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In good times and in bad	By : kruemel Category: +A through F > Dragon Age (all) > Dragon Age (all) Views: 14749 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: Dragon Age and the characters of the game do not belong to me. This is a no profit fanfiction

Chapter List
- 69
- 70
- 71
@Myron: Thank you very much, you are too sweet! You so should try to write your thoughts down, although I know that can be quite hard to do. Rebel, rebel indeed is quite fitting and it is a great song. Notevensorry says thanks, too. And as for the guilt after the threesome... I didn't really come up with that. The characters are so strong and loud in my mind, they speak for themselves. And as they are still two teenagers for the first time head over heels in love, they felt all that guilt and shame and confusion despite their kinky ways. There's still a difference between being kinky with your gf or bf and a threesome with a stranger. Glad you liked it. ;) Notes:
"Nobody goes that deep into the forest."
I can't remember how often we have heard that sentence the past two weeks. We've travelled through the Brecilian Passage towards Gwaren and we've asked everybody and their dog if they knew someone to guide us through the forest to find the Dalish. Usually - that is when they don't try to bash our heads in, this is the MacTir teyrnir after all - their answers clearly imply that they believe us not to have all our marbles.
Well, we are trying to end that Blight all by ourselves, stop a civil war and - to top it all - declare me king. Of course we're not right in our heads!
Rori by now is tempted to just walk into that forest and kill anything stupid enough to stand in her way. Sten agrees and so does Shale. They both think all this running around and looking for a guide is a waste of time. Sten even thinks looking for the Dalish at all is another delay in facing the real enemy.
"What use can those creatures be?" Sten grumbles. "They have allowed humans to defeat and enslave them."
"Us weak humans, we cannot slay the archdemon with our superior strength and wits. So we rely on masses," Rori winks conspiratorially. Her voice drops to a hushed whisper as she continues: "We make the Dalish stand in the front row so that the archdemon eats them first. With a bit of luck it is too full then to devour us as well. Perhaps it even takes a little nap and then we sneak upon it and slay it. Brilliant plan, huh?" She makes a girlish squeal and pirouettes, then leaves the Qunari standing there, muttering something under her breath. I very much doubt she's complimenting his hairstyle.
Parts of the Qunari philosophy dont sound that bad at all. They even make sense to me. But then there's all the other parts that are awfully scary, just like Sten himself. The way Sten stares after her he's trying to decide if she's just dumb or just nuts or both. The way she grins back at him, she's trying to decide if flipping him the bird was suicidal.
"I have never heard of such a thing called a Qunari." The golem and Sten are standing a bit aside while Rori talks to yet another group of huntsmen without much success. Similar in size and build, the talking statue and the warrior appear like evil twins as they glower at anybody daring to look their direction.
"Then you have not been listening. We did not row to shore last year, we have been about for centuries," Sten replies gloomily.
"I have listened," Shale sulks. "I have done little else, in fact, and yet I do not remember anyone mentioning such a Qunari in all my years in the village."
"Relying on humans as a source of education is a fool's errand," Sten says matter-of-factly.
"They are rather ignorant, aren't they? And feeble. At the best of times." Neither the golem nor the Qunari try to keep their voices down. I look over my shoulder into two grim and almost square faces that stare back at me as if I was the very incarnation of a feeble and ignorant human.
I smile foolishly and wave. "Why are they both looking at me?" I mutter to Rori.
"They look at both of us, I dare say. Just don't listen. You should have a whole lot of practice by now from all the not-listening to Morrigan," Rori replies. She's smiling and waving, too. I admit we might not make the brightest impression at that moment.
"Yeah, that's certainly an advantage, being used to major bashing. But how do you cope?" I laugh.
"I grew up amongst nobles, Alistair. Arrogant fools who think themselves superior of anybody else and act as if they have eaten heaps of wisdom with silver spoons are no rarity there." Rori also makes no effort to be silent. Sten's counterattack follows promptly.
"We have creatures on Par Vollen that are similar to humans," the Qunari says casually. "The humans call them 'monkeys'. They are dull, cowardly vermin. They cry out shrilly when threatened and throw their own feces."
"That is an excellent comparison," Shale agrees. "I wonder if they are related?"
"Possibly." The Qunari stares pointedly at Rori and me.
"Whoa, he is good, isn't he? Better even than Morrigan," I observe. "She hasn't yet called me a monkey."
"Monkeys are capable of a learning process," the witch comments as she passes by. "That's more than one can say about you, Alistair."
"Big words for someone who will never be more than a mean bitch no matter how hard she tries," I retort miffedly.
"That's all you can come up with?" Morrigan snorts. "And there I was looking forward to a battle of wits. Alas, I find you are unarmed."
"Couldn't you crawl into a bush somewhere and die? That would be great, thanks," I mutter in a huff. Why do I actually still speak to that awful person. Why does Rori actually still keep her around? Oh, wait, Rori thinks Morrigan's vulnerable and lonely and greatly misunderstood. "Your delicate flower of a witch has been mean to me again," I sulk, hoping beyond hope that Rori is going to show a bit of sympathy for me.
"Just because a flower is delicate, doesn't mean it comes without thorns," Rori laughs, bending in her saddle to quickly smack a kiss to my cheek.
"You know, Sten compared her to a flower, too. To one that entraps and devours insects. He's got a point there, if not anywhere else," I mutter gloomily, trying to ignore Rori's amused giggle.
"Alistair, Morrigan is far too obvious to be deceptive. There's others who are more dangerous that way."
In my opinion Rori's far too trusting. Considering what happened to her family, that's something that makes me watch out even more. When she first started to gather her companions, she said she didn't trust them. But that's just not how she is. She sees the potential to be more, good, even great in people. And she can activate that potential and make those who follow her rise above themselves.
That doesn't apply to Morrigan of course. She was mean, is mean and will always be mean, no matter what Rori says or does. Flemeth sent her with us for a reason and whatever it is, I doubt I will like it.
Sulking, I glare daggers at the back of the witch, wrecking my brain to come up with a way to pay her back. For once I'd like to be the winner of our verbal battles. Usually she just mercilessly stomps me into the ground. And commenting on her nose over and over again gets old quickly. There has to be something, something to prove she's not as smart as she wants me to believe... oh, oh, I think, I got it!
"All right. I've come up with one, a question that you can't answer," I say smugly as I guide my horse to walk next to hers. I try to bite back a victorious grin - and fail miserably.
"Are you talking to me?" Morrigan asks, sounding bored and slightly annoyed as if I was a midge buzzing around her head. Well, this midge is going to sting!
"That's right." I say complacently. "You think you're so smart? I've got an academic question that I bet you won't be able to answer."
"Oh, I doubt that." Morrigan sounds bored.
"So tell me, then: what was the name of Andraste's husband?" Of course I know that Morrigan wasn't taught anything about the Maker and Andraste. I could ask Sten or Oghren the same question and they probably wouldn't know - because it was never of any importance to them. But that's not the point.
"This is a religious question, not an academic one," Morrigan hisses. Her expression is so sour, it makes her whole face wrinkly. That very moment she's the image of her mother.
"You're joking, right?" I laugh in her face. "A five year-old could answer that question. Do you not know more than a child?"
Morrigan answers with a disgusted snort. "I care nothing for your religion. And this game of yours is over." She spurs on her horse to get away from me.
Ha!
"Oh, how the mighty have crumbled," I cheer gleefully, turning in my saddle to celebrate my victory with Rori. But she rolls her eyes at me and shakes her head, more amused than she is annoyed but that's certainly not the reaction I was hoping for.
"What?" I sulk. I begin to feel somewhat stupid.
"Nothing." Rori grins, but she has that look on her face she has reserved for Barkley when he gets caught red pawed stealing cookies, with his head stuck in Sten's backpack and he cannot shake it off without help.
"She couldn't answer it," I insist, not willing to give up my triumph. "She's not as smart as she claims to be."
"Hmm." Rori giggles.
"Oh, come on! Can't I for once win?" I exclaim, sounding as sullen as a sulking child.
"If it makes you feel any better," Rori laughs, reaching out to pinch my cheek, causing me to blush. She never does that. Wynne, quite often. Leliana, always. But never Rori.
Great.
Just great.
Now I feel like a complete retard.
I groan, accepting my defeat.
Fine, I am a complete retard.
All I achieved was to prove Morrigan right when I wanted to show she wasn't. I am stupid - quod erat demonstrandum.
Congratulations, Alistair!
And this wasn't only stupid... It was childish. Silly. Mean.
Now... I wish I could apologize. But... this is Morrigan! I so cannot apologize to Morrigan. I'd rather bite my tongue off and swallow it. And she... deserves this, doesn't she? She certainly does. And if I keep telling myself that, maybe I can get rid of that awful sickness that comes with the shame...
Ohhhh... blast!
"I'm an idiot," I mutter, half to myself, half to Rori.
"So what? You are my idiot and that's all I care about," she says softly and with so much warmth in her voice, her calling me a fool almost sounds like an endearment.
"Now, that's some declaration of love," I grumble and pout. But what am I complaining about? At least she didn't call me...
"Aww, you're so cute!" Rori squeals.
...cute.
"You are on a mission today, aren't you? Cute. Why does it always have to be cute? What about manly? Strong? Hot? Brave?"
"What? Right now?" Rori laughs, trying to stiffle it when she sees the miffed and hurt look on my face. "Alistair, you can be all of that. You are all of that, but..."
"Ow, don't say 'but'! I get it!" Angry with myself, I decide it's all Morrigan's fault. She's so mean and nasty, she pushes me to act as mean and nasty as she does. She's like poison, tainting us all. And that mood gets me to make this bet with Zevran. It's not all my idea. Leliana and Oghren are in on it, too. Not that it makes things any better. Anyway, we all gather around the campfire at night expectantly, watching the self-announced womanizer work his magic.
"Has anyone told you what marvellous eyes you possess, my dear?" Zevran remarks nonchalantly, his accent even thicker than usually.
Morrigan shortly looks up from peeling potatoes for supper, completely unimpressed by the elf's comment. "Again with the flattery? Do you not tire from these pointless exercises?"
"In Antiva, women are accustomed to being showered with the praise they deserve. Men should worship you at your feet as you pass." Zevran sounds as if he's completely at awe, bewitched by Morrigan's ravishing beauty.
"They don't find that incredibly annoying?" Morrigan snorts, deliberatedly staring at the potato in her hand.
"Or stumble over them?" Rori laughs. I now have the image in mind of Antivan women tripping over men, throwing themselves into the dust at their feet to worship them, with every step they take.
"They are goddesses receiving their subjects, just as you should be. Whatever would be annoying about that?" Zevran asks with a tenderness in his voice, it's incredible he can fake it.
"I have no wish to be placed upon a pedestal," Morrigan says forcefully, glowering at the elf who has left his seat on a log to kneel at the witch's feet. I'd be more careful if I was him. She holds a knife in her hands. The potatoes, however, are forgotten for now. Morrigan suspiciously watches the elf. Then she nervously tucks a lose strand behind her ear.
"But you deserve no less," Zevran cries out yearningly. He claps his hands over his heart, his expression is one of pure admiration. "You should be admired by painters, copied by sculptors, exalted by poets! Surely you know that yours is a beauty so exotic it... it would turn the eye of the Maker Himself!"
"Well, I suppose I..." Morrigan mutters, blushing a deeper shade of red. Even her ears turn pink and there's a small embarrassed, flattered smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. She even giggles coquettishly.
That's when Zevran jumps back to his feet, spins on his heels and deeply bows to his audience.
"By the Maker! You were right. You win." I would have never believed it, if I hadn't seen it with my very own eyes.
"Alistair, my friend, I think you owe me five silvers, yes?" Zevran holds out his hand and I drop the coins into his palm.
"You are a master indeed, Zevran. You win the bet fair and square," Leliana comments, clapping her hands before she has her coins join mine.
"Hmph. Fine. So I owe you a flagon. Bastard." Oghren grumbles.
"Much obliged, madame, ser." The elf grins broadly.
Morrigan's expression is one of confusion but it's quickly replaced by embarrassement, hurt and shock, then it shows defiance before it becomes a mask of ice-cold disgust. "I hate you all," she hisses before she storms away and vanishes between the trees.
Our laughter follows her - although mine dies quickly away when I notice Rori glaring at me.
Doom.
DOOM.
"Aren't you ashamed of yourself, Alistair?" Rori hisses.
Oh Maker, she's hopping mad.
And disappointed. Utterly disappointed.
I duck my head between my shoulders, hoping beyond hope that I am going to wake any moment and find this all to be no more than a bad dream.
"Have you no shame?" Rori turns to the other participants of this ill joke. Then without another word, she leaves us all sitting there and storms after the witch, ladle still in hand. Barkley's at her heels, trotting behind her.
Nobody is laughing anymore. Zevran, Leliana, Oghren and I, we all look like drowned cats, sitting there in crestfallen silence.
"Need a hand with putting up your tent, Alistair, my friend," Zevran offers once Rori is gone.
"My tent?" I ask stupidly. "I have already put up... oh... you think?" She won't kick me out, will she?
Oh blast!
I groan as I bury my face in my hands. What is it with Rori and me lately that I constantly manage to put my foot in my mouth and drop bricks the size and weight of Shale?
When I look up again, first things I see are Rori's swords leaning against the log she's been sitting on. Right next to them on the ground lies Morrigan's staff.
Oh Maker! They are out there in the forest at night, unarmed.
We've heard all kinds of stories about that forest. About wild wolves and giant spiders, about malicious trees, vicious spirits and darkspawn appearances.
"I better go after them," I mutter, picking up the weapons as I hurry into the direction where I last saw Rori and Morrigan. As soon as I step out of the ring of light around our campfire, darkness swallows me. It takes me a while to get used to the gloom between the trees with only the cold light of the full moon shining through the still mostly bare branches to guide my way. Standing still and pricking my ears, I can hear the muffled voices of the two women nearby.
I move as silently as possible as not to lose my direction. I do not mean to sneak upon them or to eavesdrop but when I'm in earshot, I realize they're talking about something rather private.
Oh blast!
Should I stay or should I go now? Should I announce my presence? I've made so many mistakes today, I really don't know what to do. It seems whenever I do something it goes fatally wrong. So best do nothing at all? I take a few insecure steps closer and Rori and Morrigan come into sight. They sit on the ground with their legs crossed, their knees almost touching as they face each other. They stick their heads together and Rori's hand rests on Morrigan's slumped shoulder. I cannot make out what she says but Morrigan nods and then angrily wipes the corners of her eyes. Barkley wags his short tail and licks the witch's hand, causing her to wipe it off at her pants. Still she pets his head.
"It's a curious thing," the witch muses as she straightens. Her voice sounds a bit... pressed, almost as if she's been crying - or trying hard not to cry. "I do not know how else to describe it."
"You sound confused," Rori observes.
"Indeed I am... a little," Morrigan admits. "I am reminded of our first meeting in the wilds. I had been in animal form for some time, watching your progress."
"What animal?" Rori ask curiously.
"What? Oh, really, this is of no importance..." Morrigan sighs. "A wolf. I was a wolf. Now, I am trying to tell you something. Could you just shut up and listen?"
"I'm quiet as a mouse," Rori grins, causing Morrigan to snort. It's not the disgusted noise she makes when she snorts at me. It sounds far more amused.
"I was intrigued to see such a formidable woman obviously more potent than the men she travells with. Yet I resented it when Flemeth designed me to travell with you."
"You weren't the only one," Rori laughs.
"Oh, can we please not talk about that idiot now," Morrigan groans. "It is beyond me how you can endure his presence. He really has to be very, very good in bed to make up for... everything else."
"Oh, you cannot even imagine," Rori laughs.
Oh no, no, no... girl talk with Morrigan!
Doom!
DOOM!
I've had nightmares about this. Really bad, horrible, awful nightmares.
"I do not want to imagine! That's... so gross!" Morrigan shudders. Then she tucks a lose strand behind her ear before she plucks a blade of grass and turns it around in her fingers absentmindedly. "But that's not what I wanted to tell you... I... I assumed that at best you would drive me from your company as soon as we left the wilds."
"Why should I do that?"
"Oh, ask that fool Alistair, he certainly can give you a reason or two."
"More like a dozen," Rori laughs and Morrigan pulls a face. "He's been trained to become a templar," my fellow Warden says softly. "It wasn't his choice but after a decade in the Chantry, what do you expect of him? You have your survival strategy, he has his, depending on both your experiences and upbringing."
"You even manage to make Alistair's behaviour sound reasonable," Morrigan mutters sullenly. She inhales deeply as if to prepare for a confession that is hard to make. "I'm aware that I have... little talent for forming friendships, to put it lightly. It's something I know nothing of, nor ever thought I need it. Yet when I discovered Flemeth's plan, you did not abandon me."
"Morrigan, that's what friends do for each other. I couldn't just sit there and have you live in fear of your mother coming after you to steal your body. "
"And that is what I do not understand. I've been regarding you as a... friend for some time now, but... of all the things I could have imagined what would have resulted when Flemeth told me to go with you, the very last would have been that I would find in you a friend... perhaps even a sister." Morrigan's voice fades away and she breaks eye contact with Rori for a moment. She looks so... small and vulnerable... so human. Rori takes her hands and squeezes them assuringly.
"I want you to know...," Morrigan goes on, her voice a whisper so full of affection, although there's still confusion in it and... gratitude. "...that while I may not always prove worthy of your friendship, I will always value it."
And then the girls hug.
I've been feeling like a prick before. Now I feel like a terribly stupid, awfully mean, horribly base prick. And all that because of Morrigan!
I slop down on the soft ground littered with fir needles and try to recover from my sudden and unexpected burst of sympathy for Morrigan. This is world-shattering and it makes me feel uneasy, uncomfortable... I cannot accept it.
My templar training finally gets the better of me. This is Morrigan! A witch of the Wilds, a mean, sneaky, malicious, deceptive... bitch. She's pretending. She has to be pretending. And Rori falls for it. I can make myself accept that there's mages who aren't that bad. Like Wynne. Maybe even Solona. Or Connor who never meant to harm anybody. But most certainly not Morrigan!
Okay, my world can keep on turning now that I have figured this out... perhaps... hopefully...
My thoughts get disturbed by Barkley's frantic barking and a loud howl - that is answered by several other howls at once. It's close. Closer than I'd feel comfortable with - and it sounds like a... wolf?
I jump to my feet and burst through the bushes onto the small clearing to join with Morrigan and Rori at the same time as two huge creatures, wolflike and yet humanoid, emerge from the shadows. They are faster than I am. Too fast for Morrigan to cast a spell, too fast for both women to outrun them.
Rori charges forward, evading the claws of the first attacker by closing the distance between them. She stomps on one paw, rams her elbow into the beast's side and rams her ladle upwards in a fluid motion. The werewolf recovers far too quickly, grabs her, lifts her up and throws her against an old oak as if she was a doll.
Morrigan's life is saved by stumbling over a log - and by me. The creature attacking her blocks my way to reach Rori. I drop Morrigan's staff and Rori's swords, draw my own weapon and aim to make short work of the beast. Out of the corner of my eyes I see Rori climbing a tree like a squirrel. The werewolf is right behind her, snapping at her feet while Barkley snaps at its behind. It's jaws close around her ankle, she screams and kicks at its nose with her free foot as she desperatedly clings to a branch to not fall off the tree. Growling, the creature stumbles backwards with Rori's boot clenched between its jaws.
Morrigan freezes the beast with a spell so badly aimed she almost hits me instead when the second werewolf drives me backwards. Its long arms give it a wide range and it's both incredibly fast and strong, gripping my shield and hauling it away, almost breaking my arm as it yanks it from me. Using the opening the werewolf gives me when it's busy with my shield, I let myself fall forward, running the beast through. Its momentum when it tumbles backwards, grabbing at the blade, pulls the sword from my hands. Any human would go down now. Unfortunately this is no human but an oversized flea-infested furcoat in bloodthirsty frenzy.
Roaring, it pulls the sword from its belly and casts it away as if it was a toothpick.
Blast!
Rori screams when the beast charges, I yelp and try to run, but I'm neither as quick nor as lithe as Rori. Where she can double like a hare, all I manage is a clumsy attempt. Morrigan's spell freezes the ground instead of the werewolf and I slip and fall, feeling the swoosh of the razor-sharp talons scraping my scalp.
Whoa!
Close. Too close. I don't even want to imagine what those paws would have done with my head. Instead I find myself worrying about my hairstyle and if the werewolf messed it up by shaving a bald spot into it. I don't want to die with a bald spot on my head. Not that there would be much head left should that monster get hold of it.
"Alistair! Run!" Rori shouts. "Stop fumbling around with your hair!"
Howls echo through the forest, announcing the arrival of more wolves when I finally manage to pick myself up from the ground. The shouts of our companions draw closer, I can see the flames of their torches, red and orange dots dancing through the forest like giant fireflies. An arrow whirs past me. Someone shouts something about a stupid shem. It's an elf, no, three of them, but only one moves with the fluent grace of a huntsman. The second handles his bow clumsily. The third is a woman. She can hardly stand on her own feet and her shots are weak and badly aimed.
More werewolves arrive and so does the rest of our little group, with Sten leading the attack. Our forces combined, we defeat the beasts. It's not an easy fight. Wynne curses like a drunken sailor, Oghren chops at the furry legs of the creatures as if they were tree trunks. Shale crushes a few heads like grapes...
"What is a bunch of bare-skinned shem like you doing in our forest?" the elven archer demands to know when finally the battle is over. The elves don't lower their bows, their arrows now aimed at us. It's a bit ridiculous, considering our assembled forces.
"We're looking for the Dalish. Seems they have found us," Rori replies as she carefully lets herself fall off the tree and into my arms. I want to take a look at her foot, see if she's injured, if there are biting marks piercing her flesh, but she quickly retrieves her boot from the frozen wolf and puts it on again, gritting her teeth against the pain.
I frown and open my mouth to scold her, but she shakes her head. "Later," she mouthes, then presses her lips to mine to stop any further protest. The presence of the Dalish keeps me from starting an argument anyway. That doesn't mean I'm not worried or scared. Maker, if she was bitten by a werewolf, if it really hurt her... Every child in Ferelden has heard enough stories about these beasts to take this more than just serious.
"What do you want of the Dalish, shemlen?" the archer asks suspiciously.
Something is odd about them. The woman, she seems so weak... she's deadly pale in the light of the torches, there's dark, almost black shadows beneath her eyes. It looks a lot like the darkspawn taint.
"We're Grey Wardens, there's a Blight, you guys signed a treaty," Rori summarizes tiredly. "Now, do you have a boss or are we going to stand here and wait until these beasts return?"
"Actually," the archer says slowly. "We are looking for the Dalish, too. For the last clan still present in this area. Our clan left a while ago but we stayed behind, hoping to find Keeper Zathrian. But we couldn't go deeper into the forest because of these beasts... It's too dangerous for only the three of us."
"Well, you could come with us. Together we should make it, right?" Rori offers quickly. She's ashen and leans against me for support, trying not to put too much weight on her foot.
"Deal," the archer says. "It's time to introduce ourselves, I guess. That's Pol and I'm Fenarel. And this," he motions towards the pale female, "is Lyna Mahariel."
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In good times and in bad