#obviously i have an extreme fondness for re-contextualizing canon dialogue

[antivan-beau]

Many thanks to the folks who’ve tagged me in writing memes (@aban-asaara @idylleigh, @tortuosity-writes, and @slothabed) <3 I’ve been really busy with work and haven’t gotten an opportunity to socialize online or write much. In addition to working on the next chapter of my crowt3 longfic, lately, I’ve been brainstorming the next story in the Beatrice Cousland/Morrigan worldstate. Anybody else pissed that Morrigan gets to evade a proper Urn of Sacred Ashes Gauntlet question? I thought I’d write one.

Now, the Guardian turned its gaze toward the last member of their band. Morrigan crossed her arms over her chest. The furred mantle of her cloak pooled around her shoulders. Her face was beautiful for its airy defiance. Although spattered with old blood, her lip rogue was careful as ever, eye shadow as careless.

Morrigan’s pride could wither flowers or move mountains. Within these hallowed halls, she would declare Andraste a fable and mock this spirit to its helmeted face. Beatrice found something deeply grounding about this.

The Guardian spoke with a voice that echoed from a distance, yet arrived as close as their thoughts. “And you, Morrigan, Flemmeth’s daughter… what - ”

“Begone, spirit.” A weary smile curled her lips. “I will not play your games.”

A pause: as long as an age and as short as a breath. Then the Guardian continued. “Your companions took up this quest to end the Blight. To aid the Grey Wardens. But you had your own reasons, selfish ones, to join them. Have you ever felt guilt that none of your companions know your true purpose?”

Beatrice had rarely seen Morrigan caught off-guard. Yet there was a quirk to her brows and set to her jaw that the Warden couldn’t otherwise name.

Her reply was slow, deliberate. “On the contrary. They all know why I am here. Twas my mother’s will.”

“Do you believe that truth sufficient?”

“Why do you speak of guilt, spirit?” Morrigan’s voice was suddenly sharp. “What is its purpose? Will guilt ever repel a darkspawn blade? Will guilt resurrect loved ones? Is guilt necessary to pass through your door?”

There was a vastness to the Guardian’s serene regard. “I will respect your wishes.”

They all felt the shift in the dusty temple air. The door before them swung open on silent hinges. Blue light shone from the room beyond.