Love's Blush

by Sabrina Zbasnik

  He waved the torch close to the ground, noting pools of something wet and shiny in the dry mud. Thank the Maker the summer rains hadn't returned. Jogging into the night, Alistair followed the trails of blood. They twisted away from the docks and around any clusters of people who'd be celebrating. Strange, Reiss would have found help there first. Or could have blended in with all the party goers.

  What was going on?

  Turning twice more to the right, Alistair skirted along the outside wall of the alienage. Fires danced over the elven walls, voices singing in triumph and joy, everyone unaware that the woman he loved could be curled up on the street dying with their baby in her arms. No. This isn't the time to panic. Do it later, when she's safe, and then you can ream her out for this. While you're holding them both.

  He reached the end of a T intersection, the two back paths bending away when he realized there was no more blood to follow. Damn it! Alistair waved the torch first towards the north, walking further along in the hopes more splatter would emerge, but it looked clean, not even the yellow grass disturbed. Turning on his heel, he ran back to the intersection and moved to the south.

  The torchlight lit upon dry, broken ground, uninteresting and beaten down by dozens of boots. He was so invested in the speckles of unstained grass, it wasn't until he nearly stepped on a paw and felt hot, sticky breath wafting over him that Alistair heard a growl. Looking up into a mabari's entire set of teeth, lips tugged as far back as they could go, he lifted both hands in submission. The torch scattered from his fingers, the fire dousing itself against the ground.

  "Whoa now, let's not do anything hasty here. I'm told I taste terrible," he said, inching backwards and trying to see if there was a ladder he could scurry up to escape. The mabari followed suit, the hair along its back in full on 'I'm going to rip your flesh off your bones and eat you in one gulp' mode.

  Great time to not think to bring a weapon.

  "Alistair?" a voice called from the darkness.

  "Reiss?" he prayed he heard right and it wasn't just his fevered brain throwing up illusions.

  "Muse," she sounded strained, as if speaking through a gut wound. Please no, not one of those. "Down."

  The dog he now recognized as the puppy he gave her, plopped down onto its butt. While the teeth slipped away behind calm lips, the fur didn't fully deflate. This wasn't a happy reunion. Alistair slid past the mabari, keeping one watchful eye upon him, then stared around the dark alley to find his wife. "Reiss? Where are you? What's going on?"

  He spotted a shadow slumped to the ground, a hand inside the coat while her head tipped back against the house. Alistair dropped down to his knees trying to find where she was injured, but Reiss lashed her hands out and grabbed onto his shoulders.

  "She took her! Myra! That...that witch stole my baby and I, I tried to stop her."

  "Reiss, I don't understand," Alistair patted at her side but couldn't find any blood pooling off her. "The mob...?"

  "It wasn't a mob!" Reiss sneered, "A witch broke into my house, threw me against the wall, and stole Myra away."

  "A witch?" There were few mages in Denerim anymore, most trying to find solitude out in the countryside away from wary eyes, but the ones living here didn't strike him as the stealing children type.

  Reiss tipped her head up into the bright starlight revealing tears flooding down her face. She was covered in dirt and blood, both smeared over her cheeks. "You won't believe me. I barely believe me, and I was there. I saw it. This...bird flew through our window, shattered it, and then a woman appeared from it."

  Alistair fell flat on his ass, denial trying to take over, "A woman turned into a bird?"

  "No, the other way around. I know, it sounds crazy. Magic can't..."

  It couldn't be her. After all these years, he thought, he assumed she'd never dare to show her face anywhere near him nor Ferelden. Wasn't that what Lanny promised? What that bitch said? Reiss fell silent, watching Alistair glare through the past rising up to attack him.

  "What did she look like?" he snapped at Reiss.

  "Jet black hair all a mess, and yellow eyes. The most piercing yellow eyes I've ever seen."

  Fuck. Maker take them all!

  Alistair smashed his fist into the ground, a wail of vengeance and agony trying to climb up his throat. Before he could tip back and scream it out, Reiss' trembling hand rose up his shoulder and he stared into her stricken eyes. "You believe me?"

  "I do, I..." It was his fault. Somehow, for some reason, the bitch came back to hurt him. "It's Morrigan," he spat out, unable to look at Reiss while speaking the vile woman's name.

  "Morrigan? Is she the one who...?"

  "Yes."

  "What the fuck does she want with our daughter?" Reiss shouted, her strength returning as she realized she had Alistair fully on her side.

  "I don't know, but I'm going to find out," Alistair reached down and scooped Reiss up into his arms. He carried her back to the agency, neither of them saying a word but occasionally grunting in agony or pain. It felt as if his teeth were going to explode from how tight he was grinding his jaw. Morrigan.

  After all these years. All this time...

  Alistair placed Reiss down on the desk and moved to lift away her coat. "Did she hurt you? Curse you? Use any blood magic on you?"

  "I don't know, I don't think so. The blood in here was from me," she said, lifting up her shirt to reveal a giant black and blue bruise up and down her side. Pinpricks of blood broke through it, something having impaled into her. When Reiss removed her shirt, she broke the scab formed against the fabric and the wound began to bleed again.

  Yanking off his own shirt, Alistair tried to stop her bleeding, then glanced around, "Your wound bled this much?"

  "No, I got her with...with the sword in, in," Reiss glanced back towards their baby's crib. The crib that should hold a little girl gnawing on her foot and blowing bubbles, not a weapon coated in the blood of a traitor. Tears bubbled up in her eyes again, but she squeezed her fist tight and cut them off.

  Staring down a moment, Reiss sneered, "I thought it'd slow her down, it did for a time. I was nearly on her trail when she just vanished. I don't know what happened."

  Alistair yanked back his shirt to find she'd stopped bleeding, but that wound was going to be agonizing for a good week. It nearly covered the side of her entire ribcage. That bitch!

  And it was all on him. Morrigan couldn't care less about some elf's child living outside the slums. No, she did this to strike back at him, to hurt him, to use him or the crown for her own demented plans. He curled his hand up, strangling the blood dotted shirt while snarling at thin air.

  Fingers skirted up his arm until landing upon the cheek. Alistair glanced into Reiss' eyes, the tears falling, "What are we going to do?"

  "We find that witch, we make her pay."

  "How?" Reiss moaned, her head flopping down until she stared helplessly at the ground.

  That was a good question. In all the years since the Blight, Alistair hadn't seen Morrigan once. Even Lanny, the only person in this blighted world the bitch ever called friend saw her all of twice. They needed a way to track her, to sniff her out of...

  He stepped away to peer down at the sword, blood glistening against the golden blade. Would that work?

  "Reiss? Do you have a clean bottle here?"

  "Yeah, in the second drawer. Fresh ones that were already scoured. Why?" She tried to ease off the desk, but crumpled to a ball.

  Alistair gripped onto her a moment before fishing out a small blue bottle. The chantry always used clear, but it was doubtful the color mattered much. Careful to lift the sword horizontally, Alistair placed the bottle's open mouth against the tip and then slowly tipped the blade vertical. The witch's blood didn't stink of rotten eggs, nor was it a putrid green. She probably wasn't in cahoots with any demons, assuming Morrigan wasn't really a demon the entire time they knew her.

  "What are you doing?" Reiss ignored her pain in order to stand up beside him, he
r eyes glaring at the ink bottle holding a few drops of blood.

  Maker, he hoped that was enough.

  "I need to find a templar and a mage," Alistair eyed up the precious fluid before stoppering it safely. This may be their only chance. "It has to be tonight or it'll dry and won't work."

  "Why? What are you doing with her blood?"

  "A phylactery, it's a way to track mages, to track Morrigan. She can't escape it, can't hide from it." He never wanted to be a templar. All but cheered the end of the order along with the mages, but he'd happily brand the bitch that stole his child away from her mother's arms.

  "Will that work?" Reiss drove right to the question.

  "I've done it before," Alistair admitted, "the tracking part. I've never made one, which is why I need help, but...it'll do it. I need to contact Lanny too, she... For some Maker damned reason she may get the witch to see sense." He knew a few people in the chantry who'd be awake now, but fuck it, if he needed to pull the Grand Cleric out of her bed to save his daughter he damn well would.

  "I'll get the phylactery made, should give me a sense of where Morrigan's gone. Build up a cavalcade of guards I trust, warn Lanny through the sending crystal, and I'll head out at dawn to bring back Myra." Saying those words froze him. His daughter was missing, his infant girl taken in the night and left in the trust of a witch that he... Scowling, Alistair bundled his revulsion deeper. He could hate later, the blood wouldn't keep long.

  "Alistair," Reiss reached out, her hand skirting up him, "I'm coming with."

  "You're injured, maybe not fatally, but..."

  Green eyes flared in his, the woman he loved, who fought like a razorback at his side and on his behalf, gripped onto his shoulder, "I'm going with to get back my baby, and when I do, I'm gutting the witch that took her from me."

  * * *

  Winds whipped against the forest just outside the inn. Okay, inn was a bit of a misnomer; it was really someone's house who was kind enough to let the King and his garrison of four burly guards crash for the night. They'd ridden hard for a day, only stopping because the sun finally dipped into the horizon. Reiss was willing to risk camping, but with her injury he refused to let her hurt herself even more than necessary. Luckily, all of the citizens of Ferelden just adored their goofy King appearing on their doorstep asking if they had an extra bed or three to lone out for a song.

  He left Reiss in the fancy room the homeowners gifted their Sovereign, her wound weeping because she didn't take the time to properly heal it. They set out at dawn's light, at first riding away from the sun then towards it. Alistair would look over at her from time to time, but her face was impossible to read under the hat. Any attempts at talking were met with a few grunts.

  Glancing over his shoulder, he spotted a few of his men seeming to be milling around in the back end of this house as if they didn't disobey his order to leave him be, but all needed to take a leak together. As if they weren't given the orders to keep their King both alive and from doing something stupid by the far scarier Chamberlain. It didn't matter if they overheard at this point, he was out of options. Fishing out of his pocket the gem he sent a very terrified young man to pilfer from the Hero of Ferelden's memorial statue, Alistair placed it against his skin and waited.

  It took a bit before her husky voice called through the air, "Ali? You there?"

  "It's me," he said. He'd turned away from his guards, but at the sound of their King talking a few heads twisted over to check on him. Oh well, he was known for being flippant, why not tack crazy on as well. "Where are you?"

  "Outside of Lothering, what used to be Lothering. Which is still a mess. A few city tents popped up, mostly wanderers, but they let us stay. I guess two people with a baby aren't really seen as much of a threat."

  Lanny spoke it with a bit of a shrug and laugh, but at the word baby Alistair's throat constricted tight. He lashed out at the bush beside him and wrapped his fist tight around a branch. Somewhere out there was his daughter, no doubt scared, cold, and probably starving. Morrigan sure as shit wasn't going to be able to feed her, not that a witch's teat could leak anything but frozen acid.

  "Ali...Alistair?"

  Her voice snapped him out of it and Alistair found he'd ripped all the leaves off the branch. Trying to tuck it back in so no one would notice the bush's bald patch, he spoke up, "I'm here, near uh, Dragon's Peak, I think."

  "What's the phylactery say?"

  He fumbled into his pocket, gripping tight to the ink bottle they'd sealed in wax. It was good to have power, and friends in high places. Anyone else would have kicked his ass out of the chantry for even asking. The Grand Cleric barely batted an eye as she called her aging templar protector to help prepare it. Even then, no one was certain if it would work, the blood being older and near everyone long out of practice making one.

  "Further west from me, I..." he tried to press his fingers tighter to the glass, the bottle's edge digging into his flesh, "I can't get anything better than that."

  "Hm..." Lana's voice faded, only a few mumbles carrying over the distance and through the stone. "Yes, I'll ask. Cullen's wondering if you can see anything around that will give us a hint as to where she's gone. Visions of the grass or lay of the land? Stars perhaps?"

  "No," Alistair confessed, his chin flopping down. "No, I can't because...I'm a shit templar, unlike him. A shame my daughter couldn't have a real one to protect her, to guard her. I bet he wouldn't have even let it happen. He'd have sensed a witch near him and cut her down without a thought."

  The line fell dead, Alistair cursing himself for being a failure. For letting his Wheaty out of his sight, for not planning on anyone daring to steal Myra away. If he was a better man it never would have happened.

  "Ali," Lanny whispered, "We will find her."

  "What if it's too late?" he gasped, dread filling his heart.

  "Morrigan wouldn't do anything to hurt a baby..."

  He snarled, "What do you know of the witch? What do you really know? She lied to us, both of us, for over a year. And now she's stolen my daughter to do Maker knows what filthy blood ritual. She could have already slit her throat and tossed her..."

  "Alistair, stop!" Lanny ordered. "Thinking that we've lost, being defeatist won't help. We'll get there. I'm going to keep in communication with you as often as possible. I hope we'll find Morrigan first to try and cut off her escape."

  No, Lanny wanted to get to her first to try and reason with the witch. She truly believed there must be some explanation, some excuse for why she did it. Lanny was too big hearted to believe that one of her old friends would think nothing of murdering a child for her own means. She never really saw Morrigan for the snake she was.

  "Gavin, no, don't put that in your mouth...!" her voice faded as she was no doubt racing to stop her baby from attempting to hurt himself. Holding him. Feeding him. Hugging him. Whispering how much she loved him every night.

  "Maker's breath," Alistair gasped, tears burning in his eyes. A pain radiated up his chest, and he clung tight to the armor strapped across it. Attempting to lift it off was doing nothing, his heart shattering below the creaking ribs. "Lanny, I...I have to go," he tried to speak without blubbering, but wasn't very successful.

  "Ali, it'll--."

  "Don't," he interrupted her, "don't tell me that things will be alright. You've got your son and I have..." He shook his head, this wasn't her fault. She was trying to help, "I have to go check on Reiss. Keep me updated, and I'll keep tabs on the phylactery."

  "Okay," was as far as she got before Alistair cut the connection. He dropped the amulet into his pocket, strode deeper into the forest, crouched down, and bawled his eyes out.

  The guards were kind enough to shuffle around, doing their best to ignore the grown man weeping like a child. Losing people in his life stung, as any deaths would. Duncan and all the Wardens dying turned Alistair sullen and inward, but he only risked a few tears here and there when he thought no one was looking. The loss at Ostagaar couldn't compare t
o the one battering his body to shreds. This was someone ripping apart his chest, yanking his heart out while he watched, and burying it in salt. He felt helpless, as weak as a newborn kitten while also wrathful, his fists often clenching as he imagined all the ways he'd disembowel Morrigan for this. She'd pay, even if Lanny got there first, found some reason behind it.

  Alistair didn't care. He was going to watch that witch's blood dribble off the end of his sword for this no matter what.

  The hatred shored up his tears and he rose out of his crouch. His leg muscles screamed in agony from it, a fire burning up them, but he walked about in a circle to try and shake it off. This wasn't the time for his body to complain, they had so much more road left to ride across.

  "Sire," one of the voices called out of the darkness, "do you need any help?"

  "No," he waved a hand, wishing he knew anyone who could help him. "I'm going to go inside to check on Reiss."

  "Very good, my Lord."

  The homeowners smiled at their King, who could only offer a small wave back. They were concerned that he didn't find things amenable and, as much as Alistair knew he should be playing the game, he couldn't bother. Not while his heart was being stolen into the night by a witch. Barely tipping his head to them, Alistair trudged up the stairs. At the largest bedroom, he paused and tried to wipe away any hint of tears. His falling apart was the last thing Reiss needed.

  She'd been a rock the entire ride. One hand gripped tight to the reins, while the other rested against the sword in her scabbard. The dagger was back in her hair, her Solver hat and coat abandoned for full armor. There were no tears in those summery eyes, only vengeance. It was so intimidating it made Alistair flinch at how easily he crumbled if he dared to think about their daughter's golden waves, or her sharp, tiny nails slicing into his cheek on accident when she leaned forward to kiss him.

  Opening the door, Alistair slid into the well furnished room. Reiss' back was to him, her head tipped down as she sat on the vanity bench. She must not have heard him as she didn't look over, her hands worrying something in front of her. Closing the door softly, Alistair yanked up his hair and said, "I spoke with Lanny. She's near Lothering and heading out towards..."