"I know you," Cassandra tells the darkness from without the chapel. A laugh, or the flapping of ravens' wings, and the witch steps into the dim candlelight.
"Careful, Seeker," she says, her voice low and smooth. "They say many things of assumption."
She wore a lavish gown in Halamshiral, but it hid far more than these homespun rags reveal. A witch of the wilds, Leliana said, but Cassandra knows the legend well enough afford it caution. The death of wild men and the laws that followed them. Cassandra has set fire to the veins of lesser mages.
"Morrigan," she says. "You followed the Hero of Ferelden once."
"How well you know your tales," Morrigan replies, her voice mocking, her smile sharp. She picks her way around rubble and candles, sweeping as if still wearing skirts, not quite toward Cassandra but in her orbit, so Cassandra must turn to watch her. "Have you heard the tales they whisper in the night, I wonder? That she followed me instead?"
Leliana spoke little of that, the Warden's personal life, but Cassandra looks at her own hands, dark as the Warden's might have been, sudden as a shout against Morrigan's pale throat should it come to blows. Morrigan reaches her own hand out and takes Cassandra's, manipulating it like a puzzling artifact that could be solved by a keen enough eye.
Cassandra allows the intrusion, and will not remember later why. She says, "There is no sin in the love of a comrade," and it must sound stuffy as a chancellor. She would quote the Chant, but Morrigan might meet that with the sharp end of her tongue, and Cassandra would rather--
But Morrigan laughs, three breaths out, and drops Cassandra's hand. "Idle fancies, nothing more."
"The child?" Cassandra asks despite herself.
"Precocious," Morrigan replies. "Some tales are nothing more, no matter the ambiance."
But she is here in the chapel, and the night was empty before. Wherever she might have thought to find Cassandra, she need not have searched at this hour, so surely, surely, she must have some cause other than torment.
"But the Warden lived," Cassandra says. "And that still does not explain why you have come here."
"A witch comes and goes as she will." Morrigan's smile returns, slow, teeth sheathed yet. "I did not come to tell tales."
"But you have tales to tell."
A flash of motion is Morrigan grasping Cassandra's hand again, raising it to her red lips to press them together in an approximation of a kiss. She leans in again, mouth ghosting against the ridges of Cassandra's ear. "You'll not have them from me so easily," she says, and she laughs.
The flapping of raven's wings. Another heartbeat, and Cassandra stands in the chapel alone as before.
"the testing of steel" - Morrigan/Cassandra, G
"Careful, Seeker," she says, her voice low and smooth. "They say many things of assumption."
She wore a lavish gown in Halamshiral, but it hid far more than these homespun rags reveal. A witch of the wilds, Leliana said, but Cassandra knows the legend well enough afford it caution. The death of wild men and the laws that followed them. Cassandra has set fire to the veins of lesser mages.
"Morrigan," she says. "You followed the Hero of Ferelden once."
"How well you know your tales," Morrigan replies, her voice mocking, her smile sharp. She picks her way around rubble and candles, sweeping as if still wearing skirts, not quite toward Cassandra but in her orbit, so Cassandra must turn to watch her. "Have you heard the tales they whisper in the night, I wonder? That she followed me instead?"
Leliana spoke little of that, the Warden's personal life, but Cassandra looks at her own hands, dark as the Warden's might have been, sudden as a shout against Morrigan's pale throat should it come to blows. Morrigan reaches her own hand out and takes Cassandra's, manipulating it like a puzzling artifact that could be solved by a keen enough eye.
Cassandra allows the intrusion, and will not remember later why. She says, "There is no sin in the love of a comrade," and it must sound stuffy as a chancellor. She would quote the Chant, but Morrigan might meet that with the sharp end of her tongue, and Cassandra would rather--
But Morrigan laughs, three breaths out, and drops Cassandra's hand. "Idle fancies, nothing more."
"The child?" Cassandra asks despite herself.
"Precocious," Morrigan replies. "Some tales are nothing more, no matter the ambiance."
But she is here in the chapel, and the night was empty before. Wherever she might have thought to find Cassandra, she need not have searched at this hour, so surely, surely, she must have some cause other than torment.
"But the Warden lived," Cassandra says. "And that still does not explain why you have come here."
"A witch comes and goes as she will." Morrigan's smile returns, slow, teeth sheathed yet. "I did not come to tell tales."
"But you have tales to tell."
A flash of motion is Morrigan grasping Cassandra's hand again, raising it to her red lips to press them together in an approximation of a kiss. She leans in again, mouth ghosting against the ridges of Cassandra's ear. "You'll not have them from me so easily," she says, and she laughs.
The flapping of raven's wings. Another heartbeat, and Cassandra stands in the chapel alone as before.