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“I can’t believe…how could you!”
Alyna Surana shrank back from Alistair’s rage; growing up in the Tower had taught her countless official and unofficial rules, and chief among those was Don’t Anger The Templars. “I’m sorry Alistair,” she said, holding her hands up to futilely ward off his anger. “There wasn’t anything I could do!”
Alistair wasn’t deterred, and Alyna could feel Leliana and Morrigan gaze on them. “You could have gone into the Fade and fought the demon there! You had enough courage to murder a little boy, but not enough to actually put yourself in danger.”
“’tis for the better, Alistair,” Morrigan sauntered forward, smirking. “Had she defeated the demon in the Fade, Teagan would undoubtedly have prevailed on Isolde to send the boy to the Tower where he could be taught to be a proper, simpering mage…much like Surana herself.”
“That is not fair,” Leliana placed a comforting hand on Alyna’s shoulder. “She has only been away from the tower a few months and has had the world placed on her shoulders for it. If it is too much to bear that is to be expected, yes?”
Alyna shook free. “There was nothing else I could do. I’m sorry Alistair. I…I tried to make it quick for him.”
Alistair shook his head. “I don’t know what Duncan was thinking when he recruited you. Grey Wardens do what it takes, but you…you murdered a child. I must have been crazy to…”
“Have you found your puppy love shallow in the face of reality?” Morrigan asked drily.
“I’ve had about enough of you-”
Alyna turned and fled before the argument could become truly heated. Her cheeks flushed at Morrigan’s bark of laughter and she almost dove into her tent, tying the flap behind her. She held a hand over her mouth, desperate to stifle the sob rising in her throat. She bit her lip until the pain in her body overcame the pain in her soul and she sat hunched on her bedroll, clutching her arms to herself. It would have been easier to live with what she had done if she didn’t see Conner’s face behind her. So young…
Alyna lay down, ignoring Morrigan and Alistair’s angry shouts and Leliana’s worried pacing outside her tent. She pulled her knees to her chest and wiped off her face as best she was able, and with a sense of profound relief escaped into dreams, and the Fade.
*
She found herself on the shore of Lake Calenhad, the Tower standing tall in the distance, idly tossing pebbles into the water. Gentle waves wet her slippers, sand clung to her robes and she didn’t mind a bit. Alyna recognized the dream immediately; it had been a few days after Greagoir…put her in her place…and she had been let out of the tower for a few precious hours to gather herbs and reagents. She’d gotten separated from the group, and for the first time in years she found herself completely alone. It had been bliss.
A shadow passed over, and Alyna glanced up. A massive dragon arced through the sky, angling towards the Tower in the distance. Alyna shielded her eyes from the sun, trying to get a better look, and shuddered as her very blood called out to it. She didn’t need to see it to know it for what it was. Not a dragon. An archdemon. The archdemon.
The creature wheeled towards her and Alyna struggled to her feet, shielding spells snapping into existence around her. The archdemon crashed down in front of her, spraying sand and far and wide; its mighty wings flared and the gust they produced knocked Alyna clear from her feet. It craned its long neck down, peering at the mage past teeth as long as her forearm. “Little elf,” it rumbled. “Poor little elf.”
Alyna gaped at the archdemon’s voice, strangely resonant for such a wretched creature. A glow enveloped it and Alyna shielded her eyes against the radiance. The light faded and she blinked, trying to clear her vision. When the afterimages disappeared, as did the archdemon; in its place stood an elven man, but to refer to him only as a man was an injustice, for he was beauty itself.
“Hello,” he said simply.
His voice was even more mesmerizing as an elf, and Alyna realized that she’d allowed her shields to dissipate. She brought them back with an effort of will, and summoned lightening to arc between her fingers. “I know you for what you are. Archdemon, master of the Blight. You may kill me, but know that we will stop you. Entire legions of Grey Wardens are coming for you, and we will put an end to you as we put an end to all the other archdemons.”
A look of utter befuddlement crossed the archdemon’s face, and he did the last thing Alyna could have expected.
He laughed.
“And your companion claimed you lack courage? More the fool he.” He extended his hand. “Urthemiel.”
“I…” Alyna took his hand automatically, and he brought it to his lips, pressing them to her knuckles. The sensation sent tingles cascading through her body, straight down to her toes. “I…Alyna, is my name.” She resisted the urge to stomp her foot. “You’re very much not how you’re supposed to be.”
“Given your expectations, that’s rather a compliment.” Urthemiel smiled, and Alyna felt herself melt.
“You’re…you’re doing something to me.” She turned away so that she could see only a glimpse of him out of the corner of her eye; even then it took all her will to stop herself from looking to him.
“I am what you have been deprived of. What the Maker forced all your kind to live without. Perhaps next time we can discuss it in more depth.”
“Next time? What do you mean by-” she turned towards him, a frown on her face, and felt the bliss flow through her as she caught sight of his eyes. “NO!”
*
“NO!”
Alyna woke with a start on her bedroll, hands raised to her face to ward off Urthemiel’s captivating gaze.
“Do strive to contain yourself!” Morrigan shouted from across the camp. “Your mewling of ‘no, Greagoir, please!’ could at least be slept through.”
Alyna uncurled, sitting up and stretching. She wiped the crust of dried tears from her cheeks and untied the flap to her tent. Alistair sat just outside, and she greeted him with an uncertain nod.
“I suppose I should have told you before,” he said off-handedly. “The darkspawn can hear the archdemon’s call, and, well…so can we. Part of being a Warden, something in the blood.”
Alyna sat down next to him. “What did he say to you?”
“Say?” Alistair frowned. “Not much really, mostly just ‘rrraaarrragh, kill the living, raarrgh.’” He coughed. “But ah, I’m not fluent in darkspawn. Something could have been lost in translation.” The sensation of Urthemiel’s lips on her knuckles flooded back into Alyna’s mind, and she shivered. “You all right? Not spacing out again are you?”
“I’m fine,” she answered coldly. “If we can hear the archdemon so clearly, it must be rallying forces or on the move. Either way, we’ve stayed put too long.”
“Agreed,” Alistair rose easily, leaving Alyna to struggle to her feet on bones made stiff by sleeping on the cold earth. “We should go to the mage Tower first.”
She froze as the words washed over her. “Th-the Tower? Why?” she asked meekly.
“Because the Circle will be powerful allies in fighting the Blight,” Alistair scowled at her. “and the Tower is closer than Orzimmar or wherever the Dalish have holed up. Does that meet with your approval?”
“All right,” Alyna bleated. “We can go.”
*
That the Tower had been devastated hadn’t terribly shocked Alyna; the cold, curving stone walls had always borne an unspoken malice to her and the havoc wrought by the demons had only made plain what had always been there. Fining the corpses of mages she had known all her life barely turned her stomach; there had been so much death since Ostagar, and the other apprentices had been at best acquaintances to her but more often little more than fellow prisoners. Even finding a rage demon in her old quarters did little to stir her; any place the templars could roam would never be safe, regardless of where she slept. It was hardly the first time she had found a monster in her bed.
No, the horror that stopped her heart came when the party found Wynne.
“Alyna,” Wynne said. “Maker, couldn’t it be anyone else?”
“You two know each other?” Alistair asked glibly.
“Enchanter Wynne was one of my instructors,” Alyna answered. “There’s no time to waste. Greagoir has sent to Denerim to invoke the Rite of Annulment.”
“So of course you place not only yourself but your companions in death’s path,” Wynne snapped. “I had hoped that you would have grown out of your foolishness after what it cost Jowan and poor Lily.”
“That wasn’t my-”
“It doesn’t matter. We will make the best of the situation and forge on from here,” interrupted Wynne. To herself she muttered, “What a sense of humor the Maker must have.”
With Alistair and Sten in front they cut through the demons relentlessly. Wynne kept them standing and Alyna obliterated the abominations with fire and lightening, power shimmering off of her. The only stopped when they reached the door to the inner chamber of the fourth floor. Wynne aided the warriors in tending their wounds, and Alyna rummaged through her pouches for a mana potion.
“Have you met any others on the outside?” Wynne asked, approaching. “Anders escaped again, just before Uldred’s insurrection took place…”
“I’ve not seen Anders.” Alyna sipped from her potion; quaffing the entire vial in one go made her teeth buzz. “We did find Jowan, in the dungeon of the Arl of Redcliff.”
“And you made no effort to free him, did you?” Alyna began to speak, but Wynne cut her off. “That was rhetorical, Alyna. Who can you be loyal to if not a friend you’ve known all your life?”
“Enough, Sten announced. “We’re keeping the demons waiting.”
Alyna rose her feet, and Alistair kicked open the door to reveal a sloth demon staring at them in disinterest. “You deserve a rest,” it sighed. “The world will go on without you.”
Everything faded to white.
*
Alyna knelt amidst the slaughter of Ostagar, sobbing.
Bodies of humans and darkspawn were strewn around her and the ground was soaked through with so much blood that it squelched under her knees. King Cailan’s corpse hung crucified some distance away and she could hear bands of darkspawn nearby and it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered.
“Such desolation.”
Urthemiel stood behind her, surveying the battlefield. Even his unholy allure couldn’t drag Alyna’s attention to him, staring fixedly at the body before her. “Your desolation. This is what your Blight brings. Don’t feign ignorance.”
“Horrible though it is, the Blights are a necessary evil in throwing off the Maker’s apathy.” Urthemiel gestured to the corpses around them. “It is difficult to see from this level, but all this serves a far greater purpose.” He shook his head. “But all this isn’t the desolation I was referring to. The sloth demons trap their victims by constructing a world that gives them what they most desire. And when given what you most desire, you find yourself…” he circled around Alyna, looking over the body that held her attention: a slight elf mage, disemboweled by a horrible blow to her belly and a faint smile curving her lips, “…in the ruins of a massacre, mourning over your own dead body.”
“I’m not mourning my death,” Alyna hissed. “I’m sickened that this isn’t real. I wish I had died at Ostagar. I should have died at Ostagar.”
“A life taken is sorrowful,” Urthemiel said quietly. “A life given freely is an atrocity.” The world around her grew indistinct and hazy, and when it sharpened again Alyna found herself in the Denerim alienage, before the great tree. She hadn’t allowed herself to think of this place since the templars took her away from it. “Know this, Alyna. Of all the myriad disagreements my siblings and I have with the Maker, the mortal races have never been one of them. You are without a doubt his greatest creations. Each and every one of you.”
Alyna rose unsteadily to her feet. “Why are you doing this?”
“Your Chantry is right. The Maker abandoned you ages ago, but not for the reasons they would have you believe. The purpose of the Blights is to bring him back to his responsibilities. Though so many of my siblings have been killed trying to bring that about…we are beginning to fear that the Maker is well and truly gone.”
“No,” Alyna shook her head and turned to meet Urthemiel’s radiance directly. “I don’t care. I just don’t care about the Blights or the Maker or any of it. Alistair hears you as screams and rage. I hear you as…as…” Even the sight of his beauty calmed her sobbing.
“Alistair has years of indoctrination by the Chantry and the Wardens both. They…predispose him.”
“And me?” she asked, voice growing husky as she stepped closer.
“You are no less predisposed,” his hand reached out, cupping her chin. “You merely have different forces acting upon you.” Alyna turned her face into his hand, kissing his palm. His touch sent a thrill through her, and impulsively she pushed forward, kissing him deeply. He returned the kiss and it sent a jolt through her, setting her nethers aflame.
“You’re…you…” she whispered. With more resolve: “You’re the archdemon.”
He laughed. “I am!” She looked at him, uncertain, but his smile shattered her resolve. She smiled back. “Soon. We’ll talk more soon. Now, you’ve a sloth demon to defeat, don’t you?”
*
Orzimmar had been rife with political conniving that was frankly beyond Alyna. She let Alistair take charge and absented herself from the planning; Alistair and Morrigan treated her with distain, Wynne and Sten ignored her suggestions and the assassin Loghain sent after them merely leered. Only Leliana answered her when she spoke, and she addressed Alyna with such pity in her voice that the elf couldn’t bear it. In the end one dwarf sat on the throne and the other was dead. Which really didn’t matter.
Even after they reached the Brecillian Forest, it took days to find the Dalish camp. When they did finally stumble across the elven hunters, there was little doubt that they had allowed themselves to be found.
“Let me, Alistair.” Alyna stepped forward. “Aneth ara, friends. I am-”
“A house elf, trying to speak the language of the people,” one of them notched an arrow. “Run back to the city while you can.”
“Great job,” Alistair snapped. Louder, he said “Listen, we’re…we’re Grey Wardens, we’re here about the treaties your people signed. We need to speak with your Keeper.”
Naturally, the Dalish had problems of their own; werewolves or somesuch. Alyna didn’t bother paying attention to Zathrian’s explanation; she was too distracted thinking of how she could delay the trip into the forest until the next day. Right now she wanted nothing more than to lie down on her bed roll and return to the shores of Calenhad.
“It’s just that it’s going to be night soon,” she found herself saying. Morrigan offered her a withering glare.
“Oh, yes. You never know what might be lurking in the darkness. Elf assassins? Petulant templars? Qunari?”
“I believe she is talking about us,” Zevran whispered aside to Alyna.
“Oh course I am, fool,” Morrigan snapped. “We have killed our way across Ferelden, facing high dragons and rock golems and a gamut of other so-called deadly creatures. ‘tis a small thing to deal with some mongrels.”
“We could use the rest,” Leliana spoke up, laying her hand on Alyna’s shoulder in that manner she had that demeaned rather than supported. “Witherfang is certain to be formidable, and it would be wise for us to face her at our best, yes?”
Alistair shrugged. “Fine, we’ll set up outside the Dalish camp. No sense is straining their hospitality any more than we already have.”
The camp went up with practiced ease, and Alyna ignited the firepit with a glance. Satisfied, she turned back to her tent only to find the massive form of Sten blocking her way. His permanent scowl seemed etched even deeper into his face. “I do not understand. You look like a woman.”
His open confusion stilled her caustic response. “That’s because I am a woman, Sten.”
“No. You are a Grey Warden. Wardens are warriors, and warriors are male. You are out of your place.”
Sten’s words echoed Greagoir’s, and Alyna felt tears sting her eyes. “I’m an elf, Sten! Not a mage!”
“Parshaara,” he muttered under his breath. “Confused about her very nature and hardly even a woman, rather a child for such hysterics.” Alyna let out an infuriated scream and crawled into her tent, ignoring the others gathering to see what had set her off. She lay down on her bedroll, staring up at the top of the tent.
“I’m not a woman now?” she hissed. She lay an arm across her eyes. “Take me away. Just…away from here.”
*
She’d never owned a dress before.
Robes, certainly. They were requisite for any mage. But they were also plain, unfitted and relentlessly unisex. Alyna found herself on the shore of Calenhad clad in a simple dress of vivid green. It fitted snugly to the curves of her hips and gathered around her legs as she strode down the shoreline. Even the simple feeling of sand between her bare toes was a delight.
“You’re astonishing.”
Urthemiel stood thirty feet out on the lake, wryly refusing to sink into the water. It might have been a miracle in the mortal world, but in the Fade walking on water was merely a parlor trick. She smiled and placed first one foot, then the other onto the surface of the water and made her way to him. “Just astonishing?”
“Beautiful,” he corrected himself. “I would know.”
Alyna placed her hands on his chest, leaning in to kiss him lightly. “Thank you.”
“For what?”
She looked away. “It has been a very, very long time since anyone spoke to me kindly.” Urthemiel took her in his arms, and she gave herself fully to his kiss. Her hands gripped his arms then slid lower to his waist, and below. “Have you ever made love?” she asked.
Urthemiel smiled. “I was ancient before your kind existed.”
Alyna stepped back from him, reaching for the straps of her dress and sliding them off her shoulders. The dress slide down her body and slipped through the surface of the water, sinking into the murk. She kept her hands at her sides by an effort of will, allowing Urthemiel to take her in. He reached a hand out to her, welcoming her, and she gladly returned to his arms.
Something shifted; Urthemiel’s clothes simply dissipated. Alyna let her hands explore, stroking over his soft flesh. Hesitantly she reached down and grasped his penis. Urthemiel’s hands closed around hers, leading her in long, slow strokes. He moaned lowly, sending a thrill through Alyna. Urthemiel rolled his head, smiling at the sensation. He reached between her legs, fingers brushing over a particular spot and she jolted. Her concentration slipped and she’d sunk to her ankles before she caught herself.
“What…was that?”
“Your body is a miracle of the Maker’s design,” Urthemiel answered. “Here.” He knelt on the water, sending small ripples. “This is for you. You shouldn’t have to worry about falling through the water.”
It took Alyna a moment to divine his intentions, but she soon under stood. She knelt over him, straddling his knees and facing away from him. Urthemiel pressed himself against her back, one hand holding her close and fondling her breast, the other guiding his penis into her. She gasped at the pressure, and slowly let herself settle onto it.
“Yes?” he whispered in her ear.
“Yes.”
Urthemiel’s lower hand found the spot between her legs again Alyna’s body sang with pleasure. She raised herself and slid down again, giving herself over to her urges. His presence filled her until she was blind to anything other than the tightening in her belly. She began to shout out, a long undulating cry that ended only when Alyna slumped back against Urthemiel, her chest heaving.
“That was incredible,” she whispered. She slid off of his length and allowed herself to float on the surface. “This is wonderful. This is the only time I ever feel safe.”
Urthemiel floated by, legs kicking idly. “I’ve something I’d like to give you.”
“I’m not sure I can do that again so soon!”
He chuckled. “My brother first gave it as a gift to his faithful in Tevinter, so many centuries ago.” He took her hand. “Do you trust me?”
She took it without hesitation. “Yes.”
A small stiletto appeared in his other hand. He let her see it, and when she didn’t object he cut a long, shallow line along her ribs. She grimaced at the sensation, squeezing his hand tighter. “What do you feel?”
“Pain.”
“Center yourself. Look within.”
She frowned. “I…loss. Like I lost a small bit of myself, but it’s coming back slowly.”
“Yes. Very good.” He drew the stiletto across her skin again, leaving a parallel crimson line. “Now look outside of yourself. Do you see that bit of yourself evaporating?”
Alyna reached after it. “I do! Like a fog.”
“Take it back.”
Red mist coalesced over her open palm. “Blood magic?” she gasped.
Urthemiel nodded. “Know that the life force that fled from those cuts is merely mana that has been bound in flesh. The Chantry fears this because they know how to control and subjugate magic that is fueled by mana. They do not understand magic that is fueled by life force.”
“Thank you,” she whispered. She pulled him closer over the surface of the water, kissing his lips gently. “Thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you…”
*
Alyna awoke on her back, robe hiked up to her chest and both hands rubbing over the spot Urthemiel taught her. They came away slick, and she smiled wanly as she wiped them off on her bedroll. She rolled to her feet, straightening her robe as she did, and pushed back the tent flap to step into the Brecillian dawn. The first person she saw was Alistair, who flushed bright red and turned away when he saw her. Wynne looked even more disapproving than usual, and Leliana diligently avoided her gaze. Only Zevran approached her.
“My dear Warden,” he said. “I had no idea that you were a woman of such…vocal passions. If you every find yourself in need of a partner, please, I beg you…consider me.”
Alyna smiled. “Thank you, Zevran. I’m more than satisfied.”
*
“I’m sorry, my friends.”
Riordan looked at the younger Wardens with sorrow. “Since I am oldest and the closest to my Calling, I will make the final blow.” Alistair and Alyna gaped at him, each for their own reasons.
“I can’t believe…Duncan never told us,” Alistair said. “But it makes sense, doesn’t it?”
“We can’t do this,” Alyna blurted.
Riordan looked to her consolingly. “I know it is a shock, and I wish Duncan could have explained it to you himself, but this is the only way to destroy the archdemon. To merely slay the beast will allow it to migrate to another body and only delay the Blight rather than end it.”
“That’s exactly it! You’re talking about just…just annihilating the very soul of something that was ancient before time was measured!” Alyna snapped. “How are we, from our place on the ground, supposed to understand the plans of so grand a creature?”
Riordan stared at her, uncomprehending. “Have you lost your mind?”
“For the first time in my life I feel like I’ve found it!”
“She’s never been reliable, Riordan,” Alistair said, turning from Alyna. “I think something in her past…well, I’m willing to say Duncan may have not made the right choice with her.”
The elder Warden’s eyes slitted. “Perhaps when the time comes, Alyna should stay with the supporting troops.” There was a steel in his voice that suggested it was less of an order than a threat.”
Alyna turned on her heel, stalking from the senior Warden’s room. How dare they challenge Urthemiel’s mission? What did they know of his attempts to bring the Maker to justice for abandoning them all? The audacity!
She shoved aside the door to her own room, fuming, and didn’t register the person standing before the fire until she was well inside.
“Do not be alarmed,” Morrigan said drily, “it is only I.”
Alyna glared. “What do you want?”
“Such a petulant mood,” the other woman glanced over her shoulder. “I have a plan, you see. A way out. A loop in your hole. I know what happens when the archdemon dies. I offer a way out. A way out for all Grey Wardens. There need not be a sacrifice.”
“I’m not worried about my death.”
“Of course. I’m sure the lives of Alistair or the other Warden are also…important? It is old magic, from before the Circle of Magi.”
“Get out, Morrigan.”
Morrigan crossed the room, seating herself on the bed. “Hear me out. Convince Alistair to lay with me tonight, on the eve of battle. From that union a child will be born. At this early stage, the child can absorb that essence and not perish.”
That brought Alyna up short. “Wait. What?”
“Think about what I offer you. A chance to avoi-”
“Yes yes yes. How? What happens to the archdemon?”
Frowning, Morrigan answered, “The…the child would be born with the soul of an Old God. Some things are worth preserving in this world. Make of that what you will.”
Alyna’s mind whirled. The Wardens were closing on Urthemiel; if Alistair and Riordan didn’t kill him then the legions from Orlais certainly would. But to be born again, made incarnate as a young child…no one would expect that. No one would be prepared.
Morrigan continued on, heedless of Alyna’s thoughts. “After this is done, you let me walk away. Forever. The child will be mine to raise as I wish.” There was certainty in her voice, and Alyna recognized that on this point Morrigan would not allow herself to be budged. Not an insurmountable challenge.
“We should find Alistair then, shouldn’t we?” she asked with as much sweetness as she could muster.
Alyna stepped into the hall, knocking on Alistair’s door. After a few moments he answered in his bedclothes. “Come to rant more about the rights due to darkspawn?” His eyes flicked to Morrigan behind her. “And what do you want?”
“There’s something we need to discuss,” Alyna said. “May we come in?”
Alistair glowered at them, but stepped aside and gestured them in. Morrigan crossed to the bed, and glared at Alyna when she stepped over to the writing desk, rummaged through the piles of correspondences. Alistair stood with his back to the door, scowling at them both. “Well? Are we going to do each other’s hair and have pillow fights? Because if not I’ve a very early morning coming what with the march all the way to Denerim.”
Alyna continued searching through the desk, and Morrigan snarled under her breath, “Vacuous girl.” To Alistair: “I have a plan that could allow you to kill the archdemon without any sort of sacrifice. All it require is that you lay with me.”
Alistair gaped at her. “Are you-” Alyna found what she was looking for -a plain letter opener- and with a gleeful smile crossed the room and jabbed it in between Morrigan’s ribs. “-crazy? What is wrong with-”
“Silence,” Alyna commanded, her hand outstretched to him. Alistair froze, his features becoming slack. Morrigan slouched back against the wall, clutching at her side as the blood welled out between her fingers.
“It seems…you know something of…of blood magic,” she hissed between clenched teeth.
Alyna wheeled on the apostate, her eyes glinting. “Back, Morrigan. Back into the recesses of your mind. I’ll let you out when you’ve been made more agreeable.”
“I will never-” Morrigan started, but despite her protests her eyes became as vacant as Alistair’s. Alyna could feel Morrigan struggling as her volition was stripped away and took extra care to wrap the essence that was Morrigan thoroughly enough that she would never free herself.
“Well,” Alyna said, looking from one to the other. The life energy she’d gained from Morrigan’s wound was almost spent, and experimentally she extended another command backed with mana. “Alistair. Sit on the bed.” He obeyed without hesitation, and she sat next to him. She drew forth the letter opener again, using its sharp point to dig furrows across his shoulders. “Listen to me,” she said, her voice penetrating to his very concept of reality. “Morrigan came to you alone. She told you that she wanted to lay with you as a way to pass the night. And you were tempted, Alistair. You allowed yourself to be seduced and you threw away your chastity to quench some dirty apostate’s idle fancy.” A tear formed at the corner of Alistair’s eye, and Alyna leaned into hiss in his ear. “And you loved it, you whore.”
With that she stepped away and turned to Morrigan. Alyna twirled the letter opener between her fingers, looking into Morrigan’s vacant expression, and stabbed it into the witch’s arm. She pulled it back out, drawing in the energy and watching the blood run down Morrigan’s arm before stabbing the other arm. Again and again Alyna speared her, and her amber-eyed expression remained plain even after her arms soaked red with spilled blood. Alyna chuckled to herself; she could hear Morrigan impotently screaming her revenge from the confines of her mind.
The elf stood on tip-toes to whisper in Morrigan’s ear. “You never came to talk to me,” she said. “You approached Alistair directly. You knew that appealing to reason would be pointless with him, and so moved to more degrading, carnal argument.” She reached up and pulled Morrigan’s shawl down and away from her body, exposing her high, firm breasts. “When he finishes with you, you will leave here and continue on as you plan. But every solstice you will without fail inform me of where you are, what you are doing and how Urthemiel is progressing. And without fail you will forget that you are informing me.” She plucked up an empty goblet from Alistair’s desk, holding it under Morrigan’s hand and allowing the blood to drip in. Satisfied, she put the make-shift phylactery aside and smiled. “Just a bit of insurance to make sure you can’t get too far away. Oh, stop struggling. Once I’m done you won’t even remember you’re not your own woman anymore.”
Alyna gestured at each of them in turn, her healing magic sealing their wounds immediately. “Just ignore the blood.” She stepped back, taking Morrigan’s hand and leading her before Alistair at the foot of the bed. “Your child is more important than you will ever know.” Alyna kicked Morrigan’s calf, causing her to fall to her knees before Alistair. The elf took a seat at the desk chair, folding her hands primly. “Now get to work.”
As one, Alistair and Morrigan came alive. He looked down at her in surprise, biting his lip and mumbling, “I shouldn’t…”
“Now, now,” Morrigan murmured, leaning forward to lay her head on his thigh. “Surely even templars have needs much as witches do. Oh!” An evil smile crossed her lips as Alistair’s erection began to press against his smallclothes. She watched Alistair’s eyes as she reached up with one hand and tugged his small clothes free; he closed his eyes as his erection popped out, and Morrigan placed the tip of her tongue at the base of his penis and gave it a long lick to the top before opening her mouth and swallowing him down. Alistair’s head shot back and he gasped at the sensation, looking down again as her head began bobbing up and down.
“Make fun of me for crying in the night?” Alyna hissed, knuckles tightening her hands clenched together. “You’ll see. Choke yourself, Morrigan.” The other woman complied, the sound of her strangled gagging obscured by Alistair’s moans.
He began to quake with rising orgasm and Morrigan pulled herself away, a thin strand of saliva stretching between the head of his penis and her lips. “So soon, Alistair? Perhaps the rumors of Grey Warden endurance were overstated?” Something dark passed across his face and he rose, tossing aside his discarded smallclothes and pointing to the bed.
“Get up there.”
Morrigan rose, a smirk ghosting her lips. “Perhaps it would be best for both our intentions if I were to disrobe first?” Her fingers danced across the fastenings of her leggings, allowing them to drop to the floor. With her head high she approached the bed and lay down, spreading her knees and parting her nether lips with her fingers. “Well? Am I to tattoo an invitation across my belly?”
Alistair was over her in a moment, and she laughed outright as he fumbled with his penis for her opening. “Hardly even good for the one th-” she cut herself off with a grunt as Alistair plunged home.
“And you,” Alyna snarled, rising from her chair as Alistair set a brutal pace. “You would condemn me for making impossible decisions? You would try to obliterate my love?” She crossed to the bed, leaning over the rutting couple to snarl in his ear. “Look at her, Alistair.” He obeyed instantly, locking gazes with her contemptful yellow eyes. “Know that as long as you live, you will never forget this moment. Your whoring with haunt you and you will never stop trying to equal this moment and you will never succeed.”
Morrigan canted her hips up, wrapping her legs around Alistair and forcing him to thrust straight down into her. She grunted from the exertion of bearing his throttling, and a vicious smile broke across her face as his grunts took on a desperate tone. “Yes,” she urged him on, “do your part.”
Alistair orgasmed with a roar, pushing in deeply and clutching at Morrigan. Morrigan didn’t let him pull away, drawing his head to her breasts until she felt him twitch his last inside her before pushing him away. Alistair rolled onto his back and the two shared a confused, awkward look as Morrigan cupped her nethers with a hand to keep his spending from spilling out.
“Delicious,” Alyna murmured as she left the room.
*
The archdemon -Urthemiel- flared his wings and roared, scattering the Ferelden soldiers. Alistair and the others skidded to a halt at the very power of the display; Alyna skidded to a halt at the beauty and majesty. “Oh, my god,” she whispered.
“You stay back,” Alistair shouted at Alyna. “It’s bad enough Morrigan ran off, Wynne is going to need as much help keeping us alive as possible.”
“Of course,” she said, protective spells forming at her fingers. Alistair and Sten led the charge through the darkspawn, their battlecries sure to become the stuff of song.
“We’ll only have one chance,” Wynne said as she took her place beside Alyna, healing energy already wreathing her. “But don’t fear, child. It’s almost over.”
“No,” Alyna smiled. “It’s only beginning.”