. . . dare to speak to me . . . BY Morrigan

Morrigan had come to visit Asha... though that visit had ended in an argument, and she'd left. The girl's temper rivaled her own, not at all helped by the spirits that possessed either of them. Flemeth had been a very rod-over-carrot mother, and Mythal knew everything about Flemeth. This gave the girl an advantage over her mother in these fits of rage. The witch had slammed the door to the home behind of her, and stormed out. She'd tried to be cordial... supportive, even, but apparently it wasn't enough.

No, she'd never make up for the girl's father and his soft ways. She'd have to accept that.

Soldier's Peak was familiar, though, enough so that she loitered around the griffons for a bit.

Grainne had hoped that coming to Soldier’s Peak would bring her a much needed sense of stability, but that hadn’t been the case.  Of course, any time she found herself in a new place a certain amount of overwhelm was impossible to avoid as she worked to make sense of the new information she would have to remember, but she couldn’t get past the feeling.  Instead of settling in and feeling like she had found a new home, Grainne felt as though she was wandering a maze full of people she knew shew had seen before but could not recall.

She at least gotten her bearings enough to know how to get to the griffons.  Grainne found the animals fascinating, and just watching them was a pleasant distraction from her worries.  Besides, sometimes the company of animals was more enjoyable than that of people.  Animals never made you feel stupid….with the exception of some very mischievous cats.

Her heart jumped, though, when she saw another person already there.  She wouldn’t have the solitude she hoped for, and turning right back around just seemed foolish.  Grainne froze, trying to think of what to say or if she should say anything at all, but words and thoughts wouldn’t come together.  There was an awful, awkward pause before she finally spoke.

“I….um…sorry.  Hope I’m not interrupting anything.”

Morrigan was stroking her fingers through a griffon's feathers, when a timid voice caught her attention. She'd interacted with the young lady before, though only as a cat. She seemed shy... but she seemed to like animals.

Not at all. She turned away from the griffon after composing herself. Her face neutral, instead of angered. She'd never take her anger at herself or her daughter out on someone.

You come here often. Grainne, right? We've met before. They hadn't met when Morrigan was in her human form, only in her cat.

Well, shit.

Grainne had no memory of meeting this woman, and while she sometimes was able to make peace with the fact that her memory was unreliable, this time it was unsettling.  There was something so striking about this woman that Grainne found it hard to accept that she wouldn’t have had any recollection.

She tried to play it off, keeping the details of the truth to herself even though her face showed a bit of frustration.

“That’s right.  Only, forgive me, I don’t remember your name.”  

Morrigan tilted her head slightly. Oh no, I never told you my name. We didn't meet like this, she gestured between the two of them before snapping her fingers. And with that snap of her fingers, a black cat stood in her place.

She pranced up to the woman, rubbing against her ankles, typical cat antics, before she stepped a few feet away to shift back again.

I'm Morrigan. Most people recognized her name, as that 'damned Witch that the Hero of Ferelden dragged around'... others knew her for her son's birth. Others still knew her as Flemeth's daughter, and Loghain's partner.

Some people knew her not by her name, like Grainne, though.

Seeing the transformation set off a reaction that made Grainne feel as though she was in danger. Her heart jumped, and her spine straightened out, but only a moment later, she took a few deep breaths to calm herself.  Though she tried so hard to unlearn some of the nastier beliefs that twisted inside her mind, she had trouble shaking the idea that some kinds of magic were just wrong and unnatural, even though she couldn’t give a logical reason as to why.

Still, she recognized the cat…Morrigan…Had she heard that name before?

“Wasn’t expecting that,” she answered with a forced laugh.  “But to be honest, that 
cat did always seem too clever for its own damn good.”

Morrigan grinned, Aw, you think I'm clever. She was amused and it showed in the lilt of her tone. The woman swept herself forward, to offer her hand properly.

It's nice to meet you in this form. She commented. The woman before her was interesting, only because she seemed so skittish... and so strange? She seemed so sure she'd forgotten who Morrigan was and that piqued her interest. Was this woman damaged? And if so, by what? Her thoughts wandered.

“Well, clever for a cat,” she teased as she reached out and shook Morrigan’s hand.  

Morrigan, though…Grainne swore she had heard that name before, or should have heard it.  Unfortunately, it always happened that the harder she tried to remember something the harder it was to get a grasp on whatever information swirled around her head.

“Sorry, I feel like I e heard your name before, but my memory…well, frankly it’s shit.”  

No need to try to act like her problems didn’t exist, she had tried that before and it didn’t help anything.

Morrigan grinned, easy and amused. Whether it was a show, one could only guess. But the proper guess was yes, it was probably all for show. She was bitter, she was jaded, she was hurting. And sometimes it was nice to pretend she wasn't those things.

Oh? Memory troubles? Tell me about those. A mystery was afoot, and she just happened to be curious enough to take the bait.

Grainne paused before she answered,  most people were not bold enough to pry further.  At this point, they usually either began with sympathetic noises or acted confused and awkward, unsure of how to respond.  Such frankness, thought it caught her off guard, was refreshing in its own way.

“Head injury.” Her words were soft, but her tone was clipped and sharp.  “From years ago, so there not much hope of anything improving.”

Morrigan hummed, nodding thoughtfully. Unfortunate. Guess you need to make new memories. She shrugged, grinning widely at the girl.

Sweet, amnesiac. This woman had a new attempt at life. Though she suspected it must be strange to have people know you without remembering them.

So you're part of the Protectorate, then? One could ask the same of Morrigan, considering she was here often enough.

“Well, I nearly died and had a chance to start my life over, but I’m not entirely sure I deserved it.”  A little more openness than usual, but honesty felt more natural now.  Maybe it was something about how the other woman was so direct that made her feel safer being just as direct herself.  At any rate, it was a welcome change from years surrounded by Orlesians, twisted her brain into knots over the way everything had some double meaning.

“I’m a Grey Warden.  A new one, at least.  And you?”

Morrigan hummed, Death tends to do strange things to ones mind. So perhaps, this fresh start is for the best. Not that Morrigan had ever had a near-death experience, looking as she did despite her actual age. She made a sound, chuckling at herself. Grey wardens did seem to find her, didn't they? Perhaps she had a type...

Well, I'm an advisor to the Orlesian throne, and to Ferelden I'm a threat a Witch of the Kocari Wilds, like my mother before me. She could hear Flemeth's noise of disgust that her daughter would merely describe herself as standing in the original witch's shadow. But she ignored her, for now. Flemeth was a quiet possessor. I'm a daughter of Flemeth. Like those old legends? She added, helpfully.

Grainne’s heart jumped.  Partly because of a sudden sense of embarrassment, speaking to someone so important and, well, unconventional as if she was another ordinary, unremarkable person.  Partly because of those old, deep-seated views that she was still trying to shake.  There was something inside her that thought that magic learned outside the circles was inherently more dangerous, but when she stopped to have a good think about it, she was aware that she mainly felt that way because someone very convincing told her so.

For a moment she froze, eyes wide, but she took a deep breath to steady herself.  “Forgive me, that wasn’t what I was expecting to hear.  My background isn’t nearly as remarkable.  I was a sellsword until recently, and before that…well I grew up in the Free Marches.”  That was enough of that.  Most people never got that much detail.

Morrigan grinned at the younger woman's unease. Please, no-one expects to hear me. Mostly because Morrigan was notorious for ignoring those she deemed beneath her. But she'd been watching this woman for a while.

I'm from the Wilds, out near Gwaren. I don't enjoy titles or pomp and circumstance. It was true; though she enjoyed it when it meant a man in power was groveling on his knees at her feet, begging for mercy or attention.

She offered out her hand—It's a pleasure to be in the distinguished company of a Warden. Her best friend was the Hero of Ferelden; she'd be remiss if she acted like Wardens were beneath her.

Though she had had many Wardens beneath her in a... physical sense, of the phrase. What was one more?