Alas, so long as the music plays, we dance

[arcaneadvisor]

WHO: Morrigan, Alistair, Gwenaëlle, Thranduil
WHAT: The hunt for Flemeth moves into the final stage when Kieran is taken from Sundermount in the small hours with only one possible suspect, leading to a desperate race for one place Morrigan knows they might find her mother
WHEN: August
WHERE: Altar of Mythal
NOTES: stage i + stage ii

From Sundermount to the Arbor Wilds isn't nearly so far as to the Tirashan, but their small party - roused by a Morrigan in what might only have been described as a blind panic - doesn't fly as the dragon does, cutting clear across the sky from one to the next. Instead the journey is longer, across the Waking Sea, through the Dales, and then to the place Morrigan had described to them. Morrigan, silent and snapping by turns (only Thranduil knows after all) until they at last come upon a place that carries with it the weight of memory.

Too bright and too beautiful compared to near all other elven ruins but then this is older still, is it not? A statue that even beheaded is familiar to those who've seen it before as life blooms about it, as the dread coils in Morrigan's belly to force her to a halt.

For there is no dragon here.

There is a woman Morrigan knows. A woman Alistair knows. A boy all four of them know. The woman kneels before the boy until the intrusion is realised, standing with her gauntleted hand upon his shoulder, a familiar smile and greeting upon her lips.

"Well, well, well, what have we here?"

Comments

[byblow]

She can say he’s in no danger all she wants. Alistair is going to look at her the same way either way, like he doesn’t trust her about this or anything else but thinks it’s sort of funny that she’s asking them to, except when he’s looking at Kieran and briefly wrinkling his nose in answer to that guilty look, like it’s all fine, although clearly it isn’t.

“No,” he says—and if it comes to a choice between protecting Kieran and letting an ancient being of unknowable origin and power run off with an Archdemon’s soul in her pocket then yes, fine, Flemeth or whatever her name is can have Urthemiel. But at the moment, to Alistair, that doesn’t look like the choice. Souls don’t just come out of bodies, in his experience. And even if they do, a Grey Warden doesn’t just hand an Old God over to a mysterious witch to do whatever she pleases with... twice.

The first time was different.

He says, “Morrigan,” in a rising way, like a warning, she can’t have it, except with a little bit of a questioning twist at the end, so it’s more like: she can’t have it, right?

And then he looks at Gwenaëlle and her giant Elvenking, who presumably aren’t looking back at him, because he’s the least interesting thing here—and there’s no telling what Thranduil knows or will think about anything, but Gwenaëlle is Thedosian. She’ll know what it means. He doesn’t know what she’ll think. Not about him, never mind him. But Kieran cares about her so much. If she’s horrified—

Wait, no, that’s stupid. It’s Gwenaëlle. She’ll probably shrug it off and have something clever to say.

So back to glaring at Flemeth like she’s trying to sell him moldy bread she claims was made by fairies.

[rowancrowned]

"The father's claim supersedes yours," Thranduil says. "As does the mother's. Both parents are in accord," because that face from Morrigan clearly means no, even if Alistair has been the only one to actually voice it. "and the boy is not yet of age."

Or, at least, he thinks so. Morrigan would go by the rules of the Chasind, would she not? He is drawing upon the old Mannish laws, the sort of the thing that brought forth such things as blood price for reparations and then the old, old ones, the bones of which are elven law, written in their souls as this is not right.

They have so much in common before this, why not these old things too? If he is to make his case before justice herself, this is what he will rely on.

Steady hands, steady gaze. He does not look back to either of them, nor Gwenaëlle.

"You cannot take what is not freely given."

There, the oldest law, and he knows it to be true here too, if only in the margins, if one cares to look. Demons cannot possess without consent.

[arcaneadvisor]

"She will take it, Alistair. She brought him here." She brought us here. Not entirely resigned since she manages to say it through gritted teeth, unhappy about it, about the choice she has to make, that it wasn't meant to come out like this. Not in front of any of them. If Kieran was ever to find out, if he was to finally ask who his father was in a way she couldn't step around then she'd have had time. Wouldn't have had it thrust upon her.

But then this was Flemeth's plan. This was always Flemeth's plan, and Morrigan might have escaped it, slipped through the eye of the needle for years but Flemeth has lived a long time patient as she is, and clearly she will take all that she believes is her due.

(She can hardly look at Kieran now that he knows.)

"Neither can she nor can it be given." Ah, and here is where an old woman's face softens with the weight of all her years to become mother and grandmother she never was at least to this woman. "You were never in danger from me - is a soul ever forced upon the unwilling?"

She kneels, settles by Kieran to make the point and her sigh is a sigh that carries echoes of the lives she has lived.

"Mythal came to me when I was alone in the dark, that much they remembered. I cried out for one who would listen. Oh and you, you speak of a father's claim what bearing does that have here and now? Long have I known the hearts of men, there is a reason Mythal chose me."

"Kieran comes with me." Morrigan steps forward, hand outstretched. "He will never go with you, your corruption--"

There is blue light, blinding. But no screaming, no cries of pain or contortions. But the light is very blue, very bright, and she pulls it from Kieran's chest as Morrigan shouts--