No, but you'd run headlong into danger without knowing the full risks ahead of time... as you proved in that last memory. [And she did the same thing. Survival instincts are a bitch, aren't they? Morrigan barks a laugh, but it lacks humor.] Oh, I wouldn't worry. Changing my shape is no problem. It's both a strain of effort best suited to other types of magic and not nearly as amusing to try and change someone who lacks the mental capability to let go of and grasp at their own unique form. [Big talk, but who knows if she actually means it.] 'Tis an amusing little thought, however... the first few times one hears it.
[She bends down, tending the fire with another stick as he tries to place each and every face that has appeared before. Lets it sink in. Yet she finds herself looking up at the talk of bias.]
...I am not. [She openly admits it, and yet... she hesitates to say anything further for a moment as she closes her eyes. She lets the scenes play in the smoke from the fire as voices echo on the night breeze. The others laughing and making quips with one another. Alistair trying to needle her and failing, Leliana trying to reach through her icy walls and bond over shoes and dresses and, in her own way, Morrigan tries to reach her through song subjects - and epic fails. Wynne trying to be a second mother, loving and kind... and Morrigan, having no idea how to handle it, returns it with bitterness and a barbed tongue. Sten lamenting the fact southerners refuse to sew mage's lips shut like back in his home of Par Volen. Oghren being a drunkard and disgusted that Amell wants in her tent. Shale constantly referring to her as the "swamp witch" - she likes Shale. Zevran asking her about her mother, Flemeth-
An old woman's face shows up in the fire - same nose as the witch, the same yellow eyes. Ahh, here we a-
Morrigan's eyes grow wide with anger and a bead of sweat falls down the side of her face as the fire suddenly freezes over; the flames within still a brilliant mixture of orange and yellow behind the pale blue. She breathes slowly, trying to rein in her emotions. She doesn't even realize she'd jumped back until she feels the herbs hanging behind her get stuck to her hair.]
...Mother. [She spits out the word with the same ice that froze over fire. She shakes her head, collecting herself and trying to return to the topic at hand as she reaches for an exit with her mind.] I am simply a woman who has little idea what her own mother is. Beyond not being human as she appears to be, that is.
Good and bad are subjective, but I agree... 'Tis wrong indeed. [She sighs, frowning.] I suppose it says something that I at least have some standards... What happened at the tower was caused by the desperate seeking independence, 'tis true... but it also proves the folly of what the human Chantry teaches. The purpose of their Circles was once to teach.
When the Chantry moved in, the Circles were transformed into a cage made from fear. I cannot decide who is more stupid: the ones who built the cage, or the ones who allow themselves to be put in it. [Morrigan falls silent for a moment, her gaze flickering to Amell. He didn't choose it, he'd told her when he asked to learn how to shapeshift. He'd been taken, yet it isn't her story to tell.]
no subject
[She bends down, tending the fire with another stick as he tries to place each and every face that has appeared before. Lets it sink in. Yet she finds herself looking up at the talk of bias.]
...I am not. [She openly admits it, and yet... she hesitates to say anything further for a moment as she closes her eyes. She lets the scenes play in the smoke from the fire as voices echo on the night breeze. The others laughing and making quips with one another. Alistair trying to needle her and failing, Leliana trying to reach through her icy walls and bond over shoes and dresses and, in her own way, Morrigan tries to reach her through song subjects - and epic fails. Wynne trying to be a second mother, loving and kind... and Morrigan, having no idea how to handle it, returns it with bitterness and a barbed tongue. Sten lamenting the fact southerners refuse to sew mage's lips shut like back in his home of Par Volen. Oghren being a drunkard and disgusted that Amell wants in her tent. Shale constantly referring to her as the "swamp witch" - she likes Shale. Zevran asking her about her mother, Flemeth-
An old woman's face shows up in the fire - same nose as the witch, the same yellow eyes. Ahh, here we a-
Morrigan's eyes grow wide with anger and a bead of sweat falls down the side of her face as the fire suddenly freezes over; the flames within still a brilliant mixture of orange and yellow behind the pale blue. She breathes slowly, trying to rein in her emotions. She doesn't even realize she'd jumped back until she feels the herbs hanging behind her get stuck to her hair.]
...Mother. [She spits out the word with the same ice that froze over fire. She shakes her head, collecting herself and trying to return to the topic at hand as she reaches for an exit with her mind.] I am simply a woman who has little idea what her own mother is. Beyond not being human as she appears to be, that is.
Good and bad are subjective, but I agree... 'Tis wrong indeed. [She sighs, frowning.] I suppose it says something that I at least have some standards... What happened at the tower was caused by the desperate seeking independence, 'tis true... but it also proves the folly of what the human Chantry teaches. The purpose of their Circles was once to teach.
When the Chantry moved in, the Circles were transformed into a cage made from fear. I cannot decide who is more stupid: the ones who built the cage, or the ones who allow themselves to be put in it. [Morrigan falls silent for a moment, her gaze flickering to Amell. He didn't choose it, he'd told her when he asked to learn how to shapeshift. He'd been taken, yet it isn't her story to tell.]