Fic: Into the Wilds (5/7)
Title: Into the Wilds (5/7)
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: ~ 900
Warnings: Violence, rape (in part 6)
Author's note: Many thanks to
drakontion for the beta
A damp cloth across his brow greeted Alistair as he came to his senses.
"Do not move," drifted Morrigan's stern voice from beyond the edges of his hazy vision. The clear night sky blurred above him as it wheeled in a stately precession. He tried to turn his head to face her, but the pain throbbing in his skull and shoulder and side - in fact, all over - flared up and seized him in a burning agony, and a choking gasp escaped him as his surroundings threatened to vanish again.
"Where…?" he asked when he regained control of his voice. It left his throat as little more than a whisper.
He was surprised the witch had heard him when she answered, "We are still in the ruins. I have cleaned and dressed your wounds, but they are beyond my power to heal." She sounded more distant and higher up; though he heard no footfalls, he sensed she must be walking away.
"Where…you going…?" Alistair pleaded.
Silence. Then a soft pop, and bright golden eyes hovered over him as the lip of the water skin was pressed to his mouth. "Drink." A hand cradled the back of his head and lifted, and cool liquid soothed his dry tongue. He obeyed and swallowed.
Alistair took a few more gulps while he tried to gather his swimming thoughts. "You…how are…?"
Something that looked like uncertainty stirred in the depths of those radiant eyes. "I waited until I had enough power to heal myself a little." The water skin settled at his side. "Do you still thirst?"
He caught a note of urgency in Morrigan's question. "'M better," he mumbled.
She nodded as she stood. "I shall go then. Drink if you can, and keep your breathing steady."
A wave of desperation surged in Alistair's chest. "Wait!" he rasped. "Don't… don't leave me…"
Her shining eyes fixed him with an inscrutable look, but she said nothing. He felt a pulse of power - once again the noise of butterflies, this time joined by a mild, creamy tartness - and her outline shimmered and dissolved into a hundred thousand wings. For a moment they hummed in place, then bunched together and rose in a purposeful cloud.
But not all of them flew away. Alistair couldn't tell how much of the swarm descended onto his chest; he realized he was unarmored as he felt their strange restless weight through his gambeson and shirt. Though bad memories resurfaced of falling off a tree limb near a hornet nest as a boy, he couldn't summon enough panic for any sort of reaction, but instead watched them settle into a dense blanket. The buzzing intensified as the bees shook in a frenzied dance, and some teeth-rattling moments later he felt much warmer.
A large bee separated from the rest to land on his cheekbone. "Clever," he breathed, and went cross-eyed as she crawled onto his nose. "This… is amazing. You're amazing. Thank you." He felt a wisp of wind ghost across his face and stir his eyelashes when in response the bee took off and whirred, then left to dart around his head with her sisters.
Hours passed; Alistair knew not how many. He kept his mind empty with something akin to Templar meditation to push away the pain and the cold pressing in from the ground, and occupied himself by tracing with his eyes the intricate paths of the insects between the stars. Perhaps he was only seeing things, but it seemed that the swarm glowed with a soft halo, leaving after-images on the backs of his eyelids, and that the after-images resolved into a certain face with a remarkable, piercing yellow gaze. A sense of calm sank into Alistair's bones. He felt he was floating, adrift on slow swells of earth and suspended in a cocoon of warmth as the world spun around him.
All at once the bees lifted and coalesced into a crouching form beside him. A different taste of magic - had someone else joined them? - followed by the beating of heavy wings, and then the sensations on his tongue scattered.
A weathered face partly veiled by long white hair shadowed his from the lightening sky. "It is not like you, girl, to take in strays," the face said with a low cackle, and squinted. In response Morrigan merely straightened from her crouch; Alistair could not see her expression. "Oh, but this one looks familiar! Now where would I have seen him?"
"Dear mother, that would hardly matter now," the younger woman said with a hint of impatience. "Nonetheless, if… he is of no use, then we may… leave him."
What? Use? Leave?
"Shush, lad," chided Morrigan's mother. Oh, he'd said that aloud? "You will do yourself injury." The old woman stood to face her daughter. "Ah, I remember now. The fugitive king, with his dark, scowling friend. Was truly it so long ago? It hardly feels like any time has passed…"
"If you are done reminiscing, mother…"
"Patience, girl." The older witch bent over him again. "Bring him. The Wardens you should have been watching will find him useful indeed."
Wardens?
"All in good time, boy. Now, sleep." Power swelled around Alistair. His eyes grew heavy, and he sank into a dreamless slumber.
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: ~ 900
Warnings: Violence, rape (in part 6)
Author's note: Many thanks to
drakontion for the beta
A damp cloth across his brow greeted Alistair as he came to his senses.
"Do not move," drifted Morrigan's stern voice from beyond the edges of his hazy vision. The clear night sky blurred above him as it wheeled in a stately precession. He tried to turn his head to face her, but the pain throbbing in his skull and shoulder and side - in fact, all over - flared up and seized him in a burning agony, and a choking gasp escaped him as his surroundings threatened to vanish again.
"Where…?" he asked when he regained control of his voice. It left his throat as little more than a whisper.
He was surprised the witch had heard him when she answered, "We are still in the ruins. I have cleaned and dressed your wounds, but they are beyond my power to heal." She sounded more distant and higher up; though he heard no footfalls, he sensed she must be walking away.
"Where…you going…?" Alistair pleaded.
Silence. Then a soft pop, and bright golden eyes hovered over him as the lip of the water skin was pressed to his mouth. "Drink." A hand cradled the back of his head and lifted, and cool liquid soothed his dry tongue. He obeyed and swallowed.
Alistair took a few more gulps while he tried to gather his swimming thoughts. "You…how are…?"
Something that looked like uncertainty stirred in the depths of those radiant eyes. "I waited until I had enough power to heal myself a little." The water skin settled at his side. "Do you still thirst?"
He caught a note of urgency in Morrigan's question. "'M better," he mumbled.
She nodded as she stood. "I shall go then. Drink if you can, and keep your breathing steady."
A wave of desperation surged in Alistair's chest. "Wait!" he rasped. "Don't… don't leave me…"
Her shining eyes fixed him with an inscrutable look, but she said nothing. He felt a pulse of power - once again the noise of butterflies, this time joined by a mild, creamy tartness - and her outline shimmered and dissolved into a hundred thousand wings. For a moment they hummed in place, then bunched together and rose in a purposeful cloud.
But not all of them flew away. Alistair couldn't tell how much of the swarm descended onto his chest; he realized he was unarmored as he felt their strange restless weight through his gambeson and shirt. Though bad memories resurfaced of falling off a tree limb near a hornet nest as a boy, he couldn't summon enough panic for any sort of reaction, but instead watched them settle into a dense blanket. The buzzing intensified as the bees shook in a frenzied dance, and some teeth-rattling moments later he felt much warmer.
A large bee separated from the rest to land on his cheekbone. "Clever," he breathed, and went cross-eyed as she crawled onto his nose. "This… is amazing. You're amazing. Thank you." He felt a wisp of wind ghost across his face and stir his eyelashes when in response the bee took off and whirred, then left to dart around his head with her sisters.
Hours passed; Alistair knew not how many. He kept his mind empty with something akin to Templar meditation to push away the pain and the cold pressing in from the ground, and occupied himself by tracing with his eyes the intricate paths of the insects between the stars. Perhaps he was only seeing things, but it seemed that the swarm glowed with a soft halo, leaving after-images on the backs of his eyelids, and that the after-images resolved into a certain face with a remarkable, piercing yellow gaze. A sense of calm sank into Alistair's bones. He felt he was floating, adrift on slow swells of earth and suspended in a cocoon of warmth as the world spun around him.
All at once the bees lifted and coalesced into a crouching form beside him. A different taste of magic - had someone else joined them? - followed by the beating of heavy wings, and then the sensations on his tongue scattered.
A weathered face partly veiled by long white hair shadowed his from the lightening sky. "It is not like you, girl, to take in strays," the face said with a low cackle, and squinted. In response Morrigan merely straightened from her crouch; Alistair could not see her expression. "Oh, but this one looks familiar! Now where would I have seen him?"
"Dear mother, that would hardly matter now," the younger woman said with a hint of impatience. "Nonetheless, if… he is of no use, then we may… leave him."
What? Use? Leave?
"Shush, lad," chided Morrigan's mother. Oh, he'd said that aloud? "You will do yourself injury." The old woman stood to face her daughter. "Ah, I remember now. The fugitive king, with his dark, scowling friend. Was truly it so long ago? It hardly feels like any time has passed…"
"If you are done reminiscing, mother…"
"Patience, girl." The older witch bent over him again. "Bring him. The Wardens you should have been watching will find him useful indeed."
Wardens?
"All in good time, boy. Now, sleep." Power swelled around Alistair. His eyes grew heavy, and he sank into a dreamless slumber.