Work Text:
Morrigan disapproved of Denerim. She disapproved of the buildings with their imposing stone ceilings, she disapproved of the domesticated dogs, she disapproved of what passed for food, she disapproved of the fact that she was so rarely allowed to kill anyone.
She hated that she had absolutely no choice in coming here.
Beside her walked her son. She had never named him, one of the small acts of defiance she’d taken against the woman who had so completely controlled her life over the past ten years. It hadn’t mattered; by the time the boy could talk, he’d selected a name for himself. It was an ancient name, and sent shivers through her when he first spoke it.
Urthemiel.
Even through her antipathy Morrigan could see that Denerim had fallen greatly since she had last visited. The previously-bustling streets were now filled with haggard citizens, survivors of the constant skirmishes between the Chantry, the templars, rogue apostates, Genitivian cultists and Ferelden’s own army. The entire nation was in a state of barely-contained chaos and if the gossip Morrigan had heard during their journey east was any indication, Queen Anora and her consort were barely able to keep the situation from exploding outright.
Over the past ten years she’d learned to look at the boy as little as possible. Meeting his yellow eyes rendered her unable to even think of doing anything he might disapprove of. The guards of the royal palace had no such preparation, and so welcomed them with deference bordering on worshipful.
“Announce us, please,” Urthemiel said. The very sound of his voice stirred feelings in Morrigan; motherly, devoted. Horrid things. If these sensations had been stirred in Flemeth during her own motherhood it was little wonder why she had seemed so perpetually irritable.
The guard pushed open the door. On a raised dais Morrigan recognized two women, and her fury spiked at the sight of them. Even from this distance she could see the vial of blood hung as a pendent around the elf’s throat; a phylactery that glowed with Morrigan’s own vitality. “Queen Anora Mac Tir, sovereign of Ferelden and Alyna Surana, Commander of the Grey, Arlessa of Amaranthine and Queen-Consort. Announcing Morrigan of the Wilds and…and…”
Alyna rose from her throne, crossing the chamber to kneel at Urthemiel’s feet. “Beauty,” she whispered. Slowly, Morrigan gathered a vicious spell in her hands. If she were subtle enough, she could flay the flesh from the elf’s bones before any defense could be raised-
Urthemiel placed his small hand on Morrigan’s, and in a heartbeat her hatred faded. “No, mother.” To the kneeling mage he opened his arms, and Alyna gleefully swept him up in a hug.
“I knew you would return!” she cried, tears of joy in her eyes. “I’ve waited for you, Urthemiel, and I’ve not been idle.”
“Alyna?” Anora had risen from her throne as well, making her way forward. “Would you care to introduce us? Who are these people who you thought so important?” The mage carefully placed Urthemiel on the ground, taking his small hand and leading him back to her wife.
“Anora, this is Urthemiel. He’s to be our god now.”
Morrigan could see a look of incredulous disbelief cross Anora’s face, but Urthemiel met her gaze and she smiled as if it all made perfect sense. “Can he…can he lead Ferelden through these dark times?” she asked plaintively, so different from the Anora who had cast Alistair out.
“If necessary.” The small voice was surprisingly firm, but Morrigan had long ago become used to the contradictions of an Old God in an adolescent body. “But I suspect we’re about to have far more pressing matters.”
“My Queen!” The guard who had announced them burst in. “Soldiers bearing the insignia of the Chantry have stormed the docks! We’re being invaded!”
“Fools,” Alyna hissed. To the guard: “Marshal our defenses. Make the Chantry forces suffer for this attack.” To Morrigan: “Go with them. You’ll stall them so that we can make our escape.” She turned to Urthemiel. “We must be away. I’ve spent years fortifying Soldier’s Keep as your stronghold. All the armies in Ferelden won’t be able to breech those walls.”
“I admire your initiative,” the boy-god said, “but I’m afraid our escape has already been cut off.”
“Quite perceptive, archdemon.” The voice spoke with an Orlesian lilt, and Alyna turned to see Leliana enter behind the startled guard. She wore dark leathers with the Chantry’s sigil, and behind her stood a stern young man; each was armed with a bow. “There is no need for violence, my friend. Let us speak.”
“How did you possibly…?” Alyna asked, then spotted the coils of rope tied tightly around the bard’s wrist. “Oh, Leliana. You clever thing.”
“Is the havoc in Ferelden your doing? And Kirkwall?”
“Keeping the Chantry and Wardens scattered and uncoordinated was necessary to keep them from realizing Urthemiel had returned,” Alyna nodded. “As to Kirkwall…I hadn’t intend to spread my efforts so widely, but yes. I thought Anders would attack the Chantry in Ferelden, not all the way in the Free Marches. It was Anders though, so I really should have expected he’d find some loophole.”
“Your mind is controlled by this being, Alyna. It is an archdemon. Please, remember the friendship we had-”
“Blasphemy!” the man behind her shouted, notching an arrow and letting fly in the blink of an eye. “I shall not allow the abomination to continue staining the Maker’s creation!”
“Sebastian, no!”
The arrow flew true, striking Urthemiel in the belly, and all hell broke loose.
“NO!" Morrigan screamed, casting every protection she could over the boy.
Alyna reached out, crushing Sebastian and Leliana with bars of sheer force. “You dare, you dare to assault his person! You will suffer for that, both of you, for a very long-” she cut herself off with a tortured shriek, crumpling to the floor as her spells dissipated.
“Oops. Sorry about that,” Alistair said drily. “Kind of meant to kill you outright. Mind cleaning up, Bethany?” The dark-haired woman beside him summoned flames, and Alyna sneered at her.
“Tried to find a replacement, did you Alistair?” Anora appeared by the elf’s side, and as she helped the mage up Alyna produced a thin stiletto. Without hesitation she jabbed it to the hilt into the queen’s shoulder, simultaneously clutching the other woman to her and reveling in the sudden power. Anora fell away, an expression of shocked horror on her features, as Alyna gathered energy that made the stone walls of the throne room tremble. “Come then, little mage. See how long you can survive.”
“ENOUGH.”
Urthemiel spoke no louder than a whisper, but his voice cut through everyone in the room. He pulled the arrow from his side and tossed it to the ground disdainfully, his wound already healing. He walked to where Leliana collected herself on the floor and crouched beside her. “You. I’ve seen what Alyna did to you. I saw how thorough the bindings she left on your mind a decade ago were. How did you even recognize them, let alone see through them?”
Leliana tried to avoid looking at him, but to be near him was to adore him. “I…I don’t know. I had a vision of Sebastian, and then while I was with him my attention was…was drawn to the rope.”
Urthemiel nodded. “A vision indeed.” He glanced upward. “Finally! Finally, You’re willing to talk.”
“I am?” Leliana asked, confused.
“It’s not the first vision you’ve had, is it?” the boy-god asked. “He’s spoken to you before,directing you to where He wanted you. You are His Harbinger.”
“I don’t know what you are talking about-”
“Well?” Urthemiel demanded, shouting up at the ceiling. “We’re here. You have our attention, and we apparently have Yours. Are You willing to talk?”
Alyna and Morrigan traded an uncertain look, and the witch shook her head; no, he’s never started talking to the sky before. “Hold on to your socks,” Alistair muttered. “It looks like things are about to take a turn for the confusing.”
Beside him, Bethany shot him an disbelieving look. “I’m facing down an archdemon reborn, the witch my husband has been fantasizing about as long as we’ve been married and a mage who just stabbed her own wife, alongside a lay sister from the Chantry I grew up in. We passed ‘confusing’ quite some time ago, don’t you think?”
Silence answered Urthemiel’s cry, and in that quiet Leliana hesitantly asked, “What…what do you want to talk about?”
Urthemiel turned to her. “I see. Still keeping a barrier between us then, are You. All right, at least You’re listening. I want to talk about Your abdication, Maker. I want to talk about Your failure to live up to Your responsibilities.”
“We are to blame,” Sebastian retorted. “Humans and elves, the Tevinter whose crime was invading the Golden City and sullied it with their presence.”
“Poor child, blaming himself for his parent’s neglect. At least if you’re responsible for your fate you can claim some measure of control, yes? It’s comforting, in a way,” Urthemiel replied. “The Maker wanted to create life, so He did. He created the humans and elves-”
Sebastian interrupted. “And the dwarves, and the Qunari, and the whole world.”
The boy-god glowered at him. “No. Actually. You would do well to not lecture me on events I witnessed, mortal.” Shaking his head, he turned back to Leliana. “You created life, imbued it with ingenuity, passion and verve. The only crime they committed was to exceed Your expectations!”
“I am not the Maker,” Leliana shot back.
“You are his Harbinger. He listens through you.” Leliana blinked in surprise at that, and Urthemiel continued. “We tried to warn You that this would happen. Razikale, Andoral and I. None of the other races are now what they were originally created to be, that is what makes the alive. But when Your creations sought You out, you were astonished. Terrified! Your pets had learned to open doors. So you fled.”
A surge of anger came over Leliana. “And why do you pretend to care? All of you called Me sibling and set about destroying My creations!” She blinked, surprised at her own outburst.
“Your lack of responsibility disgusted us,” Urthemiel continued. “You ignored our entreaties, but we knew that You cared about Your creations, even if you denied it to Yourself. So Dumat proposed that we force You to pay attention by threatening Your creations. He carried out the First Blight."
Alistair raised his hand. “Wait, wait. Mister…archdemon?”
“Urthemiel.”
“Right, that. And terribly sorry about killing you before. But are you honestly trying to say that the Fifth Blight, that all Blights and the countless people who died because of them…you’re saying you were doing all of that for our sake?”
“Our concern was that the Maker mind His responsibilities, and that the human and elven species be granted the dignity they deserve as living beings. Our concern is for your species as a whole. As individuals, your lives pass by too quickly to matter.” Alistair shot a look at Alyna, but if the mage took note of the casual dismissal by her god she gave no indication.
Alyna, Morrigan and Bethany suddenly looked to the throne, and an instant later everyone else was able to sense a tugging on the very fabric of what is. Reality itself parted like a curtain, revealing an everything so complex that the mind reeled at taking it in, and Leliana cleared her throat. “You’re welcome to go. To Him. I think…I think he wants to talk in person.”
Urthemiel grinned, and for a moment looked just like the nine-year-old boy he pretended to be. “Finally. I…” he looked back at Leliana. “No. Maker, no. We want you to take responsibility for them, and that means respecting their devotion to You. Start here. Reward her instead of silently dismissing her fidelity. Thank her.” Leliana’s breath caught, and her hand flew to her mouth.
“I’m…I’m invited.” Tears of joy welled at the corner of her eyes. “The Maker wants to meet me.”
Urthemiel smiled at her, and offered his hand to Alyna. “You well-deserve your reward as well. Say your goodbyes, you’ll come with me.”
“Of course,” she replied immediately.
“Her?” Sebastian demanded incredulously. “She is going to meet the Maker in person, after all the foul evils she’s committed?”
Leliana stopped him. “The Maker judges everyone, Sebastian. Trust in that. Right now I need you to find Cassandra, and go with her to speak to the Divine. Tell her everything that has happened here.”
Alyna was already making her way to the portal, and Alistair intervened. “So…Leliana told me what you did, that night before the battle with the archdemon. To Morrigan and me.” He coughed nervously. “Could you possibly…take it back? I want to stop seeing her in everything. I want to be able to be true to my wife, in body and soul.”
Alyna’s eyes flared, a torrent of reprisals coming to her lips. “You called me a coward. You called me weak. You-” She stopped suddenly as Urthemiel touched her gently.
“It’s enough, Alyna. It’s served its purpose. Let go.” The elf stared back at him and for once wasn’t overwhelmed by the need to please him. She realized he was deliberately tamping himself down, trying not to influence her. “Let go.”
“All right,” she whispered, and waved her hand dismissively. Alistair and Morrigan both shivered as the spell left them. “For what it’s worth, I’m…I’m sorry.” She looked to Bethany. “Ah…it was very nice to meet you. I wish you all the best in your marriage.” Alyna turned away, missing the other woman’s incredulous look, and found herself face to face with Morrigan. The witch’s amber eyes slitted, but rather than attack she merely held out her hand, palm up. Alyna nodded, unclasping the phylactery pendent and placing it in Morrigan’s palm. Morrigan accepted it wordlessly and walked away, falling into the shape of a wolf as she went and disappeared down the hall.
There was a touch at her shoulder, and Alyna turned to see Anora beside her. “You stabbed me.”
“I needed the power your pain would bring.”
Anora shook her head despairingly, then visibly marshaled herself. “Do you have to go?”
“I do. For ages humans have done horrible things in the Maker’s name, and the Maker’s silence has been consent. I will hold the Maker accountable for all those things.” Alyna lost her composure for a moment. “I will have justice for what Greagoir did to me, in the Maker’s name.”
“Did you ever…was all this always about your revenge on the templars? Did you ever love me?”
“You were useful in keeping the political situation unstable.” At Anora’s stricken look Alyna smiled, reaching up to stroke the queen’s cheek. “Oh, Anora. Eventually I grew fond of you, yes.”
“I…suppose that will have to do.”
Urthemiel and Leliana stood at the foot of the portal, and Leliana offered her hand to Alyna. The elf took it, and gave it a squeeze as Urthemiel beckoned them to follow him through. “I’ve missed you.”
With that they walked through the portal, cross the Veil and through the Fade.