning, Morrigan did not care for the Warden’s disposition; always playing the peacemaker or the good Circle mage. ‘Twas insufferable, Morrigan thought; a tiny grin contradicting her. The grin transformed into a genuine smile as Morrigan pictured her oval face highlighted by the brilliancy of the sun; her vallaslin leaving their idle state to accompany her tender smile.
Though, as time passed what drew Morrigan to the woman was a hidden passion ever burning inside of her that was only ever truly revealed when dealing with those who stood against her. The Blight unwillingly lit a powerful flame inside the elf; a desire that lit up the entire countryside. A desire Morrigan vicariously felt burning within her own gut whenever she so much as stood next to the Warden.
“She was magnificent. She had the potential to become one of the greatest names known to Thedas, but power was never in her repertoire. Her loyalty was ever with the wardens. She longed to see them rebuilt which she accomplished almost single-handedly. She loved more than she fought, though one was a fool to mistake her for weak and-” Morrigan hesitated, “she was my best and only friend.” Morrigan felt like she had released a floodgate that had been bottled up for a decade. She had not let out a breath of word of her in what seemed like an eternity. She always thought of her, though. While wandering the Warden always seemed to knit herself in between Morrigan’s thoughts.
Kieran was star-eyed. He wanted to know so much more. He wanted to soak in his mother’s words like a sponge and never wring himself dry. He searched for more questions. “Warden Alistair, her lover. You knew him too. What was he like? Was he strong, handsome?” Kieran leaned in toward his mother resting his pale face against his hands in anticipation.
Morrigan automatically sneered at the name. Alistair. She had hoped she had never had the pleasure of hearing that name ever again, but hope was only for the hopeless it seemed. Her nose curled as the idiotic ex-templar pervaded her head like a plague. His crooked smile taking up half of his face and his eyes never truly comprehending or agreeing with what Morrigan had to say.
“A buffoon,” Morrigan let out a whisper of a chuckle. “He clung to the heels of the Hero with every step she took like a child in a crowded market. Never did he see himself fit to rule Thedas- or the wardens for that matter. He has and will forever remain a follower. ‘Tis strange that someone as exuberant as the Hero of Ferelden should choose someone so utterly timorous to remain at her side,” She muttered the last sentence under her breath turning her face to hide her growing annoyance. The way Alistair made the Warden laugh so effortlessly made Morrigan seethe. Jealousy was unbecoming but stupidity, she decided, was worse.
Kieran either did not sense the hostility or was too enthralled to care. “I remember an instance where we came upon a camp of Darkspawn and had succeeded in gaining the element of surprise. As we readied for battle, Alistair managed to lodge his leg between two boulders trying to gain a higher vantage for a strike. The caterwauling was exasperating. He squawked like a newly plucked chicken as the hordes of Darkspawn approached,” Morrigan allowed herself smirk; her lip twisted into satisfaction, “Were it not for the Hero he would have met with his precious Maker sooner than he anticipated.” Her smirk disappeared as she remembered the aftermath; the Warden tending to her precious Alistair’s wounds and him whimpering as if he were a kicked Mabari.
Why did that man have to sully every fond memory Morrigan had? Why did the Warden have to have such horrible taste in company? Better yet; why did Morrigan long to be in that imbecile’s position?
Of all the power and glory she could wish for she wanted nothing more than to be beside that painfully hopeful and achingly idealistic elf once more. She lost that chance the moment she stepped through the Eluvian. She would remain content with what life she had been bestowed, but the thought of what could have been loomed overhead constantly. She was certain Kieran would have approved of her.
“You look sad, mother. Was it something I asked? I never wanted to make you feel bad. I’m sorry,” Kieran said, standing to hug her. His thin arms wrapped around her like an attentive cub unwilling to leave the safety of the den. She returned the gesture and laughed slightly, “No, my child. You did nothing of the sort. I am simply lost in my own head.” She rubbed his back in reassurance. “When you talk about the Hero you become brighter. Your face is soft and your eyes are too. If that makes you feel better we can talk about her more,” Kieran suggested. Such thoughtfulness; what did Morrigan do to deserve this amount of tenderness? She dared not ask for the fear of being unworthy crept in her bones.
She looked up to the darkening sky. A full moon began to illuminate where the sun had once resided; its soft glow turning the night air chilly. “Actually I’m afraid, my dear Kieran, it is time for sleep but we can continue tomorrow if you so wish it,” She said putting him at an arm’s length to look at him. His face was displeased and his bottom lip was partly exposed to the elements. With a tilt of his head he asked, “Just one more?” The small quiver in his voice matched with his watery eyes almost too well.
They locked eyes for a moment; challenging each other. After another beat, Morrigan blew air through her nostrils in defeat and sat down next to the boy. As she wrapped an arm around him he snuggled against her. Although she was used to the cold of the night, what with travelling across mountainsides and through blizzards and such, the heat from Kieran’s body was a welcome luxury. “Comfortable?” She asked and he nodded. “This is the tale of the first time your mother danced,” She said rubbing her thumb; absentmindedly creating circles on Kieran’s arm. Morrigan pictured the scenery as vivid as the day it occurred.
“’Twas night time and our group had returned to camp to rest from the day’s events. I went off alone as I often did while the others stayed crowded around the camp’s fire; singing their jingles or whatever they did while I finished my own affairs. I for one was not fond of small talk or artificial company, so I did not make many relationships with the people I called my comrades. The only face who would openly attempt to seek me out without fail was the Hero. She would return daily to my little spot and we would chat about-” Morrigan recalled the conversations she had with the Warden making her heart flutter, “everything.”
“That night was no different. She came to me and explained that a call for celebration was in order given we won the battle for Redcliffe from the Darkspawn; our first real triumph. I told her to celebrate without me but she was adamant. Eventually, she managed to drag me around the bustling campfire where everyone else sat waiting. The bard sang tunes all night as the rest of our merry, little troupe sang along. Your mother had never felt so utterly askew,” Morrigan felt her eyes involuntarily roll. She could remember sitting there and wondering what part she had to play in this misfit ridden band when the Qunari and the Gollum were able to stand idly by without being chided into participating. She wanted nothing more than to go back to the comfort of her corner, away from the noise. Sometimes she missed the quiet of the Wilds.
“Then she grabbed my hand and brought me up to my feet. I could brood no longer as she twirled me around and around. I thought she was making me look a fool but,” Morrigan could remember the heat on her cheeks as the Warden intertwined their fingers, “her eyes were sincere.”
“She sang the melody of a song I know not the name of, but it went something like-” Morrigan hummed letting the tune travel up and down her vocal chords to the best of her memory, let alone her ability. She could feel the soft breathing of Kieran now fast asleep at her side. Still, she continued her story. “The bard was playing a lute while we continued to spin around the hot coals. The Hero’s gestures influencing the fire away from the two of us, just out of reach but close enough to lick our skin. I’m sure that if one were able to dance on air, I experienced it that night.”
She could practically see the Warden’s lithe fingers encircling them in wondrous magic that sparkled around their entangled limbs. It crackled sending the scent of the earth ravished by flames through Morrigan’s being. Their shadows which were solidified by the growing light of the campfire danced within the trees around them. For a moment, no one else was there; just the two women. With nothing but the Warden to fill her senses, Morrigan wanted to drown in the feeling of her and never return to the surface.
Morrigan caught herself before she delved too far into that feeling. She brought herself back to the surface; back to her son. “Then,” Morrigan whispered careful not to awaken Kieran. From her peripheral she could see Alistair taking her place by the Warden’s side and they were off dancing, leaving Morrigan to bask in what was left of the flame she felt scorching her entire being.
She spent the rest of the night awake with that feeling.
She spent that fateful night in bed with Alistair with that feeling.
She spent that whole hellish day fighting in Denerim beside her Warden with that feeling.
She walked through the Eluvian, turning her back on her Warden with that feeling.
And she had spent the last 10 years of her life loving and deploring that feeling.
Suddenly, Kieran's soft snore plucked her out of her own self pity and she was once again underneath the Inquisition's gazebo. The Chantry sisters had all gone in for the night as well as the rest of Skyhold and for a rare moment, Morrigan could hear the beat of her own heart pound in her ears. It thundered as she tried to push the Warden from her mind. That damn elf. Always pervading places she didn't belong. 'Twas exhausting.
However, there was one thought she refrained from throwing aside into the chasm that was her subconscious; the thought of embracing her Warden once more. She felt foolish for even musing it but it made her cheeks flush as red as the purest lyrium nonetheless. Morrigan could practically see her, practically smell her.
The sublime aroma of fire and berries that would forever be imprinted into her soft yet calloused skin, and the way her full, pink lips could either curl with love or snarl with contempt made Morrigan writhe. And no matter how long she waited, no matter how far she traveled, she could never free herself of those big, beautiful eyes. They were embedded into Morrigan's mind like the very Vallaslin that celebrated her pale face. Whenever she closed her eyes she could see them staring back at her. No amount of miles could wipe away those eyes that cried for her as she walked through the Eluvian. Cried for her!
The night somehow felt chillier now as she took in a deep lungful of the mountain air only to sigh it back out into the darkness. Morrigan looked up to the stars and cringed with embarrassment when she caught herself wondering if they were the same set the Warden might be up looking at. What an foolish thought. How soft she had become, indeed! She attempted to persuade herself into believing she did not enjoy it, but a traitorous smile told otherwise.
With a gentle placement of her hand under his head and legs, Morrigan lifted Kieran up into her arms, carried him out of the garden and back into the warmth of the castle. With a flick of her hand the door to their living quarters opened and the candles at their bed side lit dimly. Kieran stirred once she placed him into bed. “One more, please. Truly I’m not tired… please, mother…” He blinked groggily. “Tomorrow, my darling. There is always tomorrow,” Morrigan said lifting the covers over his small form. He sat up slightly, his eyes glassy and glowing from the light of the moon through the window, “The ending. Was it a happy one?” A pause.
“… What do you believe? Do you wish it to be happy?” Morrigan asked thoughtfully. He looked down the covers to his blanketed toes; his mouth pulling to the side in thought. “Yes, I do. I want you to be happy. So, I believe you and the Hero will stay friends forever. You two will battle bad things again and you will never leave each other. That’s the ending I wish,” Kieran muttered, his lids inching ever closer together. Morrigan smiled, her chest feeling suddenly hollow, “That’s an ending I can admire.”
“Are… you happy, mother?” Kieran asked, his eyes now fully closed. She smiled; the hollowness suddenly being filled. She had no vague answer to give this time. “With utmost certainty I can say that you make me the happiest person in all of this realm and the next, my son,” She said, stroking his tuft of dark hair back from his peaceful face. Kieran’s lips struggled to smile, but sleep claimed him. “What a spirit,” Morrigan whispered. Sleep my child. Savor your happy ending, She thought as she kissed his warm brow. Yes, a happy ending was indeed ideal. A tale of unrequited love would be most unsatisfying.