Echo was out amongst the swamp reeds, and Morrigan wasn't watching her too closely, either. Not the most attentive parent, perhaps, but the swamps were safer than the cities and she knew that from experience. Besides, the girl needed to learn what was and wasn't safe, and she wouldn't be able to do that if Morrigan hovered.
Okay, so, I want you to rot this fish. She held a fish out towards her lover, freshly caught. Think about it rotting, scales and flesh dripping free, until you hold nothing but bone. Then, before you disintegrate the bones, stop.
'
@Loghain Mac Tir
The warm Antivan breeze rustled through the swamp reeds, carrying with it the scent of the sea and the distant calls of reed warblers. Loghain stood on the balcony of their rented villa, his eyes scanning the horizon, his thoughts consumed by the search for Asha. She had been missing for over a year, and though he had no memory of her, the void in his heart was undeniable. Morrigan had told him everything, and despite the gaps in his memory since she had brought him back from the dead, he was determined to find their daughter.
Their little cottage, nestled far from the bustling city of Antiva, was a peaceful haven surrounded by nature. The gentle chorus of birds and the croaking of frogs created a serene backdrop to his current endeavor. Echo, their youngest, was out exploring the swamp reeds, her laughter occasionally carried on the breeze.
Inside, the room was filled with an air of quiet concentration. Morrigan stood by the table, her presence a grounding force as she guided him through his latest lesson in controlling his newfound magic. A fish lay on the table before him, its silvery scales gleaming in the sunlight that filtered through the open windows.
Focus, right, just focus, He never imagined one day he’d be doing magic, let alone that Morrigan would be teaching him. Though he supposed he had one of the best people to teach him, even if patience definitely wasn’t one of her attributes. So, is this how Flemeth taught you? He was still focusing on the fish, but he felt like maybe if he didn’t focus QUITE so heavily on the fish, maybe he would have a better result.
Loghain took a deep breath, feeling the familiar tingle of magic at his fingertips. It was still strange to him, this power that had come with his second chance at life. He concentrated, willing the decay to begin. Slowly, the fish's flesh began to wither and rot, the smell turning his stomach. He pushed through the discomfort, his eyes narrowing as he focused on the delicate balance Morrigan had described.
Loghain gritted his teeth, sweat forming on his brow. He could feel the magic pulsing, threatening to slip beyond his control. Just as the bones began to emerge, he released his hold, the decay halting just in time. The fish lay before him, skeletal remains surrounded by a mush of decayed flesh.
Morrigan arched a brow at her beloved. No. Mother preferred to train in ways that were far more damaging to ones psyche. Kieran received training similarly. She responded, with a shrug. Though, with Kieran I never put him in danger. And I suppose, Mother never put me in real danger, but she'd certainly allow me to believe it was real. She'd been a better mother marginally, than her own. But her skills lay in teaching, and she recognized each student had a way of learning that would benefit them the most.
And her beloved, needed to do things slowly. She stood next to him, observing silently. Near enough to stop him, if he didn't quite stop himself. But soon, the fish had melted away, flesh peeling and unraveling, muscle following. Then bone remained, and she leaned to whisper, Very good. You might be my most apt student yet.
Loghain’s lips twitched into a faint smile at Morrigan’s praise, though it was a smile edged with frustration. The magic still felt foreign to him, like a blade he hadn’t yet fully mastered. But he was nothing if not determined, and he’d be damned if he let it best him.
Damaging to one’s psyche, you say? he murmured, glancing at Morrigan. Sounds like a bloody effective way to get someone’s attention. He wiped the sweat from his brow, looking down at the decayed remains of the fish. The sight was both grotesque and oddly satisfying. In his previous life, he’d dealt death with steel; now, it seemed, he was learning to do the same with a mere thought.
Loghain’s thoughts drifted briefly to Kieran, their son. He wondered how much of Flemeth’s teachings the boy had inherited, how much of Morrigan’s influence had shaped him. The idea that his children were learning the ways of magic, that they were growing up in a world so different from the one he had known, was both a source of pride and a nagging concern.
He turned his gaze to the swamp where Echo played, her laughter reaching his ears like a balm. Despite everything, she seemed untouched by the weight of their pasts, her innocence a stark contrast to the dark path he and Morrigan had walked. He couldn’t afford to let his failures repeat themselves, not with Echo, not with Kieran. Slipping up once again in his mind, forgetting what a hand he had in raising Asha.
Apt student, am I? he repeated, his tone a mix of dry humor and self-reflection. High praise coming from you, but I’m a long way from mastering this… but I’m getting there. He stepped back from the table, rolling his shoulders as if to shake off the tension that had built up during the exercise.
Flemeth must have been something, he added, more to himself than to Morrigan. The stories he’d heard about the Witch of the Wilds painted a picture of a formidable woman, one who had shaped Morrigan into the powerful, enigmatic force she was today. Loghain respected that—respected strength and the ability to survive in a world that sought to crush the weak.
He turned to Morrigan, his expression serious now. What’s next? I need to be ready, for whatever comes. This power— he flexed his fingers, feeling the residual magic still humming beneath his skin, —it’s not enough to just wield it. I need to control it. Completely.
Loghain’s blue eyes met Morrigan’s, the determination in them clear. He was a warrior, born and bred, but now he was something more, something different. He wasn’t about to let this new path overwhelm him; he would forge it into a weapon, one that would protect his family and help them find Asha.
I’ve always been a quick study when it comes to the battlefield, he continued, his voice low and resolute. This is just another war to win. So, teach me, Morrigan. Teach me what I need to know. He couldn’t help but wonder how much his new power would have come in handy back when he fought against the Orlesian occupation of Ferelden.
Morrigan's lips curled in a wry grin. I wasn't the most attentive student, y'know. Sneaking off to see the village boys... She smirked, chuckling quietly. But generally, Mother believed she needed to prepare me... For what, I can only imagine she was aware I'd leave her side to travel with the Wardens? Flemeth had known things she shouldn't have known. Morrigan learned her mother was rarely wrong about anything.
It made more sense, now. Knowing what they did about the world, about Flemeth herself. But it still made her uneasy to think about for too long. I tried to ensure Kieran could handle his own in case of danger, but would never be in true danger while in my care. And their son was an okay student, though he'd never quite lived up to her high expectations.
And Asha'bellanar... well, she had forced Morrigan to lower her expectations a lot. And she snorted quietly at the thought of the girl; missing and she had no idea where to start looking, and was powerless for the time being.
As long as you don't let your magic eat the house, you're doing great. She responded, to her lover's dry humor. He didn't believe her praise, and she didn't expect him to. He was like an infant, learning to walk for the first time, and she'd only have patience to show him the absolute basics for so long before he met with a crueler side of her that their children had only known.
Mmm, speaking like that reminds me of Flemeth. She believed, you should seek to control, completely. She'd have liked you. Probably, if she didn't eat you for knocking me up, she snorted, drily. But she met his gaze, regarding him quietly.
C'mon. We'll go into the ruins. Because Antiva didn't have much in the way of swamp wastelands. She'd have to take him back home to acquire those kind of conditions.
Loghain took a final look at the decayed fish, a grim satisfaction settling in his chest. As much as he still loathed the unnatural feeling of magic, he couldn’t deny its effectiveness. This was the edge he’d been missing for far too long.
Into the ruins, then, he said, rolling his shoulders. There was no time to waste—he couldn’t afford the luxury of hesitation. Morrigan’s wry humor was lost on him, but her praise, faint as it was, had registered. She wouldn’t throw empty words at him, and he appreciated her frankness.
His mind drifted to Flemeth, the myth and the reality, the mysterious specter that had shaped Morrigan. If Flemeth thought control was the highest goal, then it must have been for good reason, he muttered. I can respect that. Mastery, or nothing.
Loghain’s gaze turned toward the swamp, where Echo’s laughter echoed through the reeds. For now, at least, their daughter was safe. But he knew firsthand how quickly things could turn. He’d sharpen this power, mold it into something dependable—something that wouldn’t betray him when it counted.
With one last glance at Morrigan, he nodded. Lead the way.
Morrigan shook her head, as he mentioned Flemeth. Mother... raised renegade magicians. Our schooling came from the Wilds, from experiences, from history. And in the height of my childhood, Templars hunted us for sport. It was a live or die world. And every time she'd risked sneaking into that damn villaged to meet with him, she'd put everything Flemeth had carefully prepared at risk. But she'd only done it because she knew she could get away with it. An arrogance like that, though, was likely why she was without her magic.
Hands in her pockets, she listened to Echo's laughter. We'll go past the safety wards. She'd marked their safer locations, laid them out so that they'd know where she had not scouted. Because even though she had no magic, she still insisted on scouting the land around them with no weapons other than her body.
She walked facing Loghain, back to the world in front of them. Guide me. Use your senses to see ahead of us. Warn me what's to come. She ordered.
Loghain’s jaw clenched tighter as his gaze swept the swamp ahead, his memories suddenly stirring with a ferocity he rarely allowed himself to feel. Morrigan’s talk of Templars hunting children had struck a chord, one he hadn’t acknowledged in years. His voice, when he finally spoke, was low and rough, like gravel underfoot.
Don’t mistake me, Morrigan. I know what it’s like to be the prey. The words came out clipped, edged with a sharpness that betrayed the storm beneath. He glanced back at her, his face hard but his eyes distant, as though he was staring at something far removed from the swamp before them.
I was ten when the Orlesians came to our farm. My father had already fallen fighting their occupation. My mother… she stood between them and me, unarmed, defiant. He paused, his voice tightening as the memory came rushing back. They ran her through for it. And they made me *watch.* He looked away, his shoulders stiffening as if bracing against an unseen blow.
They thought it would teach me fear. That it would break me. And for a while, it did. I was just a boy, hiding in the woods, living off scraps, hunted like an animal while my country burned. Loghain exhaled sharply, shaking his head as though to clear the ghosts lingering at the edges of his vision.
But I learned. I learned how to survive. How to fight back. And how to make them pay for what they’d done. So don’t think for a moment that I don’t understand what it is to be hunted, Morrigan. I’ve lived it. I’ve bled for it. The rawness in his voice softened, though his eyes were no less fierce as they met hers.
That’s why I’ll never let it happen to my children. To Kieran. To Echo. To Asha, wherever she is. I’ll carve through anyone or anything that dares to come for them. And if this power you’re teaching me is what I need to do it, then so be it.
Loghain turned back to the shadows ahead, his posture tense but resolute. He stretched his senses again, the strange magic whispering its warnings to him.
Something’s still there, just beyond the reeds. Watching us. Waiting. Could be the swamp’s usual predators, or it could be worse.
Morrigan hummed at her spouse, watching as he seemed to set himself to informing her that he knew just what it was like to be prey as she. Perhaps, but he had been a different kind of prey, under a different threat. She doesn't say that, though.
Instead, she says, patting his chest. At least the ones hunting you were not your kin, or people from the country you should have belonged to but never fit in. And turned away, leaving him to his thoughts. Leading them away from the past.
I put myself into power in Ferelden to simply prove that I could. The country rejected and hunted me for much of my life, only to fall to its knees in worship when I helped to save them. You were part of that, you saw that. She reminds him. The people had once turned on him, too.
He motioned that something was there, in the swamp with them, and she smirked. Good boy. Bring me to it.
Loghain didn’t hesitate. With a curt nod, he pushed forward, muscles tensed, senses stretching outward as he followed the invisible thread of awareness the magic had granted him. The swamp was dense here, reeds swaying in a slow, rhythmic dance with the wind. Water sloshed around his boots as they moved deeper into the mire, the air thick with the scent of damp earth and something… off.
It’s not just an animal, Loghain muttered. There’s something else. Something wrong.
He pressed forward until the reeds parted into a small clearing, a patch of dry earth raised slightly above the waterline. And there, slumped against the twisted roots of a gnarled tree, was a corpse.
Or at least, it *should* have been a corpse.
The body was gaunt, skin stretched tight over sharp bones, its clothes tattered and damp with muck. At first, it looked like some unfortunate traveler who had collapsed and died here long ago. But then its head snapped up.
Milky eyes locked onto them. A low, rattling breath escaped from its cracked lips.
And then, hoarse but eerily clear, the thing *spoke.*
“You’re late.”
Loghain’s sword was in his hand before he even registered the motion. His gut reaction was to *kill,* because whatever this was, it shouldn’t be talking. But he didn’t strike. Not yet.
Morrigan trailed after Loghain, lazily. Almost as if she couldn’t be bothered to worry about whatever he sensed—and the twisted smile that claimed her lips, as the corpse declared them late, made her chuckle.
Now, now… one is never late when one is me. She chided, slipping past Loghain, stopping a sword-length in front of him. You are not one of mine. Who woke you up? She inquired, eyeing the creature. Only someone accomplished would be able to maintain the kind of connection this thing had—even she, without her magic, could sense the vile energy surrounding the thing.
The creature’s sunken face barely moved, its lips peeling back from teeth that were more exposed bone than enamel. Its head tilted, not in recognition, but in the slow, unnatural way of something that had long since lost the art of human motion. And yet, it knew them. Or at least, it spoke as if it did.
“I was never asleep.”
Its voice was a rasp, something caught between a whisper and a death rattle. The words came slowly, as if dredged up from the depths of some unseen place. It lifted a skeletal hand, the fingers bent like claws, as though feeling the air between them. “But I waited. I was told to wait.”
Loghain’s grip on his sword tightened, his pulse steady but aware. His instincts screamed that this thing should not be speaking, should not be moving, should not be.
Told by who? he demanded, stepping forward, angling himself slightly in front of Morrigan without thinking.
He could feel it again, that sensation, that pulse of magic running through him, whispering beneath his skin. It wasn’t the raw, uncontrolled surge he’d felt before. This was different. Like it was responding, like it was watching just as he was watching.
