She sat on the edge of his bed with the coverlet pooled in her lap, her breasts bare except for the many necklaces that were draped over her pale flesh. She sat there silently, shamelessly, a sad smile touching her lips as she watched him gather his clothes with haste. He could feel those yellow eyes of hers burning into his back as he fumbled to put on his trousers. His feet tangled in the fabric and he nearly tripped, only regaining his balance with the help of the bedpost. He snarled when she laughed at him, a low sound that rose from her throat like a jovial little moan. She had made almost the same noise when he had-

His heart began to beat much too fast in his chest. Sweat was pooling beneath his eyes and on his lip. He cursed himself a few times before sitting on the edge of the bed opposite her, laying his head on his hands and trying to gain control over himself.

"Indulge me if you will, Alistair," Morrigan said and Alistair ran his fingers through his hair nervously. If he never heard her voice again it would be too soon.

"I think I've indulged you quite enough," he snapped.

"It is obvious that you care a great deal about our Warden. You love her," she continued, choosing to ignore his current state of distress. It was a few moments before he could respond. Her words only made him angrier, and it took a few deeps breaths and an influx of steely resolve before he dared to turn around to look her in the eyes. She was mocking him, turning the love he felt for the Warden into some sort of defect within him, another flaw in his character with which she could torment him.

"Yes. In fact, I do love her," Alistair growled. His face, which had been twisted by disgust and anger, softened as he spoke of the Warden. His voice began to waiver. "With all my heart. And it would kill me to lose her to the archdemon. That is the only reason I'm here with you. If she didn't trust you, if she didn't-"

"Indeed. So, Alistair, when you realized that a Warden must die in order to end the Blight, you must have thought to yourself that you would do everything in your power to make the killing blow yourself in order to save your dear Warden from making the sacrifice."

"Of course I did. Do you honestly think I could ever even think about letting her die?" he said. He was started to feel more confused than angry. What was she trying to do? What did she want him to say? As long as they had been travelling together, he had never come to understand Morrigan, and he supposed he never would. She was a heartless, conniving shrew, and yet she had fought beside them, even spared him and Venni some pain on a few occasions. He had expected nothing less than for Morrigan to abandon their broken bodies to the darkspawn the first chance she got, and yet almost more than a year had gone by and she was still at the Warden's side just as he was.

"Interesting…when we talked she spoke of doing the same for you," Morrigan mused. "'Tis quite curious, her love for you. I for one cannot see how she tolerates your company as she does, let alone enjoys it-"

"Stop. Just stop talking," Alistair barked.

Enough was enough, and he didn't want to hear another word from her poisonous mouth. He pulled his shirt over his head and went to the door. He had every intention of flinging open the door and storming down the hall out of the witch's sight, preferably forever, but something stopped him. His fingers paused on the handle and he sighed. He turned to look at her, only to find that her piercing eyes had fallen into her lap, pondering her hands as they twisted in the sheets.

"Tell me something, Morrigan," he said, and Morrigan glared icily at him for daring to disturb her from her deep reverie. "Why do you care? Why would you offer us this? She…trusts you, and Maker only knows why. I've seen you two talking. It's almost like you two have become…friends."

He had watched them at camp. He had spent many nights keeping watch as Venni visited with Morrigan at her fire. Sometimes they would sit and talk for what seemed like hours to him, and sometimes Morrigan would teach the Warden how to shift her shape into that of a spider, a bear, a swarm of insects. This exchange of power perhaps disturbed him more than anything else. Morrigan remained a mystery to them, and yet she shared the secrets of her magic to Venni so readily. There had to be a certain amount of trust there between them, another thing he would never understand. It seemed as though the only thing the two women had in common was their magic.

"I must admit, 'tis strange even to me. But-" Morrigan's words died on her lips as she shook her head and turned away from him. "I do not think that my concern for the Warden needs to be discussed between us. Just know that…know that if it pleases her that you should not fall victim to the archdemon, then …then it is fortunate that she will get what she wants."

It was the last thing he had ever expected to hear from the witch. Her voice was choked and unsteady, one hand covering her face. Perhaps the Warden had changed the witch's life more than he knew.

"Morrigan—" he said, confused. He almost wanted to comfort her, strange as it was. He may not have trusted her, but there could be no faking this emotion. Against what he thought to be his better judgment, he believed that her sadness was sincere.

Morrigan's head snapped up and she shot him one last icy glance. "The ritual is completed. You need not linger in my presence any longer," she said, and turned away again.

"Thank the Maker," Alistair sighed, but as soon as he opened the door he was compelled to close it again.

"Alistair?"

"What?" he hissed, suddenly angry all over again. The sheer volume of conflicting emotions that were running through him was enough to make him seethe. He wanted to be somewhere else. Maybe by some miracle he would come to the realization that these last few hours were all a dream and that Venni was still the only woman he had ever slept with and that he really hadn't felt any unwanted sympathy towards Morrigan, however fleeting it had been.

"As terrible of a king as I believe you're going to be, I trust you to do one thing correctly," Morrigan said. All of her old cynicism had crept its way back into her voice, and somehow it made Alistair feel just a little bit better.

"And what is that, Morrigan?"

"I trust that even though you will be bound by your so-called duty to the crown, that you will not forsake the Warden despite what that duty might compel you to do."

"Never," he said resolutely.

"That is all, Alistair."

He left her there in his bed, closing the door behind him as he stepped out into the hallway. He took a few steps before he realized that he was moving in the wrong direction, but he didn't turn around. He kept going until he was all the way down the stairs, moving past Arl Eamon's study and the armory. He found himself in the empty dining hall, pacing up and down the table, his fingers trailing across the backs of the chairs. With a frustrated sigh, he collapsed into one and laid his head down on the table.

If Morrigan was as good as her word, he would survive to become king and rule over this devastated kingdom. Venni would still be with him, and perhaps she would even choose to stay with him in Denerim. He had never wanted the life of a king, but he was coming around to the idea. Perhaps Venni was right. Perhaps he would make a good king and bring real change for the better to Ferelden. The thought of becoming king didn't seem quite as foreboding as it had before, especially not with her to help him. If nothing else, it would certainly make an interesting future for him. But he would gladly throw it all away to save her life if he had to. Even with this ritual done, could he stand by and let her take the final blow? He didn't think so. Venni may have trusted Morrigan, and he may have even come to understand that trust, but he wasn't willing to take any chances. This ritual had changed nothing between them. He still loved her more than he had ever thought he could love another person.

In only a few hours, the fate of those he loved and the fate of the entire kingdom would be decided. He realized that he was wasting the few hours of peace they had left.

He went back upstairs and past his own room. The door was still closed, but he had no doubt that Morrigan had moved back to her own quarters. He continued down the hall to Venni's room, and he opened the door to find her sitting in a chair by the fire. Her bed was untouched and she was still in her usual robes, though her boots had been abandoned by the foot of the bed. Her staff was propped up against the wall, the crystal at the top still glowing slightly like the eye of a watchful serpent. She didn't stir as he approached her, closing the door gently behind him.

She was asleep; her arms crossed and her head lolling to the side. Her hair had fallen into her face, veiling her beautiful features in black. He kneeled down beside her and took her hand. He gently brushed the hair out of her face and her eyes fluttered open. She smiled at him.

"Alistair?" she said groggily.

"Love, I-" he began, but she pressed a finger to his lips.

"You don't need to say anything," she said, squeezing his hand.

She stood and pulled him to his feet. Alistair's heart felt like it would soon fall out of his chest. The thought of never seeing that smile again devastated him. It seemed so foolish to put all his hope in Morrigan, but there was nothing else he could do. He didn't want to die and break her heart, nor would he ever let the archdemon take her from him.

She began to cry silently, a smile still on her lips. He couldn't hold himself back anymore. He took her in his arms and held her tight, burying his face in her shoulder. She brushed her fingers through his hair and cried with him. He took a deep breath to calm himself and she pulled away to take him by the hand and lead him to the bed. They lay down together, her legs tangled in his. She cradled his head in her hands and kissed him first on the forehead, then she brought her lips to meet his. She kissed him deeply, passionately, but there was a desperate sadness there that he had never noticed before. He put his hand on the soft curve of her hip and pulled her closer.

In a few moments she was asleep in his arms, her head nestled against his chest. He lay awake for some time, running his fingers gently through her long hair. He would go to his grave loving this woman, one way or the other. In only a few hours, for good or ill, this nightmare would end.

The fire burned low, dying out just as Alistair closed his eyes and fell asleep beside her.