remembrance

Enough was enough was enough. Who knew a broken heart could continue break over and over again anew, each time with a searing pain that blinded his good sense? Who knew that seeing her through the iron bars of his cell would tighten the hold of his humility in a vice grip? Who knew that even after he was released and back to his life that he would feel near constant nausea at the mere thought of her? 

Who indeed. 

He'd faced the evils of this world with a chivalrous bravado but, as it turned out, he could no longer face this. Such was his motivation in his current venture. Such was his calling in of his favor to the Witch of the Wilds herself. An act which he was now questioning the intelligence of given the timing. But then there never seemed to be a good time for this favor, of all the favors he might ask of her. So he waited until the sun had set and patrols were changing to approach her quarters. He knocked softly, fist folding behind his back with the other as he waited reverently.

Morrigan had settled into the quarters she kept, sometimes, at Soldier's Peak. She was back and forth enough thanks to the eluvian tucked into a corner of the room, hidden with a ward. Only those who knew the ward existed in the first place might break it, and even then, they'd find it troublesome to destroy.

Each eluvian had been treated this way, though she only had the two. One was in the Wilds, under a similar ward of protection. She was reading, idly, patiently waiting. How she knew he was coming, she'd never bother putting into words. But as he knocked, she waved a hand, and the door slowly opened.Good evening. Morrigan didn't look up from her book, until she had finshed the page. Book was closed carefully, page marked, and she fixed an immovable gaze upon the man.

What is your request? She had an idea, but visions could be... untrustworthy. And she was not willing to make a fool of herself.

That she in any way expected him didn't unnerve as it might others. He'd spent enough time in her company to know that some mysteries were better left unanswered. There was also little he would let deter him from his current objective for he found little alternative save for a complete emotional break down. As Constable, he could hardly afford personal obstacles like his relationship with Alyvia had unfortunately become. It was what he'd been avoiding in all of this subterfuge after all. Turns out he didn't have the knack for it in the slightest. 

Solemnly he approached, hands still pulled behind his back as moved, waiting for her to look up from the book. Where normally he might've smiled weakly as a pleasantry, he kept his gaze locked into hers. Almost as if he was afraid that if he gave her the opportunity she would reduce him to cinders for looking at her the wrong way. But then that just so happened to be the company he prefered and one of the many reasons he'd chosen her for this request. 

She'd even guessed what he'd come here to ask. Not surprising in the slightest. He figured better to get to the point than waffle around it. I need you to make it go-- He cleared his throat stopping himself. I need you to make her forget who I am. An incredibly selfish request but one he saw no other way around. If Alyvia forgot, they could have their lives back and he would still suffer the punishment of his egregious behavior. He hopd too, that Morrigan would need no clarifcation who she was.

Morrigan studied the man, eyes sharp, looking for any shred of emotion that she might pluck apart from the flesh, like a vulture circling roadkill. He was solemn, no little smile as he entered, no busy hands; no his hands were tucked out of sight, and she wondered what he might be doing. He spoke, and her lips pulled into a malicious smile. Certainly, that is something I can do. Selfish of you, 'tis it not? Is the great Constable, finally showing his true self? Though her tone was flat, there was an amused glint in her eye. You just can't get her out of your head, can you? Fucking around didn't fix the issue, hm? Unfortunate. Fixes most of mine.

It didn't matter to the witch that the man looked vulnerable; that from what she knew of him, this was a request close to his heart. It was easy fun. And she would never turn her nose up at easy fun. She waved a hand idly, shutting the door to her room behind of him with a gentle gust of wind. You have to tell me who, why, and how in-depth you would like the forgetting to be. All business, now that she'd gotten her dose of malicious intent out of the way.

Truthfully he expected something like this. Morrigan was too clever for an outright physical attack, but a verbal one? She could wound just as easily and with half the effort. And no matter how much he'd thought he'd prepared for her barbs, it still wasn't enough. The words struck something inside of him and he stilled, the only movement the flaring of his nostrils. He swallowed his immediate urge to retort, as if anything he might say would be a worthy rebuttal. She had too much a way with her words, and he was nowhere near her level of skill in that regard (or any for that matter). It made sense that he found all of those qualities in her, down to the ease it would take for her to render him lame, intensely attractive. Which certainly didn't help the matter at hand. He shifted his weight from one leg to the other as he moved cautiously further into the room to stand with his back to a wall a good enough distance from her. He didn't break his gaze despite his reluctance to stand here at all. 

I would think twenty odd years of history might give me a bit of an excuse in that respect? But nothing made up for his egregious conduct. No, fucking around had indeed not helped though it felt right at the time as it usually did in the temporary haze of lust. It helped that he felt next to nothing emotionally tethering with the others. None of that however was the issue. The issue, the heart of it, lie squarely on his tremendous guilt and regret. Enough so that he didn't blame Alyvia in the slightest for her behavior. Making her forget would be a mercy. 

So very clearly she wanted him to suffer under the weight of his request, wanted to embarass him. That or she was simply bored and had been waiting for a mouse to bat around with her claws. He forced a bored expression of his own though he felt quite the opposite. Because Alyvia Arlange of Orlais and Val Colline, formerly of Ferelden deserves better than to be tortured with thoughts about how I ruined her life and broke our hearts. Because he'd broken his own heart each time he left without telling her thinking it was for the best. And because, no matter how many times he'd insisted on it, she didn't deserve the shit he carried with him.

Erase the memory of our first kiss onward. Until now. That way she might only remember him as the stable boy that spoke to a girl clear out of his station and nothing else. Every kiss, every shared breath and gasp, every whisper, every furtive glance, every tear.

Morrigan rested her chin on her hand, studying the Constable. Your wish... she reached into one of the various drawers, pulling an empty potion phial out. ...is my honor.

A bit of magic, some herbs, and a hand held out towards Ragnar. Your blood. Part of the spell. She stated, without looking away from the swirling phial. She kept mixing it with one hand, swirling the ingredients together within their glass confines.

Should Ragnar let her, she'd cut his hand with a mere move of her finger, and direct the small amount of blood she needed without ever actually touching him. Dropping it into the potion turned it brown, like a tea.

If her children know of you, that will not change. There's enough potion for one person to forget you, Ragnar Caius.

Branded a coward in her mind. Running from the pain he had caused some woman; it was the coward's way out. But it was his favor. He could have done something useful, and asked her to protect Ferelden from the Blight. Asked how to end the Blight. He could've asked her to find and collar the Divine's killer. But none of those were his favor.

He chose, instead, to focus on himself. She could admire that kind of selfish desire. It was the same selfish desire borne out of love that had driven her to murder her soulmate.

You must be careful, after giving this to her. She must drink every drop. But you cannot let history repeat itself; or she will remember in pieces. She explained, leaning over her desk to hold the sealed phial out.

And I'm not certain she'd handle this kindly, if she knew. You should not repeat any dates, nor anything else from your past with her. It all must be new. One last, hard shake of the phial.

My advice is to stay away from her.

His throat bobbed tightly in his throat as she seemed to consider his request. Why did it feel so wrong when she agreed? It was a favor after all. A seemingly limitless favor from a powerful Witch and this was his ask? Yes. He was selfish. Frustratingly selfish but there was so little of his life that lent to being selfish, at least not in the way that he aimed to live. An opportunity like this was a hard thing to ignore. It behooved him to take advantage. At least that was his justification and the reasoning he kept repeating inwardly to himself to ease the swelling guilt inside of him, originating from deep in his gut. 

Ragnar offered his hand with little reluctance, just a stoic offer. A near inaudible hiss passed his lips at the sting, eyes blank as he stared at his blood dripping drop by drop into the vile until she pulled away and the wound was instantly healed over. Not even a scar or redness. Like it never happened. He swallowed hard again, letting his hand brace again behind his back, clasped hard in the other. He nodded solemly at her following words, her instructions, her warnings and while he took them all seriously commiting them to memory, he still wished for her to dismiss him as quick as possible. His skin itched with anticipation, hands vibrating as he took the vile, nodding absently at her last words. 

Despite what he was about to do to Alyvia, staying away would be a true test of his will. Thank you. He bowed and left the room without another word afraid to look back over his shoulder so either of them be tempted to change their minds. 

--

Considering that she'd just imprisoned him and he was willingly travelling back in order to speak with her, his track record for success in control of said willpower was dismal at best. He sent word ahead of his arrival, asking for an audience with the Baronnes, a private one, if she would allow it. Either he found a way to sneak it into her or he laid all of his cards on the table. 

He rode Boreas to Val Colline, mostly because the beast deserved some time in the sky and alone with one of the people who understood him best. After landing, he whispered to the formidable mount, words unheard by anyone else but that sent the winged animal shooting back into the sky and towards the horizon. He didn't trust strangers around Boreas or Boreas around strangers. Best that he send a signal to the bird, one he would be able to hear from a distance, when he was ready to depart.

He found a courtier, based on their dress, nodding reverently. I'm here for the Baroness.

The entrance to Val Colline was eclectically decorated to say the least.

Hanging on either side of the entry doors were the decaying corpses of the most recent nobles to have tried her and the bards and assassins they sent after her in order to do so. Men, and unfortunately a woman, who thought they could usurp her. One of them had even tried to turn her son against her. Raphael played along for a while, pretending that he wanted his place as the baron of Val Colline, that he was tired of his mother keeping his inheritance from him. They were able to uncover a whole conspiracy that way. The perpetrators didn’t like her because she wasn’t one of them. Because she helped the people before she lined their pockets. The people showed up in the hundreds to support her and watch her enemies hang. The bodies kept out looters and discouraged visitors. She’d managed to keep the taint at bay somewhat because of it.

It was also heavily guarded with snipers, poised with their fingers on their bowstrings.
Other guards walked back and forth on the ramparts and alerted her the moment they saw the griffon.

Ragnar had returned.

Alyvia didn’t know why she’d permitted him to come back. It had not been too long since she’d released him from her prison. When she heard he wanted to return she was worried and skeptical about the reasoning. Surely if the Wardens had decided on some sort of retribution for her actions it would have been executed when he was retrieved. Ragnar had returned for some reason or another. Maybe looking for some way to assuage his guilt for the hell he caused. He probably came to offer some paltry apology.

She didn’t know how she felt about it. So as she dressed accordingly. Tight leather studded armor, dyed the deepest black, her dark hair in waves down her back. She sat, poised on her throne, gripping a goblet of blood red wine she sipped. She appeared alone but there were several armed individuals in the shadows, including her son.

Their son.

She really should let them know.

There were countless opportunities to change his mind, to toss the vial and keep his distance like she seemed to desire. But it was thinking about her desire at all that spurred him forward, standing in front of the doors to the throne room as they opened to admit him. It was his own desire to see her happy again, knowing she'd never have to think of him. That he would be left with those memories, knowing what he'd done to her and what he planned to do now, was nothing less than what he deserved. He realized it was selfish, but he couldn't continue like this and she didn't deserve to be tormented as she was, she never had. This had been exactly what he'd tried to warn her against twenty years ago. That in loving him she would never know peace. At least with Arlange she could live comfortably behind her walls and he could know that she was well protected. Whereas if he'd allowed her to come with him all those years ago, she'd forever be his weakness, the one person he would suffer any number of gruesome deaths to protect. 

So it was the prospect of her being free from those shackles that continued to drive him forward across the polished stone floor, eyes pinned however foolishly on her atop that throne. But the closer he got, the quicker his heart raced until he was mere feet from the steps up to the dais. He dropped to one knee for a deep bow in his sincere supplication but also to allow himself the opportunity to compose himself once more before he tumbled off this precipice. 

He lifted his head, forearm now resting on his thigh. Maker, did she look beautiful up there, even when she staring at him with blank indifference. Not even anger. He might've preferred her contempt to this. He stared for a moment, allowing himself what could potentially be the last moments to regard the woman he loved in her organic form. Nothing here to hamper their memories, good or bad. Just raw, unspoken reality. The way it should be, really. 

Thank you for seeing me, Your Grace. His tone was graveled as he nearly choked on his own tongue. It was rare he let his nerves get the better of him. He flexed his hand, fanning on his fingers to rid himself of the clamy feeling that plagued them all of the sudden. I uh- he cleared his throat again and then once more for good measure, pulling the vial from the pocket of his jerkin. Alyvia, I.. Did he even have a right to call her by that name anymore?

Seeing him standing before her almost ripped her heart out again. She’d mourned him. She’d even buried him in her own way. A small memorial in the tomb for nobility, his name, the date of the battle in which he’d died. She’d destroyed it when they’d got back from Ferelden in a fit of madness and rage.

It had been the first emotion she’d felt since he’d “died”. That rush of anger and hurt and pain and shame welling up through her and causing her to lash out. It wasn’t happy. It wasn’t good. But Maker it had been something when there hadn’t been anything there before.

They called her the mad baroness, and maybe you had to be mad not to feel anything at all as your drove a blade into a man’s stomach and emptied it’s contents into the floor. She didn’t do it for love of killing or even for vengeance or really anything. Well maybe her husband’s death was because of that… definitely because of that, watching his face of surprise as she straddled him and drove her blade deep into his heart, hearing the gasp of his death rattle as he died.

She only found herself wishing she’d done it sooner.

Since then it was just establishing her as the one in charge, killing those who thought the self-made widow was an easy target. Raphael was too young to rule on his own, besides, she didn’t want to put the eye of danger on him. Her children were the only thing able to draw any emotion from her. When she found out she was pregnant (another child of Ragnar’s who would never know him as their father) she felt nothing more than that fierce desire to protect the child, to keep her safe. To prevent her from ending up in the same place she had.

When Ragnar kneeled before her she steeled her eyes in a practiced moment, trying to hide any form of emotion from her face. Seeing him again, on his knees in front of her, it made her heart slam into her chest as she considered him. None of that made it onto her face, even if he deserved to see the pain.

Warden Constable, she said he addressed her. A perfectly manicured brow raised at the sound of her given name. He seemed so hesitant. Nervous. This wasn’t like him.

Is there something Val Colline can do for the blight, Ser Caius? Because surely you did not believe yourself welcome for a social call after your last stay in my lands.

If he deserved anything, it was undoubtedly the withering resolve he felt kneeling in front of her. There were so many unspoken truths floating stagnate between them. Truths that if spoken would shake the foundations of their fragile and tenuous peace. Truths that would disintegrate whatever hope he was still holding onto. Truths that needed to come out, that should be voiced but truths that even he was too cowardly to face. Blights and archdemons were impulsive foes to him, but the way he felt about Alyvia Arlange? Catastrophic and debilitating fear. He hated himself for it. Hated that he couldn't face it, hated that he'd used his one favor on something he may very well never forgive himself for doing. 

At her stilted words, he felt the courage inside of him shrivel to a haunting shadow inside of him, leaving him alone in the void. 

He tucked the vial back into his pocket and looked up at her again, meeting her cold gaze. He cleared his throat nervously. Certainly not, your Grace but I'm obliged to tell you that you should consider evacuating the city. Orlais is no longer safe. He thought about the other country far too much for a constable of another country's order. He simply couldn't stand to think of her and her family surrounded and stranded waiting for their doom.  

But I confess that is not why I came here today. Sweat beaded at his temples, on his palms, his throat turning tight with nerves. He looked around at the others in the room, others he didn't want overhearing his true intentions. I'd like to request a private audience to discuss some important matters.