Tightrope

Morrigan had finished the ritual; and when she confirmed her daughter was alive... she had removed any trace of Loghain from their home. Asha was left in her brother's care, because Morrigan took her lover home to the Wilds. Though this place had not been his home; it had been hers. And she was most familiar with the teachings of the Chasind. Flemeth had never taught the Chantry beliefs to her. And she had no wish to know that religion. Though, in actuality, she shold have learned after meeting Loghain. They'd never talked about their belief systems; she had no idea if he followed the Chantry.

She knew he'd followed her, though. He'd trusted her to guide him through his Calling; had used his death for something more. The girl was alive; his girl. But that did not change the fact, that once she was alone in the Wilds, after he was ash in a small urn, she sobbed.

Under the quickly darkening sky, with just moonlight, the Witch of the Wilds cried. She  wanted to find a way to help him; she'd promised that he'd die on her terms—and she had many more years of life ahead of her.

Some part of her was bitter and jaded; he'd loved their daughter more than he'd loved her. He hadn't—though he was gone, this was the path they'd picked after every other ritual failed. After every idea she had to save the girl had no effect.

She'd told him this was a last-ditch effort; had asked if he wanted to die that way. 'It's a better death than I deserve. I've lived mine.' She could still feel his touch on her cheek, as he told her that he'd been happy.

Morrigan had returned his ashes to the Temple of the Twins, deep in the Wilds. She'd taken the trip by foot. Another day passed, as she trekked out of the Wilds. Another letter sent; this time to Anora. He'd written it, she'd not read it.

A letter for their daughter, tucked into her pocket; another one in her hand. She'd written one, explaining the circumstances in very practical, rational words. He'd written another. She'd not read that one, either.

And as she left the Wilds to return to Amaranthine, she was colder, harsher than she had been before. And she wore a small bracelet of glass beads; his ashes.

The room was loud, as she stepped out of the eluvian. Asha. She moved to sit on the head of the bed, Kieran was nowhere to be seen; she wondered where he'd run off to.

Your Father had his Calling. Just as emotionless as one might expect; no outward signs that she was as distraught as the girl in front of her. He's gone.