She Who Awaits the Next Age

"Mankind blunders through the world, crushing what it does not understand: elves, dragons, magic...the list is endless. We must stem the tide or be left with nothing more than the mundane. This I know to be true." Rules | Inquisitor | Hawke | Personal

[korcari-shapeshifter-blog]

Indefinite Hiatus

[[After considerable thought I’ve decided to put @korcari-shapeshifter and @idiedinthedark on indefinite hiatus; I love Morrigan and Cole still but I’m spending most of my time on my OC blogs and have most of my motivation there and I’m not really giving these guys the attention they deserve, and in consequence their drafts are mostly just adding stress. May come back to them at some point but for now please please come hit me up at @ostwickjoker and @somniari-hawke if we’re not already writing there. :) 

Have a fantastic day and thanks for following me. <3 ]]

[korcari-shapeshifter-blog]

sahlintalas:

He shifted, uncomfortable under the conversation. He had brought it up, wanted to know, and yet…it all felt too close to things he would rather not dwell on. But he owed her some sort of answer, for being so obvious about his discomfort, he supposed, and so he squared his shoulders, eyes fixing on hers, deep forest green on her gold.

“You lived through the Blight. I witnessed enough of it to change many circumstances in my life. That is probably enough said.” He did not want to share much else with her in that regard - with anyone. He shifted the subject back away from him.

“We are lucky then, that there are no hordes. I hope it is not an Archdemon.” He had tried, of course he had, to find a cure for those tainted, to save those he could. He had failed. He had ended them instead, the last resort, to save the rest. He could feel them, even now, the eyes as they watch him. Healing magic should never be used in reverse.

A soft noise broke him from his thoughts, a quiet call from across the courtyard. He narrowed his gaze. One of the Chantry Sisters who was helping in the Chantry. He sighed, then glanced back to Morrigan.

“My apologies, Miss Morrigan, I am called to work again. The infirmary needs me.” He shifted his bag at his shoulder and gave her a small bow of head. “Serannas, for the conversation. I hope it is not the last.”

She listened in silence to this answer, nodded slowly in understanding. In some ways she was well aware that she had avoided the darkest elements of the Blight; by standing at the side of the Hero of Ferelden she had seen the war firsthand but had been spared much of the cruelty at the hands of horde. Even had she not traveled with the Warden, she suspected Flemeth would have had other tricks up her sleeve to keep them safe and out of harm’s way as the darkspawn swept through the wilds towards Ostagar.

So in some ways she did not have an exact experience by which to parse Talas’s comment. But she could guess. She had seen the ruins of Lothering and Denerim, and had had many years in which to process those memories and turn them into an understanding, however distant, of how many people’s lives had been lost, and how many more changed, by the Blight’s influence.

And she had grown enough in those years to feel something resembling sympathy for those who had not, like her, been lucky enough to stand at the side of a hero.

“I understand,” she said quietly, with a slight nod. “I hope you will accept my speculation as reasssurance, then. I believe that we are at a great crossroads of history but…’tis not a blight. Such is the most that I can offer but...perhaps it is enough.”

As the man stood, she moved in an answering motion, pushing herself to her feet and inclining her head gravely at him. “The pleasure has been mine in speaking to you,” she answered politely; it was an automatic response, ingrained from her time in the court, but it was not untrue, either. She found herself curious about the elf and the serious eyes behind his questions. No doubt they would meet again, indeed.

[korcari-shapeshifter-blog]

circlemageamell:

Every step they take away from the village seems to bring her closer to reality, and she wraps her arms around her stomach. Their steps take them to a small, encapsulated portion of the lake she’d lived on for most of her life. Kinloch Hold isn’t quite visible from here, and they’re moving away from the houses and the fear. Now she can feel her own.

“I feel like I’m supposed to be talking about something. That’s what people do, right? They talk through their fears and confusion so that they don’t panic.” She scrubs her hands over her face before sliding her fingers into her hair.

“I keep thinking about Kinloch. And about what you’ve said about Circle training. And it’s all getting to me. Which is going to be dangerous.”

Her hands, still buried in her hair, begin to shake. “So I need to figure this out. If I can understand this magic, then it isn’t insurmountable. I can think through this.” 

“ ‘Tis not insurmountable,” Morrigan agrees quietly. “Nothing is; it matters only to see it from the right angle.” Of course, just what that angle might be in this situation is yet unclear, and in some ways Morrigan is as much in the dark as the rest of them in spite of her more convoluted magical education.

She is aware of some mechanisms by which the dead might be made to walk in the way the villagers describe...but none of them seem to quite match the situation. Unless the arl has employed a blood mage...but to what end? The nobility of Ferelden are invariably attached to their misguided sense of religion; they would not stomach the use of blood magic. No such person would be able to gain a foothold in a noble house...not as things currently stand…

Fruitless pondering. Until they know more her thoughts will only run themselves in circles.

“If you wish to speak, I am here to listen,” she says instead, inclining her head slightly in the Warden’s direction. “Though my capacity as an advisor is, I fear, limited solely to my magical knowledge.”

[korcari-shapeshifter-blog]

alistairoftheirin:

Alistair’s heart begins to pound with such ferocity in his chest that he’s half convinced he’ll have bruises. You’ll let me see my son.

“That… I’m glad you told hi that, at least. I’m sure it wasn’t easy for you, and if I couldn’t be a part of his life, then I suppose it makes sense that you wouldn’t have told him about me.”

He rubs his wrist, watching her. There are so many questions he wants to ask, so many things he wants to know, but he has to take his time. He has to move slowly and cautiously. If he’s going to be a father to his boy, then he has to keep some manner of control over himself so that he doesn’t do anything to disrupt the balance Morrigan has made for them both.

“I’d very much like to visit with you both. Get to know him.” A thought strikes him that he doesn’t want to ask, but how can he not?

“Is he… different than other children, because of how… because of what happened?”

"He is a normal boy, Alistair," she says, almost too sharply. Defensively. It has not been lost on her, over the years, that Kieran is different, in some ways. He is graver, quieter, thinks before he speaks. She has known few enough children in her life but surely most of them do not grow up with that ancient sadness in their expression, as if the exhaustion of the whole world is somewhere deep in him. It frightens her at times, frightens her to wonder what it may cost him in the end.

But he is a normal boy in so many ways as well. Curious and intelligent, and with the capacity for saying things after long thought that strike her with their cleverness, or their observation. Happy to avoid his lessons when the opportunity arises. And...eager for a father.

How to put this into words in a way that he will understand, and that will not make her feel foolish in her own sentimentality?

"He has a depth to him that is not usual, I think," she goes on slowly after a short pause. "'Tis...difficult to describe. It drives his thoughts, sometimes even where I cannot follow. But he looks as any other boy does, speaks and thinks and acts as any other boy might." She raises her eyebrows at him slightly. "You have nothing to fear from him; of that you may be certain. He will be...happy to see you."

And that, in the end, is what matters most, is it not? Her son will be happy. And somewhere, over the years, that became the most important thing. More important that Flemeth or Celene or Corypheus, more important than any danger that might threaten her. He is her son.

"When you are ready, I will take you to him," she says quietly.

[korcari-shapeshifter-blog]

sahlintalas:

He had not seen the Temple, only the village. Wandering up to the seat of a Chantry Conclave where apostates argued with Templars felt dangerous, and he had been in Haven to trade. But he had seen the explosion in the distance, the Breach yawning open in the sky, and he closed his eyes a moment to banish the thought. 

He had seen the town fall as well, the dragon and Corpyheus’s armies coming swarming over the hill. He had been one of the few on hand afterward as they sheltered in the mountains against terrible storms and the fear of a second assault capable of healing without supplies. Those supplies were things they had needed to abandon. He had lost many that day, just like he had lost many when the Breach opened. 

But he had saved many as well, and he saw some of them walking Skyhold’s grounds in the aftermath and knew that he had helped. That…that was a reward all its own: that they yet lived.

“Miss Morrigan,” he said softly, trying to work through his conflicted thoughts. “When Corypheus attacked Haven, he brought with him a dragon, an…Archdemon. There are those here who say you were in Denerim during the Fifth Blight. Is it one?” He had lived through the Blight himself, but not on the front lines, and carried as many scars as others did for the experience. He felt the one at his side ache, burning at the memory, and his breath shook as he exhaled.

Miss Morrigan. Now there was an incongruous title. As if I were a schoolmistress. She shook her head slightly, ignoring the thought for the time being. Perhaps in her time in Orlais she grew too accustomed to concerning herself with appearances, with formality. The question he asked, however, was an interesting one, and it gave her pause for a moment or so.

“I indeed traveled with the Hero of Ferelden during the Blight,” she agreed. “From all I have heard...this has not seemed like a true Blight as I experienced it. There have been no mass sightings of darkspawn, no cities sacked by a horde of tainted creatures. Corypheus may be a darkspawn himself and yet he travels with creatures he himself has corrupted... ‘twould be a waste of his energy if the hordes were already at his disposal...”

She tipped her head forward, frowned thoughtfully, her arms crossing over her chest. “I have heard tell of the creature that attacked Haven,” she said slowly. “ ‘Tis a matter of some debate, or seems to be, whether it was an archdemon at all. Not all dragons are, after all.”

She raised an eyebrow at him, not having missed the tremble in his outward breath. “The subject troubles you,” she said. It wasn’t exactly a question.

[korcari-shapeshifter-blog]

circlemageamell:

“What you’re best at. Use the magic that mages like me are too afraid to use.” It’s a grim admission, but truthful. Her time with Morrigan, limited as it’s been so far, have shown her things she didn’t believe were possible. Part of her wanted to learn, but she knew that her talents lay primarily in primal magic, and that even with Wynne with them, they needed a spirit healer. It was impossible to say how long Wynne would be with them, and she had to be practical.

I wish I could have five minutes to just be afraid.

Only nineteen years old. Less than two weeks from seeing the Circle tower destroyed. Now, facing an army of walking corpses.

“Morrigan,” she says quietly, allowing the Grey Warden mask to slip just a little. “I’m… not feeling particularly inspiring right now. Where can I go where the others won’t catch me, just for a bit?”

She does not miss the way Solona’s expression shifts, the pain and fear behind it. And it is not lost on her that this is an expression of trust. She does not acknowledge that aloud; it is not in her nature.

But she approves, in any event. She may not understand that moment of trust and vulnerability, but a healthy respect for solitude is something she can respect in turn. And for her own part she will be happy to get away for a time from the villagers and their frantic rushing about. Their panic serves no one, and it grates on the nerves.

So without a word, she jerks her head, indicating Solona should follow her down a side path along the ridge where the village is perched. She spotted it some hours ago, noting it should it be needed in the coming battle-- an old habit left from her mother’s ruthlessly practical training in the Korcari Wilds. Always an escape route.

The path leads down to a small creek branching off the lake inlet, a slow, steadily bubbling thing whose waters seem incongruously clear compared to the murkiness of their situation.

[korcari-shapeshifter-blog]

alistairoftheirin:

“Kieran,” he whispers, testing the name on his tongue even as he ignores the familiar barb of Morrigan’s voice. My son’s name is Kieran. I have a son named Kieran.

It takes him a moment to realize that Morrigan is still talking, and he looks up at her with wide-eyed attention. The depths of his hunger for knowledge of their son is almost frightening, and he drinks it in like a man dying, desperate and a little afraid.

He steps away from the stall, but is careful not to move too quickly, as if Morrigan might think better of the conversation, turn back into a bird, and fly off. “He… is he here?” His voice softens. “Could I meet him?”

That she might say no, that he might never have more than this brief knowledge of their child, fills him with a sudden and perhaps irrational fear. How could he already love someone he doesn’t know? And yet, how can he not know his own child? Is it possible? What if the boy is unrecognizable? What if…?

It doesn’t matter. He’s my son.

“I won’t say or do anything to put him or you into an uncomfortable position, you have my word on that.” He swallows, throat working. “There’s little else I’ve dreamt about, honestly. Little else that’s good, at any rate. I used to wonder if it was a son or a daughter, and what it’d feel like to hold them…” His eyes track down to the ground, suddenly unequal to the woman’s calculating gaze. “Please, Morrigan.”

Easy to react as she has always done when mention of her son arises in conversation. Deflect, retreat, protect, escape. For so long the threat of Flemeth’s attention, of anyone’s knowledge of her son’s origin, had made her cautious, frightened, like a wounded tiger circling its cub.

But there was nothing of calculation in Alistair’s eyes. She wasn’t even sure he was capable of it. Just a bright, earnest light, more intent than any she recalls seeing in him even during the blight. He wasn’t lying when he said how deeply he had thought of this, how fiercely he believed in Kieran even without meeting him.

And it occurred to Morrigan in that moment that he might be the only person she could trust, wholeheartedly, unreservedly, without fear of calamity, in the matter of her son. And the boy has asked about his father. More frequently as he has begun to grow, slowly, towards being a man.

“I will not keep you from him,” she said quietly. Her gaze did not lighten unreservedly-- it could no more do so than Alistair’s could darken with cunning-- but her bearing did seem to ease a little, as if some question had been answered in her mind that she had not known was looming. “You should know...he knows little of you. It was safest that way, that he not be able to give reign to a loose tongue if idle questions turned his way.”

A long pause. Her head drops a little, her eyes going thoughtful. “I have told him you were a good man,” she added quietly, almost as if more to herself than him. “Some days that was enough for him to hear.”

Then her head lifts, her manner tautening again, businesslike. “We have been keeping to the garden on the north side of the keep. ‘Tis a place out of the way of most of the place’s business.”

[korcari-shapeshifter-blog]

circlemageamell:

“Our studies of entropy never quite went this far,” she agrees quietly, watching the ground as they walk. “There’s going to be an overarching element of horror attached to all of this. Morale is going to be in the privy.”

Just like after the Circle. Everything ripped apart, all of the people I knew and loved, and I could barely keep moving. I wouldn’t have if not for Alistair and Zevran. And you, despite your insistence that you don’t care.

“We’re fighting something that shouldn’t exist.” Like abominations. Like everything turning inside out. “And fear is a powerful weapon. We need to find ways past that fear. Alistair being here, knowing the people, is helping. Leliana’s been praying with the villagers to give them hope. Sten and Zevran look dangerous enough to protect them. We dragged that smarmy idiot out of his house with his thugs.” The breath eases out of her. “People will fight when they’re afraid, but if they have hope, they won’t run. They won’t give up.” Her jaw tenses. “That’s why Loghain quitting the field at Ostagar was so devastating. It wasn’t just losing his soldiers. It was losing hope. If we allow that to happen here, they’ll be overrun.”

Morrigan raises one shoulder in a slight shrug. “I have made no objection to your handling of the situation,” she says, a little dryly. “If such tales and hopes make them likely to fight the harder, I will not object. I trust to your experience.” Perhaps, she reflects, it would be more accurate to say that she does not understand the way these people think and see the battle ahead of them.

Her travels with Solona have shown her many things, not least the fact that the view of life fostered in the Wilds is not the same view held everywhere. She would, she is forced to admit, not be able to lead and rally as Solona, as Leliana, as even Alistair is capable of doing. Perhaps a failing. Perhaps simply a fact. For herself she puts more faith in the greatsword the ‘smarmy idiot’ dwarf brought out of his house, and the magic in her own fingertips.

A slight pause. “What would you have me do to be of assistance?” she asks quietly. 

[korcari-shapeshifter-blog]

sahlintalas:

The first words won him over a little, made him give the slightest hint of a smile. He appreciated those who could speak to the meanings beneath the words, who considered the larger picture and the complex interconnections.

“Our world perhaps,” he said softly, in reply before following her gaze towards the boy engaged in his book and drawing a slow breath. Her distraction gave him the time to really consider her. He had his own knowledge of elven lore, and he had learned from spirits here and there a little more - though their answers were often vague and unassuming, lacking in any real direction. He could feel the strangeness of Skyhold, the age of it perhaps, in the spirits held at a distance there.

But his magic was not just elven in origin. He had studied with an exiled Avvar mage who had taught him what she knew of older ways, and he had her grimoire now, her final gift to him with her passing. 

This Morrigan felt a great deal like her, a great deal like Sunniva, with the mysterious ways she wove her words and viewed the world. And there was, perhaps oddly, a comfort in encountering that again. It made him easier, made him relax somewhat. 

“It predates the Ferelden construction certainly. But then, I suspect so too did the Temple of Sacred Ashes before its destruction. Old things yet linger in the corners of the world undiscovered, often veiled as fresher and newer things.”

She smiles wryly. “True enough.” Her expression grows distant again. “I once traveled to the temple, a considerable time before the Divine and her ‘conclave’ thought to make use of the place. The magic we saw there...” She trails off. “ ‘Twas unlike any I had ever experienced. And not elven, either, but something subtler still...”

A memory she has not taken pains to recall with any regularity. She had watched manifestations of that magic eviscerate the Warden’s deepest memories, send Alistair and Leliana trembling to their knees. She had refused to listen, to let it worm its way into her soul...and yet she had wondered, too, what it might have meant for her, and what benefit it gained from so deeply rattling them to their cores. It...the spirit, or whatever it was...had known Flemeth’s name; that much was certain. But that meant little. Many knew Flemeth...

Probably.

“Sometimes those fresh facades help preserve the more ancient elements,” she comments thoughtfully, shaking herself from the reverie. “Though Haven and the temple, of course, lie buried. From what I hear of the matter, however, it was unavoidable.”

[korcari-shapeshifter-blog]

circlemageamell:

A slow smile spreads across her face. “Cooked corpses on the menu for this evening,” she says softly, then shakes herself. “Maker, that’s going to stink. But, yes, I think it’ll be helpful to let Ser Perth know of them. It also might be useful to get some sort of blessing for the templars from the Revered Mother. A little bit of boosted morale can go a long way. I’ll ask Alistair to take care of that. He knows the people here.”

She looks curiously at Morrigan as they walk. “I can’t say in all honesty that I’ve ever fought the dead. Some of the mages in the Circle would study entropy magic, but nothing like this. Are you aware of any specific types of magic that might be more effective? Turning them to ice so that the warriors can shatter them immediately comes to mind.”

“Fire and ice, yes,” Morrigan answers with a calm nod. “That which damages the physical form, for there is no soul in the undead to mislead, no blood in its veins to work upon.” She has made no audible response to the notion of a Chantry blessing, though she is sure her opinion of the idea shows clearly upon her face. Whether they believe some figure of fable to be watching over them in the hour of need is immaterial; they will fight, or they will die. Survival, in her experience, is a powerful motivator without need of storytelling to bolster it.

But she does not say this aloud. If Solona believes it necessary...then let it be.

“I can say with some certainty,” she goes on, “that what we are about to face will little resemble whatever your comrades in the Circle might have studied. The study of chaos is one thing, but to bring even a facsimile of life into a lifeless body is a very deep study indeed. One hears rumors of such things among the magisters of Tevinter.”

[korcari-shapeshifter-blog]

sahlintalas:

Sahlin sank into a seat a safe distance. He didn’t like sitting too close to people. Personal space mattered, and this conversation felt…official? He drew a slow breath, considering her words.

“It doesn’t feel like anything I’ve encountered before,” he admitted after a moment. He spoke Elven, with a surprising fluency few could manage, not just the basic Dalish vernacular - he had spent too many years in studying it with little else to do. “The runework was old, and the wording archaic at best.” He had grown up in the Dales, and was familiar with the structures dating back that far, but he was no fool. There were older mysteries. This…this was one of them.

“It predates the Dales if nothing else,” he told her softly. “Of that I have no doubt. But how far back, I am uncertain, and I don’t know enough about Fereldan architecture to speak to the age of the current construction either.”

“There are legends which claim the magic here is ‘as old as the world,’” Morrigan said, her lips twitching with slight amusement at the concept. “An exaggeration, I suspect. Or a metaphor, perhaps -- suggesting it was conceived during a period of great transformation. ‘tis the great trouble with legends, is it not? They only speak as much as they wish to tell and no more.”

She rested her hands on her knees, glancing past Sahlin to ensure she had Kieran within her line of sight. The boy had been growing curious about the castle himself; he was usually well-behaved but without an eye kept on him he might attempt to explore on his own. Today, though, he seemed thoroughly engrossed in one of the books he had selected from the keep’s library.

“One might be inclined to suspect, in any event,” she went on thoughtfully, returning her gaze to her conversation partner, “that at the very least the age of the Ferelden construction is but an eyeblink compared to the magic contained within it.”

[korcari-shapeshifter-blog]

[[Friendly reminder that Morrigan gets a big freakin’ smile on her face at seeing your dog again in Witch Hunt.]]

[alistairoftheirin-blog-deactiva]

The boy.

Alistair’s eyes widen as he stares at her, struggling to make his body respond to his racing mind, but his throat doesn’t seem to be working. It takes several tries for any sound to come out at all, and at first, it’s a strangled sort of sound, soft and unsure. Eventually, he can form words.

“We have a son?” He asks it and immediately feels both incredibly giddy and incredibly foolish. This is the sort of thing a father should know, but how could he? “I have a son.” His voice is soft, wondering.

A deep pain passes through him, one that has changed but not dulled with time, and he’s filled with a sort of hunger to know who this boy is, to meet him, to be his father.

But would she allow that?

“Would you… I’d like to know about him.” He swallows past the tightness in his throat. “Would you tell me? What’s his name? What sort of boy is he?”

Do you love him? Do you look after him and keep him safe? Does he know affection or loneliness? Does he know who I am?

“Is he… is he here?”

[korcari-shapeshifter-blog]

“He is here.”

Morrigan watches the play of emotion across Alistair’s face. As transparent as ever, she reflects ruefully. There has never been any artifice in him; after the last few years among Orlesian courtiers that absolute honesty and sincerity is physically jarring. Quite for the best that he never became king; if the Denerim court is in any way like Celene’s, it would have crushed him.

Ten years, Alistair, and you have not changed a bit. Good, in a way. Had he changed into someone unrecognizable, she would never risk letting Keiran near him. For now...she might.

“His name is Keiran,” she answers quietly. “He is-- well, you are aware how old he is. You have not lost the ability to subtract.” A slight hint of the old acerbic tone; it grounds her in the conversation. But it doesn’t flow off the tongue as easily as it once might have. It’s been too long and too much has happened. And, she realizes a little jarringly, it has been many years since she spoke at length of anything other than politics to anyone besides Keiran. And to Keiran she has never used that tone. It sits oddly in her.

A short pause while she gathers herself, and her voice is softer again when she next speaks. “He has grown into a fine lad,” she tells him with a slight, almost involuntary smile. “I am...very proud of him.”

[sahlintalas-deactivated20180503]

Sahlin felt a wash of nervousness. He sombered a little, then shook his head.

“It…was not a position undertaken willingly,” he said after a moment. “I joined alone and can do more good helping people here than returning.” There was more than enough weight behind the rest of the story than he was willing to share.

He drew a quiet breath, eyes flickering a moment away before back to her, fixing on her own with deep forest green. For a moment he studied her, rather on guard, and then at last, came to his point.

“I have knowledge of some of the older places in the Dales, and have spent my life studying the old stories and language. It is a common practice for those who study the lost lore to exchange information from time to time, at least…among the Dalish. I wished only to learn what you could tell me about Skyhold itself.  Tarasyl'an Te'las. One of the workmen found the name inscribed on the stone. This place…it was elven once, I think.” He gave a hesitant look. “If you know nothing, that is fine. I merely had a wonder. This place feels very…busy. Lots of spirits. And yet they are all of them muted, held at a distance, and the feel of it makes me…very curious. That is all. I will, of course, answer in trade for any information you might have with some of my own. It is…I’m afraid it is all I have I can offer in exchange.” 

[korcari-shapeshifter-blog]

“Information is always a valuable commodity,” she answered with a shrug. “I have traveled in both Ferelden and Orlais and found it a common currency everywhere. And ‘tis certain lore of your people will find greater reception with me than with many humans.”

She looked him up and down slowly, then nodded slightly, her bearing visibly easing as if admitting him to her presence at last. “Do you care to sit?” she asked. An echo of the courtier, that, instead of the mage. She couldn’t say she was much pleased at it. She had not been fully aware of how much Celene’s influence affected her until now that she was away from it. Bits of what she considered ‘herself’ had been infused with the more politic manners of the Orlesian nobility. That would bear watching. I am myself. I am not one of them.

“Tarasyl’an Te’las, yes,” she agreed thoughtfully, folding her arms across her chest and moving to seat herself on one of the chairs in the midst of the courtyard. “The place where the sky was held back. The translation to the trade tongue has not, as you see, in this instance too thoroughly mangled the gist of the words. “What I know of it is of mixed certainty; some is of record, but some is of myth. I know it was used for rituals by the elves in their ancient empire; since then it has changed hands many times. The stones that currently house the place were laid by Ferelden hands, but the magic that sits within is far older.”

[circlemageamell-deactivated2023]

“Well, you know me. If I can ramble, then I will.” Her eye move over the buildings, and her heart twists in her chest. “The simple answer is yes, I’m invested. Incredibly invested.” After what happened in Kinloch, how could I be anything else?

The gravity of the situation tugs at her, makes her want to curl up on the ground and cover her head until it’s all over, but she takes a deep breath. “My gut reaction is that there’s a demon involved, but that could be my Circle training coming through. This is probably more along your line than mine.” A faint, humorless smile pulls at the corner of her mouth. “All sorts of magic in the world I don’t understand. That doesn’t mean it’s demonic.”

[korcari-shapeshifter-blog]

Morrigan nods, a slight, approving smile tugging her lips. “Very true. And ‘tis wise of you to see it.” She tilts her head, following Solona’s gaze around the village, catching the sharp scurrying movements of the villagers, like frightened animals. 

“We will not know the truth of the situation until we can reach the castle. There is little point in speculating until we have done so,” she says thoughtfully. “This is, of course, assuming we survive the night, and keep the villagers from turning into a panicked mob.” She rolls her head to one side, working a kink out of her neck. “Did you notice, I might add, the barrels of oil in the general store?” she goes on conversationally. “That seems something that might prove useful.”

[qsarrae]

Imogen’s expression didn’t betray the awe, and excitement, she felt toward this woman at the moment. What knowledge must she have, secrets uncovered, truths and histories dug up that had long been forgotten, in order to restore such a magical item by herself. Awe, and a little bit of envy even.

As much as she wanted to know every single thing about these mirrors, she didn’t want to seem too eager. Over eagerness made people defensive, distrustful. They stop talking. No, she didn’t want that.

She gave Morrigan a slight smile. “No. It does not perplex me. I have come across strange, magnificent, and impossible things many times in my life. There is very little that surprises me.”

“Would you be willing to tell me,” she started as she she retrieved a bottle of cider from a nearby cabinet along with two glasses, “how they work? How do you get from one mirror to another.” Imogen made her way back to the sofa and poured them each a glass, placing Morrigan’s in front of her. “You mentioned a network … so, a roadway then? Hidden roadway I assume. Otherwise everyone would use it all the time.”

[korcari-shapeshifter-blog]

“In a manner of speaking. A roadway requires time to travel. Passage through an eluvian is a matter of moments.” Morrigan could sense the woman’s attention, her interest, and was indeed wary of it...but there was something more earnest than calculating about it, too, something far removed than the interests people like Celene had had in her knowledge.

So she let herself relax a little as the woman poured her a drink and nodded thoughtfully. “As far as I understand their workings, ‘tis a matter of making use of the Fade’s disconnection from our world’s concept of distance. Passing through an eluvian sends one moving through a piece of the Fade that connects the two points by a short enough distance...and thus the journey takes no time at all.”

She raised one eyebrow, lifting the glass to her lips and sipping at it. “You have seen strange, magnificent, and impossible things, you say,” she said thoughtfully. “Perhaps you will indulge me in turn with a tale.”

[alistairoftheirin-blog-deactiva]

A chill shivers through him at the sound, and he nearly jumps out of his skin. It’s been ten years, but he’d know her voice in his sleep. His fingers close around the door to one of the stalls, where he’d been visiting with his horse, and he closes his eyes for a moment to gather himself.

When he turns, he isn’t sure which of his emotions is most apparent on his face. Everything he saw at Adamant was enough to horrify him, leave him feeling drained and empty, but Morrigan brought her own set of turbulent emotional baggage with her. Part of him wanted to hate her, fiercely, for pushing them all into the situation they faced at the end of the Blight, for maneuvering him into that ritual to save their lives. 

But this woman, for all that he feared her and resented what happened… this woman was the mother of his child.

Which means… my child might be… if she’s here…

“Morrigan,” he finally manages, swallowing hard. What would make you want to talk to me? You always hated me, didn’t you?

Sudden horror crosses his features, and he grips the stall more tightly to keep himself upright. “Is everything all right? Has something happened?” Is our child safe?

[korcari-shapeshifter-blog]

This was a mistake, she thinks distantly. She shouldn’t have done this, shouldn’t have approached him, because now she has to explain, to him and to herself, why she felt it was necessary in the first place. And there’s no going back, trying to pretend she wasn’t here, that she was just a mirage passing through, because...

What, because he would be upset? When has that bothered her before?

“Many things have happened, Alistair,” she hears herself saying dryly. “Where would you like me to begin? It has, after all, been ten years.”

As if he is not exactly as aware of that as she is.

A short pause and then, before he can reply, she goes on. “The Inquisitor informed me you were here, when I arrived from Halamshiral. I...didn’t feel I could reasonably ignore the fact.” She probably could have avoided him, she reminds herself sardonically. The castle is big enough. But there is no certainty of that. And would it be better or worse to have run into him by accident, rather than making it her choice?

Worse, probably. For both of them.

“Everything is fine,” she says tiredly, sensing his agitation. She gives her head a quick shake. “I am fine. You are fine-- despite what I hear was an unnecessarily close thing at Adamant. And...” She trails off into silence a moment, feeling reticence borne of long years of habit tying her tongue. She has lived so long keeping Kieran’s existence a closely guarded secret, hiding him from everyone who might do him harm, that speaking about him even to his father is difficult.

“The boy is fine too.”