Fic: Into the Wilds (3/7)
Title: Into the Wilds (3/7)
Summary: AU - Ser Alistair, Templar of the Circle Tower, is sent into the Korcari Wilds on a search for Chasind apostates. What he finds is not what he expects.
Pairing: Alistair/Morrigan
Rating: NC-17
Word count: ~ 2400
Warnings: Violence, rape (in part 6)
Author's note: Many thanks to
drakontion for the beta
At first, the walk back to where Alistair had left Rood was not entirely unpleasant. True, he was half-dragging, half-shoving a scowling apostate through a cold misty swamp while tired, sore, and starving, but at least his current company was no worse than usual - her ease on the eyes somewhat offset the danger of being zapped into a toad the moment he let his guard down - and she left him alone to his thoughts.
Right now Alistair was wondering just what he was going to do with this woman once he brought her to Rood. He hadn't exactly been acting on more than impulse when he'd set off to find her.
Abruptly the witch spoke, as if reading his mind.
"What do you hope to accomplish by my capture, Templar? I cannot be of much use to you empty of mana, and you scarcely can fend for your own hide, out here in these wilds."
Alistair nearly jumped at her voice. "Huh? Oh. Honestly, I wasn't thinking - "
"That much is evident," she smirked.
"Hey, I'm speaking here. Didn't your mother ever teach you not to interrupt people?"
"My mother taught me not to interrupt my betters. But by all means, continue bleating."
Alistair shot her a tiny glare. "As I was saying, I hadn't thought much beyond having you take a look at a very sick colleague, and then maybe guide us to Ostagar."
"Do you expect me to meekly obey you, like those cattle you keep penned in your Tower?"
"Well, it never hurts to ask, does it."
"And for what reason would I be remotely inclined to aid you, if I were even able to do so?"
"I have got you at my mercy, if you haven't noticed. You could stand to show a little fear."
The woman raised thin eyebrows. "Truly? I, afraid of you, one lone, weak fool, lost in the Wilds? What would you do if I refused to do your bidding?"
He frowned. She had him there, but this was no time to admit just how little power he held.
"Fine, how about this: Let's not think of ourselves as 'Templar and captive apostate' - even if I am a Templar and you are a captive apostate." The witch opened her mouth, no doubt to mock his intelligence again, but Alistair plowed ahead. "Right now all I want is to be free of the Wilds, and I'm fairly sure all you want is to be free of me. I think we can work together, just for the littlest of whiles, so we can both get what we want. Then you can go back to shooting lightning at me to your cold little heart's content, and I'll go back to staying well away from you and your snide barbs, alright?"
"And why would I ever agree to cooperate with a Templar?"
"Did I mention the part where you get to go back to shooting lightning," he said dryly. "It won't even be in the Tower of Magi."
She studied him for a moment. "I see no reason to trust you."
"I haven't run you through with a sword yet, though that would solve a few of my problems. How's that?"
"That is insufficient grounds," she said. "You could still renege on your word at the first opportunity."
He ran his free hand through his hair in frustration. "Well so could you, but we have to start somewhere, don't we? So, deal?"
The apostate lanced him with a black look. "'Tis hardly a fair deal when one party is bound and kept powerless."
"Andraste's holy fire, I'm not coercing you at swordpoint. Can we work together or not?"
"Very well, then," she conceded, her expression neutral. "I will bring you to Ostagar."
"Good," Alistair said a bit too cheerfully. Constantly draining her mana was sapping his already low energy and his patience, and his right arm ached from having to keep it on the woman's left shoulder. He moved to her other side, feeling a little silly at having to switch arms, and wished again that Rood had left their anti-magic bracers in his pack, even though he wouldn't have thought to bring those along when looking for water.
"It just occurred to me, I never got your name," said Alistair.
"I did not wish to give it, fool. My feelings on that have not changed."
"Well, I can hardly refer to you as 'Apostate' or 'Witch' or 'Hey You' if we're going to be working together, can I? Wouldn't be very polite of me."
She bristled but did not take the bait. "You can, and you shall."
"Have it your way, then," Alistair sighed. "It's Alistair, by the way."
"What are you prattling about now?"
"My name. It's Alistair. Not 'Templar,' 'fool,' or even 'Templar fool.' Alistair."
"If you are done with this idiocy…"
"Fine, fine, shutting up now."
A tense silence settled as Alistair, with the witch in tow, worked his way around dense undergrowth, bog, and the occasional set of boulders. Through the leather of his gauntlet, he could feel a steady warmth emanating from the bare skin beneath his hand. A quick glance at the woman's pale arm - and only her arm, he told himself, keeping his eyes from wandering any further - confirmed she didn't even have goosebumps from the chill breeze.
How was she not freezing? About to voice the question, Alistair let his gaze slide up to her face, and found her eyeing him with an expression that brought to mind an old merlin in Arl Eamon's mews. A willful, proud bird, that nearly clawed his face when he got too close. He turned his attention back to the ground in front of him.
At length, he paused at one of his cairns to regain his bearings, and tugged at his captive's arm to signal her to stop. As he crouched and scanned for any tracks he'd made or plants he'd disturbed during his earlier pursuit, he could feel the same hawk-like stare taking in his every movement.
"You impress me, Templar," the woman remarked not a little snidely. "I did not think your kind stooped to adopt the primitive ways of barbarians."
"Yes, well, they don't make stupid Templars," Alistair huffed, although the backhanded compliment mildly surprised him. "The instructors were quite keen on making sure we had some grasp of woodcraft. Wouldn't do the Order much good if we got lost on the way back from capturing apostates."
"I see. 'Tis a most practical attitude. Yet your Chantry fails to apply it in their treatment of mages."
Distracted from his task, Alistair wasn't in any mood to defend the Chantry in a pointless debate with a hedge witch. "Do you really want to go there, argue about mages? And I thought you didn't want to talk."
The silence resumed. Finally spotting his prints among rotting fir needles, Alistair brought the less sore of his arms up to the woman's shoulders again and pressed on. The light was dying swiftly. Mentally he kicked himself for not bringing a flint and rags, and guessed he had an hour at most to find his way back to Rood.
Then: "I have a question, if you will."
"What is it," Alistair said flatly.
"You referred to yourself as the 'lowliest Templar of the Circle Tower.' I take it that is why you are here on an unpleasant assignment?"
"What are you getting at?" He was baffled; one minute the apostate was almost tolerable, the next she was getting under his skin.
She gave him an arch look. "I am only making conversation. You seemed so eager for it earlier."
"It's called 'being friendly.' Puts most people at ease."
"You must forgive me, then. I am unused to social graces."
"Unused to…? You've mean you've hardly been around other people?"
"I was raised in these woods, and I have seen no reason to have much… company of this sort."
"So you've lived here your entire life, in this forest, with just your mother that you mentioned? And you've never been outside of it?" He couldn't help but feel a twinge of pity.
"I have left it on occasion," the girl said defensively. "But this is my home. And you can hardly claim that your so-called civilization is any kinder towards mages who value their freedom."
"You…have a point. Don't you ever get lonely, though?"
"I have never wished for companionship."
"So, you, what, ran wild with the wolves and talked to trees? I imagine they talk back all the time."
Tawny eyes narrowed in irritation. "Enough about me. I wish to know more about you," she demanded.
That was an odd switch. "What, me? What could you possibly want to know about?"
"Everything. You are… not like any Templar I have met before."
Was he imagining things, or was the witch… sidling up to him? He felt his face flush, and tried to edge back to arm's length.
"I have never been taken, not even when I ventured so close to a chantry, once," she said in admiring tones.
Okay, she was definitely cozying against him now. He could practically feel heat radiating from her through his armor. Once more he attempted to move away, but she somehow redirected his push into a inward sweep and was now facing him. "What are you doing?" he protested weakly as he took slow, backwards steps.
"Getting to know you," she smiled in a way that suffused warmth into his belly. "You must be so much cleverer than the others. A shame, to be so lowly and ignored, when you should be… appreciated…" the woman purred. "Yes, so strong and handsome…"
A thud at his back surprised him, and Alistair would have jumped and fallen forward if he weren't pinned to the tree by the girl's weight. She was rising on her tiptoes and pressing her front against his, her eyes hooded, lips freshly moistened, back arching just so to give him a view that left nothing to the imagination.
Absurdly he wondered if her skin was chafing against his armor.
"I…you…" he managed to gasp, his heart jumping in his throat. It was hard to think for the burning in his ears and beneath his stomach. Those red lips were inching closer, too close… He could feel her breath, warm and smelling of sweet herbs. And wasn't he supposed to have a hand on her shoulder, and not her waist? When had that happened?
"Indeed," she whispered, a smirk curling a corner of her small mouth.
Then soft, soft lips caressing his, a scorching tongue seeking to explore his mouth, everything so warm, so pliant… Shock and sensation drove out his last coherent thoughts. He closed his eyes and yielded to her demands, bent forward and brought one hand up to cup a smooth, tender cheek while the other trailed down to the small of her back and melded her hips with his. Her tongue slipped in, entwining and devouring, and he could discern those herbs he had smelled on her breath, flavors of fennel and sweet basil and tarragon…
And the taste of a twinge in the gut, seasoned with an oncoming sneeze that never arrives.
Instantly Alistair's mind cleared, and his eyes flew open in anger.
"WITCH!" he roared as he forced her back with a shove to her shoulders. She stumbled and landed hard on her bottom. "Thought you could trick me, did you, you sneaky…witch…tart!" He took a step closer, looming over her like a thundercloud.
A flicker of fear and disappointment on her face was quickly smoothed over by disdain. "Oh, how very eloquent," she scoffed. "I need not have tried, though. Tell me, did you truly take vows of chastity, or did they simply geld you in the - "
"Shut up! You know nothing of who I am or what I want!" Alistair snarled, hoisting her up and slamming her back against a tree. The girl cried out in pain.
He blanched in shame. "Oh, Maker," he said, nearly dropping her as his grasp loosened. "I am so sorry."
"Pathetic weakling," the woman spat. "You - "
Before she could continue, something large shook the bushes, startling both of them.
"Alistair…" an inhuman voice croaked. A tall figure stepped out, carrying a pack and holding a bare shortsword.
"Rood?" Alistair said, horrified. The other Templar was unrecognizable: his face was sunken and skull-like, and any exposed skin was that awful brown-purple-black.
"Woke up. Tried…to find you," the sick man panted. "Followed… your tracks. You must help!"
The apostate's eyes were wide as saucers. "This is your friend? He is beyond help now. In fact, we must hurry away."
"Wait!" cried Alistair. "What's happening? Why can't we help him?"
"Fool, he has the Blight sickness! He is turning into a ghoul, and his blood calls to his masters. We must go!"
Rood seized Alistair's forearm. "NO! Please… help me! They are coming! They call, singing… Don't…let them…take - !" A sudden blast of power struck him, and he sank to his knees.
Alistair stood paralyzed by shock and confusion. "What did you do to him, witch?"
"Grant him mercy, if you must, but we must leave now!"
"Mercy?"
"A quick death, you idiot! To spare him from the darkspawn!"
Alistair stared at what was once Rood, then drew his sword. "Forgive me," he whispered, and slit his comrade's throat. He stooped to pick up the dropped pack.
"Come! We must run!" said the witch, already stepping away with anxiety creeping into her voice.
"Wait," said Alistair. He strode toward her grimly with sword still in hand, blood running down its fuller and trailing on the ground. "Turn your back to me."
The woman's face contorted in fear and anger as she started back. "Coward! You would -!"
Alistair's patience ran out. He grabbed her arm and cut the leather bindings, then opened the pack to fish through it.
"What? You would let me go?"
"You can't really defend yourself with your hands tied, now can you? And here, take these." He handed her the vials.
She stared at them dumbly. "Lyrium, so you can cast more," Alistair explained, settling the pack on his back and his shield on his arm. "Drink one, then we'll go, witch."
She tossed back a vial and grimaced at the taste. "Morrigan," she said as she wiped her mouth with the back of her wrist.
"What?"
"You may call me Morrigan."
"Right then. Come on!" Alistair took her hand, and together they ran.
Summary: AU - Ser Alistair, Templar of the Circle Tower, is sent into the Korcari Wilds on a search for Chasind apostates. What he finds is not what he expects.
Pairing: Alistair/Morrigan
Rating: NC-17
Word count: ~ 2400
Warnings: Violence, rape (in part 6)
Author's note: Many thanks to
drakontion for the beta
At first, the walk back to where Alistair had left Rood was not entirely unpleasant. True, he was half-dragging, half-shoving a scowling apostate through a cold misty swamp while tired, sore, and starving, but at least his current company was no worse than usual - her ease on the eyes somewhat offset the danger of being zapped into a toad the moment he let his guard down - and she left him alone to his thoughts.
Right now Alistair was wondering just what he was going to do with this woman once he brought her to Rood. He hadn't exactly been acting on more than impulse when he'd set off to find her.
Abruptly the witch spoke, as if reading his mind.
"What do you hope to accomplish by my capture, Templar? I cannot be of much use to you empty of mana, and you scarcely can fend for your own hide, out here in these wilds."
Alistair nearly jumped at her voice. "Huh? Oh. Honestly, I wasn't thinking - "
"That much is evident," she smirked.
"Hey, I'm speaking here. Didn't your mother ever teach you not to interrupt people?"
"My mother taught me not to interrupt my betters. But by all means, continue bleating."
Alistair shot her a tiny glare. "As I was saying, I hadn't thought much beyond having you take a look at a very sick colleague, and then maybe guide us to Ostagar."
"Do you expect me to meekly obey you, like those cattle you keep penned in your Tower?"
"Well, it never hurts to ask, does it."
"And for what reason would I be remotely inclined to aid you, if I were even able to do so?"
"I have got you at my mercy, if you haven't noticed. You could stand to show a little fear."
The woman raised thin eyebrows. "Truly? I, afraid of you, one lone, weak fool, lost in the Wilds? What would you do if I refused to do your bidding?"
He frowned. She had him there, but this was no time to admit just how little power he held.
"Fine, how about this: Let's not think of ourselves as 'Templar and captive apostate' - even if I am a Templar and you are a captive apostate." The witch opened her mouth, no doubt to mock his intelligence again, but Alistair plowed ahead. "Right now all I want is to be free of the Wilds, and I'm fairly sure all you want is to be free of me. I think we can work together, just for the littlest of whiles, so we can both get what we want. Then you can go back to shooting lightning at me to your cold little heart's content, and I'll go back to staying well away from you and your snide barbs, alright?"
"And why would I ever agree to cooperate with a Templar?"
"Did I mention the part where you get to go back to shooting lightning," he said dryly. "It won't even be in the Tower of Magi."
She studied him for a moment. "I see no reason to trust you."
"I haven't run you through with a sword yet, though that would solve a few of my problems. How's that?"
"That is insufficient grounds," she said. "You could still renege on your word at the first opportunity."
He ran his free hand through his hair in frustration. "Well so could you, but we have to start somewhere, don't we? So, deal?"
The apostate lanced him with a black look. "'Tis hardly a fair deal when one party is bound and kept powerless."
"Andraste's holy fire, I'm not coercing you at swordpoint. Can we work together or not?"
"Very well, then," she conceded, her expression neutral. "I will bring you to Ostagar."
"Good," Alistair said a bit too cheerfully. Constantly draining her mana was sapping his already low energy and his patience, and his right arm ached from having to keep it on the woman's left shoulder. He moved to her other side, feeling a little silly at having to switch arms, and wished again that Rood had left their anti-magic bracers in his pack, even though he wouldn't have thought to bring those along when looking for water.
"It just occurred to me, I never got your name," said Alistair.
"I did not wish to give it, fool. My feelings on that have not changed."
"Well, I can hardly refer to you as 'Apostate' or 'Witch' or 'Hey You' if we're going to be working together, can I? Wouldn't be very polite of me."
She bristled but did not take the bait. "You can, and you shall."
"Have it your way, then," Alistair sighed. "It's Alistair, by the way."
"What are you prattling about now?"
"My name. It's Alistair. Not 'Templar,' 'fool,' or even 'Templar fool.' Alistair."
"If you are done with this idiocy…"
"Fine, fine, shutting up now."
A tense silence settled as Alistair, with the witch in tow, worked his way around dense undergrowth, bog, and the occasional set of boulders. Through the leather of his gauntlet, he could feel a steady warmth emanating from the bare skin beneath his hand. A quick glance at the woman's pale arm - and only her arm, he told himself, keeping his eyes from wandering any further - confirmed she didn't even have goosebumps from the chill breeze.
How was she not freezing? About to voice the question, Alistair let his gaze slide up to her face, and found her eyeing him with an expression that brought to mind an old merlin in Arl Eamon's mews. A willful, proud bird, that nearly clawed his face when he got too close. He turned his attention back to the ground in front of him.
At length, he paused at one of his cairns to regain his bearings, and tugged at his captive's arm to signal her to stop. As he crouched and scanned for any tracks he'd made or plants he'd disturbed during his earlier pursuit, he could feel the same hawk-like stare taking in his every movement.
"You impress me, Templar," the woman remarked not a little snidely. "I did not think your kind stooped to adopt the primitive ways of barbarians."
"Yes, well, they don't make stupid Templars," Alistair huffed, although the backhanded compliment mildly surprised him. "The instructors were quite keen on making sure we had some grasp of woodcraft. Wouldn't do the Order much good if we got lost on the way back from capturing apostates."
"I see. 'Tis a most practical attitude. Yet your Chantry fails to apply it in their treatment of mages."
Distracted from his task, Alistair wasn't in any mood to defend the Chantry in a pointless debate with a hedge witch. "Do you really want to go there, argue about mages? And I thought you didn't want to talk."
The silence resumed. Finally spotting his prints among rotting fir needles, Alistair brought the less sore of his arms up to the woman's shoulders again and pressed on. The light was dying swiftly. Mentally he kicked himself for not bringing a flint and rags, and guessed he had an hour at most to find his way back to Rood.
Then: "I have a question, if you will."
"What is it," Alistair said flatly.
"You referred to yourself as the 'lowliest Templar of the Circle Tower.' I take it that is why you are here on an unpleasant assignment?"
"What are you getting at?" He was baffled; one minute the apostate was almost tolerable, the next she was getting under his skin.
She gave him an arch look. "I am only making conversation. You seemed so eager for it earlier."
"It's called 'being friendly.' Puts most people at ease."
"You must forgive me, then. I am unused to social graces."
"Unused to…? You've mean you've hardly been around other people?"
"I was raised in these woods, and I have seen no reason to have much… company of this sort."
"So you've lived here your entire life, in this forest, with just your mother that you mentioned? And you've never been outside of it?" He couldn't help but feel a twinge of pity.
"I have left it on occasion," the girl said defensively. "But this is my home. And you can hardly claim that your so-called civilization is any kinder towards mages who value their freedom."
"You…have a point. Don't you ever get lonely, though?"
"I have never wished for companionship."
"So, you, what, ran wild with the wolves and talked to trees? I imagine they talk back all the time."
Tawny eyes narrowed in irritation. "Enough about me. I wish to know more about you," she demanded.
That was an odd switch. "What, me? What could you possibly want to know about?"
"Everything. You are… not like any Templar I have met before."
Was he imagining things, or was the witch… sidling up to him? He felt his face flush, and tried to edge back to arm's length.
"I have never been taken, not even when I ventured so close to a chantry, once," she said in admiring tones.
Okay, she was definitely cozying against him now. He could practically feel heat radiating from her through his armor. Once more he attempted to move away, but she somehow redirected his push into a inward sweep and was now facing him. "What are you doing?" he protested weakly as he took slow, backwards steps.
"Getting to know you," she smiled in a way that suffused warmth into his belly. "You must be so much cleverer than the others. A shame, to be so lowly and ignored, when you should be… appreciated…" the woman purred. "Yes, so strong and handsome…"
A thud at his back surprised him, and Alistair would have jumped and fallen forward if he weren't pinned to the tree by the girl's weight. She was rising on her tiptoes and pressing her front against his, her eyes hooded, lips freshly moistened, back arching just so to give him a view that left nothing to the imagination.
Absurdly he wondered if her skin was chafing against his armor.
"I…you…" he managed to gasp, his heart jumping in his throat. It was hard to think for the burning in his ears and beneath his stomach. Those red lips were inching closer, too close… He could feel her breath, warm and smelling of sweet herbs. And wasn't he supposed to have a hand on her shoulder, and not her waist? When had that happened?
"Indeed," she whispered, a smirk curling a corner of her small mouth.
Then soft, soft lips caressing his, a scorching tongue seeking to explore his mouth, everything so warm, so pliant… Shock and sensation drove out his last coherent thoughts. He closed his eyes and yielded to her demands, bent forward and brought one hand up to cup a smooth, tender cheek while the other trailed down to the small of her back and melded her hips with his. Her tongue slipped in, entwining and devouring, and he could discern those herbs he had smelled on her breath, flavors of fennel and sweet basil and tarragon…
And the taste of a twinge in the gut, seasoned with an oncoming sneeze that never arrives.
Instantly Alistair's mind cleared, and his eyes flew open in anger.
"WITCH!" he roared as he forced her back with a shove to her shoulders. She stumbled and landed hard on her bottom. "Thought you could trick me, did you, you sneaky…witch…tart!" He took a step closer, looming over her like a thundercloud.
A flicker of fear and disappointment on her face was quickly smoothed over by disdain. "Oh, how very eloquent," she scoffed. "I need not have tried, though. Tell me, did you truly take vows of chastity, or did they simply geld you in the - "
"Shut up! You know nothing of who I am or what I want!" Alistair snarled, hoisting her up and slamming her back against a tree. The girl cried out in pain.
He blanched in shame. "Oh, Maker," he said, nearly dropping her as his grasp loosened. "I am so sorry."
"Pathetic weakling," the woman spat. "You - "
Before she could continue, something large shook the bushes, startling both of them.
"Alistair…" an inhuman voice croaked. A tall figure stepped out, carrying a pack and holding a bare shortsword.
"Rood?" Alistair said, horrified. The other Templar was unrecognizable: his face was sunken and skull-like, and any exposed skin was that awful brown-purple-black.
"Woke up. Tried…to find you," the sick man panted. "Followed… your tracks. You must help!"
The apostate's eyes were wide as saucers. "This is your friend? He is beyond help now. In fact, we must hurry away."
"Wait!" cried Alistair. "What's happening? Why can't we help him?"
"Fool, he has the Blight sickness! He is turning into a ghoul, and his blood calls to his masters. We must go!"
Rood seized Alistair's forearm. "NO! Please… help me! They are coming! They call, singing… Don't…let them…take - !" A sudden blast of power struck him, and he sank to his knees.
Alistair stood paralyzed by shock and confusion. "What did you do to him, witch?"
"Grant him mercy, if you must, but we must leave now!"
"Mercy?"
"A quick death, you idiot! To spare him from the darkspawn!"
Alistair stared at what was once Rood, then drew his sword. "Forgive me," he whispered, and slit his comrade's throat. He stooped to pick up the dropped pack.
"Come! We must run!" said the witch, already stepping away with anxiety creeping into her voice.
"Wait," said Alistair. He strode toward her grimly with sword still in hand, blood running down its fuller and trailing on the ground. "Turn your back to me."
The woman's face contorted in fear and anger as she started back. "Coward! You would -!"
Alistair's patience ran out. He grabbed her arm and cut the leather bindings, then opened the pack to fish through it.
"What? You would let me go?"
"You can't really defend yourself with your hands tied, now can you? And here, take these." He handed her the vials.
She stared at them dumbly. "Lyrium, so you can cast more," Alistair explained, settling the pack on his back and his shield on his arm. "Drink one, then we'll go, witch."
She tossed back a vial and grimaced at the taste. "Morrigan," she said as she wiped her mouth with the back of her wrist.
"What?"
"You may call me Morrigan."
"Right then. Come on!" Alistair took her hand, and together they ran.