nice twist! I can hardly wait for the next installment. You are wicked good!
Repercussions - complete novella (contains spoilers)
Débuté par
Freckles04
, janv. 22 2010 02:13
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#103
Posté 02 février 2010 - 01:02
Freckles04
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Thanks, all! The "archdemon might not be dead" thing kind of surprised me when it showed up on the paper in front of me. I'm as puzzled as the rest of you... 
#104
Posté 02 février 2010 - 03:06
Sialater
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Hate when that happens. The plot just starts writing itself.
Course, it makes our job a bit easier....
Course, it makes our job a bit easier....
#105
Posté 02 février 2010 - 05:50
Freckles04
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Part 12
Bryn was no stranger to the Fade. Perhaps it was odd that a non-mage could recognize it so easily, but then, few other non-mages had spent as much time in the dream realm, aware, as had the Hero of Ferelden. When she opened her eyes to see an unfamiliar cabin, lit by a welcoming fire, she didn’t panic. It held plain, rough wood furnishings--a rocking chair to the side of the blazing hearth, shrouded in shadows, a large chest beside the single door, and the bed on which Bryn lay. Warmth and the smell of herbs permeated the space, reminding Bryn of the kitchens at Highever. Cozy, comfortable...a home, if a modest one.
She pushed up from the bed, debating if she should pull the shadows to her until she could determine what was happening--then one of the shadows spoke.
“Do not be alarmed, friend.”
The breath caught in Bryn’s throat. “Morrigan?”
“Ah, you remember, even after all this time.” The swamp witch leaned forward in the rocking chair, the planes of her face glowing in the golden light from the fire.
“Like I could forget. I--“ The words died as Bryn caught sight of Morrigan’s rounded belly. Jealousy rose like bile. Alistair’s child grew there. Maybe with the soul of an Old God, but still...Alistair’s child. The child Bryn would never be able to give him.
She wrenched her eyes away before they could betray her by filling with tears and stared at the fire instead. “Why am I here?”
“Why, indeed?” Morrigan pushed up from her seat. Even with the added burden, the mage moved gracefully. She’d traded her revealing robes for a more practical, roomy tunic.
“You’re asking me?”
“’Tis your dream, is it not?”
Bryn frowned, then rubbed a hand over her eyes. “Please, Morrigan. I’m in no mood for games.”
“No. I doubt I would be, either, were I you.” The witch stared into the fire. “You have not had an easy go of it since we parted ways, have you?”
“I’m alive,” Bryn said with a weak smile.
“Aye, you are at that.” Morrigan was silent for a moment, the light from the fire caressing her features like a lover’s hand. “But you wonder if perhaps you should have denied me.”
Her statement left no room for protest, and Bryn lacked the energy for one, at any rate. “Yes,” she admitted. “Have I condemned Ferelden, Morrigan?”
The silence stretched, and Bryn began to wonder if she would awaken before the witch deigned to answer. Finally, Morrigan turned to face her. “There are...elements at work that I cannot explain.”
Bryn kept her eyes carefully averted from her friend’s ripe belly. “Flemeth?”
“No, she is still absent. But I do not hold out great hope that she will continue to be for long,” Morrigan said. “No, there are other elements that you will discover in time. It is not my place to be your guide.”
“Can you explain why the darkspawn have not retreated?” The witch remained silent. Bryn ground her teeth and tried again. “Why is the Joining not working as it should? Is it because of your ritual?”
Morrigan didn’t answer.
Bryn’s head drooped with resignation. “I beg of you, Morrigan. Tell me I did not prolong the Blight by acquiescing to your request.”
The witch’s lips pressed into a thin line, and Bryn held her breath. “The Blight ended atop Fort Drakon,” she said after an interminable length of time. “What is happening now...is different.”
Bryn closed her eyes as relief whipped through her, followed closely by another dose of uncertainty. “Is it because of what we wrought that night at Redcliffe?”
“That I cannot say.”
“Then why am I here?” Bryn rose and folded her arms over her chest. “There is no point to this!” Her eyes drifted to the bump protruding from beneath Morrigan’s tunic. “Did you bring me here just so you can display...just so I can see what I will never have?”
Morrigan’s hand fluttered over her stomach, and she glanced down. For an instant, her expression was laid bare--and Bryn saw love. On the face of the woman who’d mocked her devotion to Alistair, who’d claimed that love was a weakening emotion and had no place in the world. The Warden’s breath caught as hope flickered anew. Perhaps all was not as dark as she’d believed, if Morrigan could learn to love.
“No, that was not my purpose.” The witch met Bryn’s gaze again. All traces of emotion had been swept away, replaced by her usual abrasive demeanor. “I wanted to give you a gift. A wedding gift--even though I hear the nuptials have been postponed.”
“A gift?” Bryn bit her lip, unsure if she wanted any gifts Morrigan could bestow. They would likely not be free.
“A gift,” the witch repeated. “You may choose to do something with it, or not. ‘Tis up to you. But I recall the gifts you provided to me--Flemeth’s grimoires, the mirror, and--“ She broke off, her hand rubbing her belly. “And I realized that I never reciprocated.”
“They weren’t given with the intention of receiving anything in turn,” Bryn began, but Morrigan raised a hand to silence her.
“I realize that. I...have a hard time understanding it, but I know you desired nothing in exchange. So let me give you this gift, and say I expect nothing from you--I want nothing from you--in return.” Her eyes softened. “You taught me so much. You gave me so much that I cannot repay. Please, let me...”
Did tears glimmer in the stoic witch’s gaze? Mute, Bryn nodded.
“Thank you,” Morrigan said, her voice soft. She cleared her throat. “Seek out Fiona of the Grey Wardens.”
Bryn’s brows drew down. “What? Why?”
“If you wish the union between yourself and Alistair to produce an heir, you will do so.”
The Warden stumbled back a step, her legs colliding with the bed. Numb, she sank down. “Are you telling me--are you saying that there is a way I could--“ She couldn’t voice the hope.
“Seek out Fiona.”
Bryn blinked, then released the flood of questions building on her tongue. “What can she do? Where is she? How will I find her--“
“So many questions.” Morrigan chuckled. “You will discover the answers in time.” The witch’s gaze turned serious again. “Now, go, my friend. I...I wish I could do more.”
The room began to dissipate, like mist under the encroaching sun. “Thank you, Morrigan,” Bryn whispered.
And then she was in her quarters at Amaranthine, Alistair’s arm draped over her middle, his soft breaths tickling her bare shoulder. She stared at the ceiling, trying desperately to squash the hope that threatened to burst inside her chest.
“Fiona,” she repeated.
Bryn was no stranger to the Fade. Perhaps it was odd that a non-mage could recognize it so easily, but then, few other non-mages had spent as much time in the dream realm, aware, as had the Hero of Ferelden. When she opened her eyes to see an unfamiliar cabin, lit by a welcoming fire, she didn’t panic. It held plain, rough wood furnishings--a rocking chair to the side of the blazing hearth, shrouded in shadows, a large chest beside the single door, and the bed on which Bryn lay. Warmth and the smell of herbs permeated the space, reminding Bryn of the kitchens at Highever. Cozy, comfortable...a home, if a modest one.
She pushed up from the bed, debating if she should pull the shadows to her until she could determine what was happening--then one of the shadows spoke.
“Do not be alarmed, friend.”
The breath caught in Bryn’s throat. “Morrigan?”
“Ah, you remember, even after all this time.” The swamp witch leaned forward in the rocking chair, the planes of her face glowing in the golden light from the fire.
“Like I could forget. I--“ The words died as Bryn caught sight of Morrigan’s rounded belly. Jealousy rose like bile. Alistair’s child grew there. Maybe with the soul of an Old God, but still...Alistair’s child. The child Bryn would never be able to give him.
She wrenched her eyes away before they could betray her by filling with tears and stared at the fire instead. “Why am I here?”
“Why, indeed?” Morrigan pushed up from her seat. Even with the added burden, the mage moved gracefully. She’d traded her revealing robes for a more practical, roomy tunic.
“You’re asking me?”
“’Tis your dream, is it not?”
Bryn frowned, then rubbed a hand over her eyes. “Please, Morrigan. I’m in no mood for games.”
“No. I doubt I would be, either, were I you.” The witch stared into the fire. “You have not had an easy go of it since we parted ways, have you?”
“I’m alive,” Bryn said with a weak smile.
“Aye, you are at that.” Morrigan was silent for a moment, the light from the fire caressing her features like a lover’s hand. “But you wonder if perhaps you should have denied me.”
Her statement left no room for protest, and Bryn lacked the energy for one, at any rate. “Yes,” she admitted. “Have I condemned Ferelden, Morrigan?”
The silence stretched, and Bryn began to wonder if she would awaken before the witch deigned to answer. Finally, Morrigan turned to face her. “There are...elements at work that I cannot explain.”
Bryn kept her eyes carefully averted from her friend’s ripe belly. “Flemeth?”
“No, she is still absent. But I do not hold out great hope that she will continue to be for long,” Morrigan said. “No, there are other elements that you will discover in time. It is not my place to be your guide.”
“Can you explain why the darkspawn have not retreated?” The witch remained silent. Bryn ground her teeth and tried again. “Why is the Joining not working as it should? Is it because of your ritual?”
Morrigan didn’t answer.
Bryn’s head drooped with resignation. “I beg of you, Morrigan. Tell me I did not prolong the Blight by acquiescing to your request.”
The witch’s lips pressed into a thin line, and Bryn held her breath. “The Blight ended atop Fort Drakon,” she said after an interminable length of time. “What is happening now...is different.”
Bryn closed her eyes as relief whipped through her, followed closely by another dose of uncertainty. “Is it because of what we wrought that night at Redcliffe?”
“That I cannot say.”
“Then why am I here?” Bryn rose and folded her arms over her chest. “There is no point to this!” Her eyes drifted to the bump protruding from beneath Morrigan’s tunic. “Did you bring me here just so you can display...just so I can see what I will never have?”
Morrigan’s hand fluttered over her stomach, and she glanced down. For an instant, her expression was laid bare--and Bryn saw love. On the face of the woman who’d mocked her devotion to Alistair, who’d claimed that love was a weakening emotion and had no place in the world. The Warden’s breath caught as hope flickered anew. Perhaps all was not as dark as she’d believed, if Morrigan could learn to love.
“No, that was not my purpose.” The witch met Bryn’s gaze again. All traces of emotion had been swept away, replaced by her usual abrasive demeanor. “I wanted to give you a gift. A wedding gift--even though I hear the nuptials have been postponed.”
“A gift?” Bryn bit her lip, unsure if she wanted any gifts Morrigan could bestow. They would likely not be free.
“A gift,” the witch repeated. “You may choose to do something with it, or not. ‘Tis up to you. But I recall the gifts you provided to me--Flemeth’s grimoires, the mirror, and--“ She broke off, her hand rubbing her belly. “And I realized that I never reciprocated.”
“They weren’t given with the intention of receiving anything in turn,” Bryn began, but Morrigan raised a hand to silence her.
“I realize that. I...have a hard time understanding it, but I know you desired nothing in exchange. So let me give you this gift, and say I expect nothing from you--I want nothing from you--in return.” Her eyes softened. “You taught me so much. You gave me so much that I cannot repay. Please, let me...”
Did tears glimmer in the stoic witch’s gaze? Mute, Bryn nodded.
“Thank you,” Morrigan said, her voice soft. She cleared her throat. “Seek out Fiona of the Grey Wardens.”
Bryn’s brows drew down. “What? Why?”
“If you wish the union between yourself and Alistair to produce an heir, you will do so.”
The Warden stumbled back a step, her legs colliding with the bed. Numb, she sank down. “Are you telling me--are you saying that there is a way I could--“ She couldn’t voice the hope.
“Seek out Fiona.”
Bryn blinked, then released the flood of questions building on her tongue. “What can she do? Where is she? How will I find her--“
“So many questions.” Morrigan chuckled. “You will discover the answers in time.” The witch’s gaze turned serious again. “Now, go, my friend. I...I wish I could do more.”
The room began to dissipate, like mist under the encroaching sun. “Thank you, Morrigan,” Bryn whispered.
And then she was in her quarters at Amaranthine, Alistair’s arm draped over her middle, his soft breaths tickling her bare shoulder. She stared at the ceiling, trying desperately to squash the hope that threatened to burst inside her chest.
“Fiona,” she repeated.
#106
Posté 02 février 2010 - 06:10
AdorableAnarchist
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Oooo, write more please... And fast! This is good!
#107
Posté 02 février 2010 - 06:17
Sialater
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Interesting that Morrigan is reassuring her friend.
#108
Posté 02 février 2010 - 06:39
TanithAeyrs
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I like the evolution of Morrigan's character. Very good.
#109
Posté 02 février 2010 - 06:40
Sisimka
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Oh dear, I see more trouble ahead for Alistair.
#110
Posté 02 février 2010 - 06:59
Freckles04
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Thanks, all. I was kind of going with the whole idea that pregnancy + hormones would probably mellow out Morrigan somewhat. She's not in the third trimester yet, so she's probably feeling pretty good. Also, she's had little to do but think and reflect over the past six months or so; I imagine there are some things she wished she could do differently, even believing that she could not. So this is her way of making things right, just a little.
Also, she's had little to do but think and reflect over the past six months or so; I imagine there are some things she wished she could do differently, even believing that she could not. So this is her way of making things right, just a little.
#111
Posté 02 février 2010 - 08:31
Freckles04
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Your desire is my command...
----
Part 13
She lay in bed for a few moments more before carefully extricating herself from Alistair’s embrace, knowing that sleep was beyond her now. She pulled on a soft wool tunic and linen breeches before slipping into the hall. The corridors were quiet. Torches burned on the walls at regular intervals, but she could hear the first stirrings of servants preparing the estate for the day. Early, then, perhaps just before dawn. She snuck into the kitchen to grab a hunk of bread, reminded of her teen years. She’d done the same back then, eager to escape Highever Castle for the surrounding countryside. She couldn’t count how many times she’d abandoned her studies for the day, simply to get away from her parents and tutors and pretend she was a grand adventurer.
A soft smile touched Bryn’s lips. Her father had recognized her need to do more than just study, to be more than just a pretty face in a nice gown. It had been that summer of escapes that he’d introduced her to the castle’s battlemaster and permitted her to train with Fergus. The familiar pang resounded in her chest and she absently rubbed a hand across her breastbone. The loss of her parents hurt less, but it still hurt.
Bryn found herself at the outdoor training ring, watching the sky lighten above the battlements. She pressed her back against the stone wall, gnawed on the day-old bread, and lost herself in thought.
“You’re up early, Commander.”
Bryn blinked up at Marcel, startled. A glance behind him showed the sky well-lit by the rising sun. Her joints were stiff from contact with the cold stone at her back. Lost in thought, indeed. “Good morning, Marcel. I...couldn’t sleep.”
Concern flickered in the other Warden’s gaze. “I hope it wasn’t because of the comments I made yesterday. They were unfounded. I’m just...” He shook his head. “There are so many unanswered questions.”
Bryn looked down at the crust of bread in her hands. “I know.” Her head whipped up again as Marcel settled beside her. This close, she could see his youth--he might have a year or two on her, but no more. He kept his blonde hair short, shorter even than Alistair’s close crop. In his blue eyes, shadows dwelled, just like in her gaze, and Alistair’s. In most Wardens’ gazes, come to think of it. They looked directly at the darkness in the world so the rest of humanity wouldn’t have to. It shouldn’t be a surprise to see that darkness reflected there.
“This must be so odd for you.” Marcel glanced at her, then moved his eyes to examine the battlement arching in front of them. “I’ve tried to imagine what it was like for you, all those months, working on your own...and I can’t.”
“I wasn’t alone.”
He shrugged. “No, I suppose not. You had your companions. But you were always separate from them, weren’t you? They weren’t Grey Wardens. They didn’t feel the threat like you did.”
“I had Alistair.”
“Who had only been a Grey Warden for a limited time. Neither of you knew, really, what it was like to be part of something larger.” Marcel laid his head back against the wall. “I’m still trying to figure out if you succeeded in spite of that, or because of it.”
“Does it matter?” Bryn brought the bread to her mouth and tore off a chunk with perhaps more force than necessary. When would the judging stop?
“No, I suppose not. All that matters is you did succeed. Wardens do what they must, yes?” Marcel’s fingers brushed against his upraised knee, picking at the fabric of his breeches. “I know something happened before the battle with the archdemon.”
Bryn stiffened, the bread in her mouth turning to dust.
“What, exactly, is a mystery--to everyone but you and his Majesty, I suspect. Whatever it was, it saved your life. I hope...” Marcel chuckled softly, self-deprecatingly, and shook his head. “I hope someday you’ll trust me enough to share it with me. Until that day, Commander, know that I am honored to be able to serve under your command.”
She swallowed. “I--“ Foolish girl, she chided as tears pricked her eyes. Some Commander she was. Some hero. “Thank you, Marcel. That...means a lot.”
The other Warden pushed to his feet. “I think I’d like to celebrate this fine morning with a bit of sparring. Care to join me?” He held out a hand to help her up.
Bryn eyed it for a moment, a smile spreading across her lips. “I think I’d like that.” She slapped her palm into his. His strong, warm fingers grasped her hand as she was lifted effortlessly to her feet.
A cry sprung from her lips at a sudden sharp sting. She tried to pull her hand away, but Marcel held it tightly. “I’m sorry,” he murmured.
“Sorry?” Something cold raced through her veins. Her muscles didn’t want to work. “What have you done?” she whispered, her mouth refusing to form the words properly.
“What I must.” Regret laced his tone and deepened the shadows in his eyes. “The Wardens have questions, Bryn, and they won’t be denied any longer.”
“No. Alistair.” Her voice was barely audible now. The sparring field diminished in her vision to just her and Marcel, who still gripped her hand. Wrenching together what was left of her strength, she screamed, “Alistair!”
Then the darkness welled up to claim her.
----
Part 13
She lay in bed for a few moments more before carefully extricating herself from Alistair’s embrace, knowing that sleep was beyond her now. She pulled on a soft wool tunic and linen breeches before slipping into the hall. The corridors were quiet. Torches burned on the walls at regular intervals, but she could hear the first stirrings of servants preparing the estate for the day. Early, then, perhaps just before dawn. She snuck into the kitchen to grab a hunk of bread, reminded of her teen years. She’d done the same back then, eager to escape Highever Castle for the surrounding countryside. She couldn’t count how many times she’d abandoned her studies for the day, simply to get away from her parents and tutors and pretend she was a grand adventurer.
A soft smile touched Bryn’s lips. Her father had recognized her need to do more than just study, to be more than just a pretty face in a nice gown. It had been that summer of escapes that he’d introduced her to the castle’s battlemaster and permitted her to train with Fergus. The familiar pang resounded in her chest and she absently rubbed a hand across her breastbone. The loss of her parents hurt less, but it still hurt.
Bryn found herself at the outdoor training ring, watching the sky lighten above the battlements. She pressed her back against the stone wall, gnawed on the day-old bread, and lost herself in thought.
“You’re up early, Commander.”
Bryn blinked up at Marcel, startled. A glance behind him showed the sky well-lit by the rising sun. Her joints were stiff from contact with the cold stone at her back. Lost in thought, indeed. “Good morning, Marcel. I...couldn’t sleep.”
Concern flickered in the other Warden’s gaze. “I hope it wasn’t because of the comments I made yesterday. They were unfounded. I’m just...” He shook his head. “There are so many unanswered questions.”
Bryn looked down at the crust of bread in her hands. “I know.” Her head whipped up again as Marcel settled beside her. This close, she could see his youth--he might have a year or two on her, but no more. He kept his blonde hair short, shorter even than Alistair’s close crop. In his blue eyes, shadows dwelled, just like in her gaze, and Alistair’s. In most Wardens’ gazes, come to think of it. They looked directly at the darkness in the world so the rest of humanity wouldn’t have to. It shouldn’t be a surprise to see that darkness reflected there.
“This must be so odd for you.” Marcel glanced at her, then moved his eyes to examine the battlement arching in front of them. “I’ve tried to imagine what it was like for you, all those months, working on your own...and I can’t.”
“I wasn’t alone.”
He shrugged. “No, I suppose not. You had your companions. But you were always separate from them, weren’t you? They weren’t Grey Wardens. They didn’t feel the threat like you did.”
“I had Alistair.”
“Who had only been a Grey Warden for a limited time. Neither of you knew, really, what it was like to be part of something larger.” Marcel laid his head back against the wall. “I’m still trying to figure out if you succeeded in spite of that, or because of it.”
“Does it matter?” Bryn brought the bread to her mouth and tore off a chunk with perhaps more force than necessary. When would the judging stop?
“No, I suppose not. All that matters is you did succeed. Wardens do what they must, yes?” Marcel’s fingers brushed against his upraised knee, picking at the fabric of his breeches. “I know something happened before the battle with the archdemon.”
Bryn stiffened, the bread in her mouth turning to dust.
“What, exactly, is a mystery--to everyone but you and his Majesty, I suspect. Whatever it was, it saved your life. I hope...” Marcel chuckled softly, self-deprecatingly, and shook his head. “I hope someday you’ll trust me enough to share it with me. Until that day, Commander, know that I am honored to be able to serve under your command.”
She swallowed. “I--“ Foolish girl, she chided as tears pricked her eyes. Some Commander she was. Some hero. “Thank you, Marcel. That...means a lot.”
The other Warden pushed to his feet. “I think I’d like to celebrate this fine morning with a bit of sparring. Care to join me?” He held out a hand to help her up.
Bryn eyed it for a moment, a smile spreading across her lips. “I think I’d like that.” She slapped her palm into his. His strong, warm fingers grasped her hand as she was lifted effortlessly to her feet.
A cry sprung from her lips at a sudden sharp sting. She tried to pull her hand away, but Marcel held it tightly. “I’m sorry,” he murmured.
“Sorry?” Something cold raced through her veins. Her muscles didn’t want to work. “What have you done?” she whispered, her mouth refusing to form the words properly.
“What I must.” Regret laced his tone and deepened the shadows in his eyes. “The Wardens have questions, Bryn, and they won’t be denied any longer.”
“No. Alistair.” Her voice was barely audible now. The sparring field diminished in her vision to just her and Marcel, who still gripped her hand. Wrenching together what was left of her strength, she screamed, “Alistair!”
Then the darkness welled up to claim her.
#112
Posté 02 février 2010 - 08:38
Sisimka
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Oh no! I did -not- expect this! You're not going to post any more until tomorrow, are you? Cruel, cruel!
#114
Posté 02 février 2010 - 08:45
tallon1982
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Gah! Evil... *sniffles as she has to wait for the next installment*
#115
Posté 02 février 2010 - 11:31
Lord Deshwitat
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Still reading.. Still liking it^^
#116
Guest_ysabella22_*
Posté 03 février 2010 - 12:22
Guest_ysabella22_*
Guest_ysabella22_*
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I am stuck working all night out of town away from my family, this has been the highlight of my day. Hope to see more soon.
#117
Posté 03 février 2010 - 12:36
Freckles04
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ysabella22 wrote...
I am stuck working all night out of town away from my family, this has been the highlight of my day. Hope to see more soon.
Oh my. Thank you. That is very kind of you to say.
I'm working on the next scene...hopefully I'll be able to post it tomorrow. You see, I thought Marcel was a good guy, so he kind of fooled me too...
#118
Posté 03 février 2010 - 12:43
Miliat
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Ahhh, I audibly yelped at that last one. Cruel cruel man!
Also, I love people who actually use Fiona. I love her so much, I cannot wait to see what you do with her.
Also, I love people who actually use Fiona. I love her so much, I cannot wait to see what you do with her.
#120
Posté 03 février 2010 - 01:18
Kulkodar
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Wow, I did not see that coming! Well done. And now, with rest, I wait to see what happens next.
#121
Posté 03 février 2010 - 01:39
Freckles04
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Thank you for the kind comments, everyone. I'm glad I took you all by surprise...I'm evil like that.
I'll try to get some more up today.
I'll try to get some more up today.
#122
Posté 03 février 2010 - 01:42
MsSouthpaw
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This might be my favorite of all the fanfics right now. Oooh, Alistair is gonna be so mad! He better rain down some kingly wrath at this...
#123
Posté 03 février 2010 - 02:02
Freckles04
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MsSouthpaw wrote...
This might be my favorite of all the fanfics right now. Oooh, Alistair is gonna be so mad! He better rain down some kingly wrath at this...
Thank you, MsS!
Oh, yeah. Alistair is going to be right upset...
Post-Landsmeet-after-recruiting-Loghain, anyone?
#124
Posté 03 février 2010 - 02:17
Sisimka
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There is something undeniably sexy about a wrathful Al... um, did I really just write that?
#125
Posté 03 février 2010 - 02:48
Sialater
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That's all right. I'm sure there's a support group out there.
