A/N: Dragon Age: Origins, its characters, locations, etc. are owned by BioWare.

Aithne (pronounced eth-na) is Celtic in origin and means fire. Lachlan is Scottish in origin and means warlike.

In terms of a timeline, the Grey Wardens have completed the Circle Tower quest and using the mages freed Connor from possession by the Desire Demon. Wynne has recently joined the party, but is not fully integrated and still looks upon herself as an outsider. Sten and the mabari Mako are there, but don't really play a part in this story. Alistair and the Warden are in the early stages of friendship. They are united by the taint and their quest, but due to their backgrounds as templar and mage are not completely trusting of each other. Leliana is friendly to all the companions and especially to the Warden, who after being confined to Kinloch Hold for most of his life, comes to her often for stories and tales about the world. Morrigan is Morrigan and very much a part of this story and misconstrues the relationship between the Warden and Leliana, but of course is too proud to ask. Flemeth is not directly in this story, but we get a sense of her parenting skills and suffice to say she is no June Cleaver from 'Leave it to Beaver.'

This story is hopefully a little dark, a little sexy, and explores Morrigan's thoughts on sex and power.

SNAP! The twig broke underneath Lachlan's foot as he crouched down beside the witch.

"Quiet fool," Morrigan hissed at little more than a whisper, "watch where you place your feet lest you disturb our quarry."

Lachlan knew there was no real anger behind Morrigan's words, but rather it was a warning not to become overconfident. Only hours before, after they had set out from camp, the witch had told him how impressed she was at his progress moving about the woods. Of course, she had then proceeded to remind Lachlan how far he still had to go and how taxing he was on her patience.

He had come to recognize that this was just Morrigan's way. She was uncomfortable in giving out praise or compliments and little better at receiving them. That was not to say that the witch did not enjoy attention or recognition, either of her talent or of her great beauty, because she certainly did. Rather it displayed the inexperience of a woman who in many ways possessed the skills and manner of a child.

Lachlan suppressed a smile at the memory of the first gift he had given her, a gold rope necklace looted from a bandit's dead body. It had been shortly after the disaster of Ostagar, and while their sovereigns had been virtually non-existent, he had seen the way Morrigan had looked at the finely wrought jewellery and decided against selling it, forgoing his share of the treasure they claimed to keep it. It had cost him some hunger pangs, and he had foregone some badly needed supplies to replenish his own, but the hesitant, honest smile on Morrigan's face when she accepted the necklace had been more than worth it.

It had been months since they first met in the ruins of the Grey Warden outpost in the Korcari Wilds, and Lachlan felt he had only just begun to scratch the surface of Morrigan's true self. On first glance, she was harsh, arrogant, condescending and yet delving deeper there was a strong and talented woman there, certainly deserving of her arrogance. Yet the more time he spent with the witch only confirmed hi s initial belief that her arrogance was a shield to protect a, dare he say it, frightened girl embarking on her first true adventure with two strange and unknown men. Her mother Flemeth, had cast her out, away from everything she had ever known and in the company of two Grey Wardens facing an insurmountable task.

He had once thought his sheltered and secluded life in the Circle Tower had been harsh and had left him ill prepared for his current life as a Grey Warden, but Morrigan's childhood in many ways had been far worse.

Morrigan had been raised without love or even the companionship of others her own age. She and Flemeth had spent their days in the Wilds; trying to avoid the Chantry's templars while eking out a solitary and meagre existence studying magic. From what Morrigan had told him, Flemeth was a hard and demanding parent. The fabled 'Witch of the Wilds' stressed the need for strength, power and self-reliance to defeat a world set against them, and that companionship, love, and emotion served only to make one weak and defeated. While Lachlan had few memories of his true mother, his master had become a surrogate mother to him. Senior Enchanter Aithne had also been hard and demanding, yet unlike Flemeth, her teachings had been tempered with affection and respect. There had also been many other apprentices around his age in the tower, and plenty of opportunities for friendship and play. Life was hard in the tower, under the constant scrutiny and threat of the ever watchful templars, but it paled in comparison to Morrigan's life in the Wilds.

He turned to face the witch when he felt her fingernails press hard into the flesh of his wrist. Morrigan held up the index finger of her other hand to her lips, calling for silence, before cautiously moving forward. Lachlan followed her slowly; carefully stepping where the witch had done and watchful for anything he might brush against and betray their presence. They had been tracking a mature gray wolf back to its den ever since Morrigan had picked up its trail over an hour ago.

The first time Lachlan had seen Morrigan transform from fox to human form at the ruins of the Grey Warden base he had been intrigued. Later, after seeing the witch change into a raven and fly, his curiosity had transformed into a near all-consuming desire to learn that magic. While Grey Wardens were supposed to be outside the mandate and control of the Chantry and its Templars, Lachlan retained a healthy scepticism regarding his apparent freedom, born from his near fourteen years of imprisonment in the tower. The ability to transform and fly away, to be free, was so alluring and more than he had ever dared dream. He had approached Morrigan then, asking to learn and initially she had refused. In hindsight he could see why. At the time they did not know or trust each other, and while she had claimed to want to see the world outside the Wilds, Morrigan had held some bitterness that Flemeth had sent her away on a quest she deemed as little better than suicide.

Finally, about a month and a half ago, Morrigan had agreed to teach him how to shapeshift into animal forms. Ever since that time, a portion of each evening Lachlan had sat with the witch outside her tent, listening to her instructions, watching and practicing. He had always prided himself on his magical abilities, which were strong. He learned most spells relatively easily, and always thought that where natural aptitude failed him, his discipline and willpower would triumph. Unfortunately, shapeshifting had proven to be a subtle and precise use of magic; never his strong suit.

Lachlan had a natural affinity for the Primal School of Magic. Even before his harrowing, he could command the elements: earth, air, fire, and water; as well or better than most Senior Enchanters. He could rattle the earth with his will or crack it open with fire or lightning cast from his hands. Yet, ask him to heal any but the simplest of wounds or cast a glyph and he was barely more use than a newly arrived apprentice. Master Aithne had once told him that she would be glad to have him at her side during a battle, but once the battle was over, if she had been injured, anyone else could tend to her wounds. They had laughed over the veracity of her comment, and as Aithne likely expected, he had thrown himself into his study of healing spells in the little free time afforded him. Many months later his master had again tested him, afterwards saying that she was proud of him. Confused, he had asked why – he had failed again. Aithne had explained that while he would never be a healer, his drive and the effort put into his studies were what had impressed her and made her proud. He could still remember her words as if she had only just spoken them: "No one, not even the strongest amongst us, is proficient in every School of Magic. We all have our individual strengths and naturally tend to favour them. Whereas many others would have accepted their limitations, you did not. You pushed against the grain and the focus, determination, and will you have developed in your studies will serve you well in the areas where you are so very talented." She had gone on to explain that he had all the makings of a battlemage, powerful and trained for destruction and combat, but that he would need hard work and study to achieve his potential; something Aithne had the utmost confidence he would do. Lachlan had no doubt that it was this potential his master spoke of, that was the reason why Aithne and the First Enchanter had brought him to Duncan's attention.

His shapeshifting training had begun with a spider Morrigan had captured and kept in a small wooden box. He had been brought to the Tower before he was six and remembered little of his life before the Circle. As an apprentice, Lachlan had never been allowed outside the tower and as a consequence he had only vague and distant memories of animals. Of the few animals he had expressed some knowledge of: goats, chickens, and the mabari hound that had adopted him; spiders, never hard to find in the tower, were the only animal Morrigan had consented to teach him.

Lachlan had spent entire evenings watching that spider; studying its form, the way it moved, how it spun its web, and how it captured and later devoured its prey.

"It is not enough to simply mimic the form of the animal you want to change into," Morrigan explained. "You must understand how it thinks and reacts; its instincts and its very nature. What is the animal's preferred terrain? Is the animal predator or prey? How does it hunt? Kill? All these things and more you must comprehend." The witch paused and a sinister grin formed upon her face. "This is powerful and dangerous magic. If you do not truly understand your desired form, not only will your shift fail, tis quite likely you will be grievously injured or even dead."

After weeks of diligent study he had sat down one evening, meditated to still his thoughts and emotions, and had transformed. Morrigan quickly joined him as a giant, human-sized spider and together they set out. Inadvertently scaring Alistair and nearly getting hacked to pieces by Sten before Morrigan quickly reverted back to human form.

With his ability to transform into a spider demonstrated and steadily improving with practice, they had moved onto the form of a wolf. The search for and study of that animal was what had brought the pair of mages out this evening and every evening this past week as they traveled to Denerim. Their party was camped in the outskirts of the Brecillian forest in order to avoid the Imperial Highway and hopefully the bandits or any others who might seek to either rob them or else claim the bounty on their heads. They were on their way to seek out Brother Genetivi and question him regarding the Urn of Sacred Ashes and a possible cure for Arl Eamon of Redcliffe. In addition to camouflaging their movements, their choice of nightly camping spots had provided many suitable opportunities to advance his training, even if prior to tonight they had failed to come across a wolf.

As he moved through the forest he could not help but wonder at the strange twists of fate that had brought him to this place. Little more than three months ago he was about to undergo his harrowing, and now he was one of only two remaining Wardens, charged with gathering an army and defeating a Blight. Someone who had been confined to Kinloch Hold for most of his life was now traveling the length and breadth of Ferelden seeking allies and learning just how sheltered and restricted his previous life had been. He felt a sudden need to speak to someone who knew him well, to share all that he had seen and done, but other than the people he traveled with there was no one left.

Lachlan had only vague memories of his life before the tower - an indeterminate looking blonde woman, a strong man, a little girl with pigtails, and the smell of salt water in the air. Aithne had once said the templars had found him in Denerim; that he was the son of a dockworker and a servant; and that even with the templars and the hardships, he lived a far better life in the tower than he ever would have growing up poor in the slums of the city. Were he to come across his blood family now, he would probably walk right past, not even recognizing them. His true family were Aithne, his friends, and companions from the tower, however, their recent visit had only proved that despite what First Enchanter Irving and Wynne said, there was no going back to the tower for him. He had recognized so many friends in the faces of the dead as they moved through the tower. He had either killed or else aided in the death of unknown others who had fallen to abomination. Finally, when they had reached the top and defeated Uldred, he had seen the broken and battered body of Master Aithne. Aithne had not succumbed. She had fought as he knew she would, and she had died and with her his ties to the Circle.

He saw Morrigan turn her head back to regard him, her golden eyes illuminated by the light from the full moon overhead. There was a scowl on her pretty face. The witch somehow knew that even though he made no noise, his attention had lapsed. Now, so near to the wolf's den, such inattention could easily cost them dearly. Between the two of them there was little risk from an attack by a lone wolf, but Morrigan had earlier warned him that the den would probably contain at least a dozen wolves. There would be the wolf's mate, their juvenile offspring that had not left to form a pack of their own, yearlings, and a fresh litter.

While Alistair might say that Morrigan was indifferent to the pain and suffering of others, Lachlan knew that was not true. The witch put herself in danger aiding and protecting their companions repeatedly; beyond what was required to satisfy Flemeth's request. He also knew that Morrigan cared for the animals of the wild. She had taught them ways to snare their meals in a manner that minimized the pain and suffering of their catch and she insisted they avoid areas where they might be forced to kill an animal protecting its territory or its young. Finally, she had warned him in no uncertain terms when they had set out tonight that while they would protect themselves from the wolves – she would be very cross with him if they had cause to. These were not tainted or ravenous animals that would attack without provocation; they would attack only if he and Morrigan appeared to be a threat.

Lachlan took a deep breath, focused his attention, and then nodded to Morrigan. Satisfied she gave him a slight smile and crept forward, stopping behind a tree and nearby shrubs. She waved him forward. Slowly he crept up beside her, stopped and looked.

They had come up facing a small cliff, not more than the height of three men. Between their location and the cliff ran a small brook that barely deserved the name. At the base of the cliff, under the overhang, was the wolf's den. Lachlan had expected the wolves would burrow into the ground or else drive another creature from its lair and claim it as their own. Although, the cliff did provide shelter from the wind and rains, and the brook would see to their thirst while the forest provided their food; so perhaps it was not so poor a choice for the pack. He could see small, curled up balls of gray fur that he assumed were the cubs. They were pressed so close together that it was nigh impossible to get a proper count, although he guessed there were five. There were six wolves that could roughly be placed into two groups: two seemed almost completely mature, while the other four he guessed were from last year's litter. These six were laid out on ground as if they were sleeping, looking eerily similar to his mabari Mako. Yet like Mako, he suspected at the slightest noise they would be instantly alert and ready to attack. Between the pups and juveniles were the great gray wolf they had tracked and his mate.

Morrigan had said that wolves mate for life, and seeing the pair together he believed her. They looked like a mother and father presiding at the head table of a meal. The pair was affectionate with each other, nuzzling and licking the other's muzzle, yet every so often they would break, sniff the air, and scan the area, searching for danger.

Lachlan was not sure how long they stayed there watching the wolves. They watched them move, sleep, their seemingly rough play and listened to them howl. Later, when the alpha male and two others left and returned with a doe, they watched them eat. The breeding male and female ate first, uninterrupted by their offspring. Once they had their fill and moved off, their offspring ate, and in this too there was definitely an order to things.

Morrigan leaned in, so close that her lips tickled his ear as she whispered, "Tell me what you see."

Lachlan told the witch what he saw and perhaps more importantly, his impressions and what he felt. He gave his opinion of the lair, its advantages and disadvantages. He noted the way the wolves seemed to have a defined order and place in the pack; the bites on the doe's flanks indicating she was brought down from the side or rear; and so much small minutiae that he feared she would be cross with him for wasting her time.

Morrigan had listened carefully to him, occasionally providing further insight and rarely correcting him. While she might never saw the words, her face said that he had surprised and impressed her with his insight. Morrigan gently touched his hand and pointed that it was time to leave.

Once they were a safe distance from the den, Morrigan broke their silence.

"Do you wish to return to camp now or do you think you might succeed in your attempt?

"I am ready if you are willing," Lachlan replied.

"Follow me then."

He thought Morrigan was leading him back to where the others were camped but they veered off a short distance away. Lachlan suspected the witch did not want another near death experience from startled comrades as two fully grown wolves appeared in camp. They stopped at a small clearing and Morrigan sat down facing him.

"Remove your robes," commanded the witch to her apprentice's surprise.

Even knowing Morrigan's manner, Lachlan was startled at the witch's brazenness. He could not deny his attraction for her and he suspected Morrigan felt the same way about him. They had been circling towards this moment for some time now, yet he never imagined it would be so abrupt and impersonal.

"I normally like to be kissed and caressed before I am bedded," Lachlan deadpanned as he tried to recover.

Morrigan scowled at him, but it wasn't a very deep one. As he continued to gaze at her, Lachlan noticed the corners of her mouth turn up in the beginnings of a smile.

"This will not be like changing into a spider. A wolf is a far more complex animal and you will need total focus and every advantage to complete the transformation successfully."

"Besides, this way my robes won't get tangled in my feet when I'm on four legs," he joked, suddenly feeling very vulnerable.

"Were you as clumsy as Alistair I never would have deigned to teach you."

"And will you be joining me in nakedness for your transformation?" Lachlan said in a husky voice that did nothing to disguise the longing and desire he had for her.

Morrigan ignored the tone of his voice and lifted a fur strip that hung from her robes. "This is a totem imbued with some of my magic that ensures my robes, and the magic they contain, transfer into my new form." She paused to ensure that Lachlan grasped the magical theory. "Ifyou successfully transform, the next time we are forced to battle wolves I shall teach you to make one for yourself." Morrigan then proceeded to lift other strips from her robes and then point to individual feathers worked into the spaulder on her shoulder, while reciting the name of the animal each corresponded to, "Spider, hare; fox; doe; halla; bear; mosquito...eagle; crow; and finally raven."

"I still don't understand why I was able to..." Lachlan stopped when he recognized the look on Morrigan's face. He had seen it often enough on Aithne, it was a look reminding him who was the master and who was the apprentice.

He began to undo his belt and Morrigan did not turn away. Lachlan was not ashamed of his body. While most other apprentices in the tower did no exercise save their chores that was not the case for him. Aithne had insisted that a disciplined mind required a disciplined body, and both showed the fruit of her mandate. From the time he had first become her apprentice, he had trained his body every day before breakfast and again before bed, and later he had learned to use his staff as a weapon. That discipline and training had saved his life more than once in the brief time since he had left the tower. Also, his training, combined with his frame, had given him a physique unlike how most assumed a mage should appear.

Lachlan couldn't resist one final barb, "I am beginning to suspect you agreed to teach me solely to gaze upon me naked. If that was your desire, you could have simply asked. I might have even said yes."

"Hrmph!" Morrigan snorted. She gave him a look of indifference before burning her golden eyes into his.

"Have I gone too far," Lachlan thought, feeling the intensity of Morrigan's gaze. When she made no effort to leave he decided to continue. Still meeting her gaze he began to unbutton his robe. When he slipped the robe from his shoulders, Lachlan caught Morrigan as she lowered her gaze and took in his physique. He stood there silently for a moment, letting her look and waiting for her to comment, before spreading out his robe on the ground. Lachlan felt his cheeks flush. He expected a comment – any reaction really - and Morrigan's silence both unnerved and embarrassed him. Sensing the shift in power between them, he quickly removed his small clothes and sat down cross-legged on his robe facing her.

The witch, a title Lachlan was now feeling she truly deserved, continued to say nothing. He closed his eyes, slowed his breathing, and sought to still his thoughts and gather his will.

...

"Hrmph" Morrigan snorted, resisting the urge to speak. This man before her had already insinuated himself into her thoughts far enough. Were she to speak, or worse yet act, as her body cried out for her to do, she would never be free of him, and that could not be allowed. She must be the one in control. She must be the one holding the reins of power.

She feigned a look of indifference and then stared into his magical eyes. Morrigan liked to gaze into the Warden's eyes. They were mismatched in colour; one was green like a conifer tree, while the other was a cold, icy blue. She had noticed that his eyes made most people uneasy; their uniqueness coupled with being a mage, lending him an air of a mystery, strangeness, and danger beyond the typical mage. The danger she admired, the mystery she understood, and the strangeness was not something to be feared, but rather cherished for being different and extraordinary.

Morrigan could not stop herself from lowering her gaze as he removed his robe. Many mornings from the solitude of her tent she had watched Lachlan, as bare-chested he sparred with their companions; wielding his staff nearly as well as they did their blades. Now, up close, Morrigan could not stop her eyes from straying even if she had wanted to. She noted the cords of muscle in his arms and the definition of his chest, which she had previously only seen from afar. Clearly he was not the soft Circle mage Flemeth had always taught her to expect – a weak and timid slave to the Chantry and its templars. Lachlan had a strong body and an even stronger mind. He radiated an aura of competence, diligence and especially power that she was drawn to as surely as a moth to flame.

The witch returned her gaze to Lachlan's eyes and saw the victory in them; that he knew she had looked away and taken in his body. "STOP! You are strong and powerful – you are in control," Morrigan affirmed silently. She forced a look of apathy onto her face. Morrigan had to let Lachlan know that he was nothing special, even though she knew that to be false.

She let out a silent cry of triumph once Lachlan's cheeks reddened and he broke their gaze – she had won and they both knew it. Morrigan continued her haughty manner until he had sat down and closed his eyes. She then released a breath she had not realized she was holding and sought to calm her rapidly beating heart.

The witch could not deny that the Warden's presence affected her in ways that would surely draw the ire of Flemeth. While she would deny it, her mother would see her burgeoning attraction for Lachlan and it would disgust her – Flemeth had warned her that he was simply a tool needed to complete her true goal. While Morrigan should fan the flames of his desire for her, the witch should never succumb to him. Yet he was so many of things she had been raised and taught to revere. He was smart and strong: magically, mentally, and physically; He was driven and powerful; and he was aesthetically pleasing to the eye, not just hers, but to the red-headed Chantry fool's as well.

While it eased the transformation, she had ordered him to remove his robes as a form of test for them both. Would he submit to her will? Would she be able to resist the temptation he offered? Did she want to resist?

Morrigan had felt that she and Lachlan were coming to a point of no return. They were attracted to each other, but she feared that if they did not take the next step soon she would lose him to the Chantry bitch circling in the wings like a vulture, ready to lay claim to what was hers. While Alistair would suffice for her ultimate purposes, the templar idiot was a distant second choice and the thought of lying with him disgusted her. Lachlan was the preferred choice for so many reasons, but she was hesitant to proceed. She was no virgin, Flemeth had seen to that, but even knowing the need to bind Lachlan to her, she could not suppress the fear that he would be like the others and the sense of loss that would result.

It was in her seventeenth summer when Flemeth had taken her to a nearby Chasind village. Her mother had been lecturing her for what seemed like years over sex, power, and the proper use of men. Flemeth had spoken freely of the men she had seduced, used until spent, and ultimately killed. It had been further intimated that one day this would be expected of her as well. That visit was the day when Morrigan was to lose her virginity although she was not expected to slay her lover at that time.

Flemeth had met with the clan's shaman in private and once finished ordered all of the men of the village to line up for inspection, and in their fear of the 'Witch of the Wilds' the Chasind had obeyed. Her mother led her down the line, ignoring the harsh and resentful stares of the village's women, expecting Morrigan to pick her intended. The young Morrigan had chosen a young man, perhaps two years older than her. While not beautiful, he was by far the most attractive of the available men and had the muscles and hard body of a fighter. She had ordered him to bathe, as like all Wilders he was painted in the colours of his clan and stank of sweat and filth. Once bathed, the pair was walking towards one of the stilted huts when Flemeth stopped them and told the young Wilder to leave. She called out and an ugly, foul smelling lump of a man came forth and eyed her hungrily. He was covered in filth and stank of shit and death, and when he opened his mouth the smell of rot came forth from a mouth missing more teeth than it contained.

The foul brute grabbed her harshly and began dragging her towards the stilted hut. She looked back at Flemeth and her mother simply turned away, leaving her to her fate. Morrigan had the power and ability to defend herself, to strike this loathsome man with lightning or burn him to ash with fire, but to do so would risk her mother's wrath. Flemeth had lived for ages uncounted and her deviousness, callousness, and cruelty were without equal. It was better to give herself to this repulsive man than suffer one of her mother's punishments.

She had her clothes ripped from her before literally being thrown down to the hut's floor and pinned under his weight. He pawed and groped at her, roughly grabbing her breasts and kneading them until she cried out in pain. He pried her legs open as she tried in vain to push him away. He pinned her arms above her head as he entered her, laughing at her pain. He hammered into her without regard to anything other than satisfying his basest desires. He tried to kiss her and she turned her head to avoid him. The smell of rot and filth was so overpowering that she nearly vomited. Failing to capture her lips, he licked and dripped spittle upon her face, leaving his stank upon her. She retreated into herself as the loathsome beast took his pound of flesh. It was not until he was finished and she was left alone, that the tears she had held back flowed freely.

The cloth drape that served as the hut's door opened letting in the light of the sun and her mother. Flemeth took one look at the bruises that were already beginning to show on her fair skin and at her tears and a look of anger came upon her. If Morrigan had thought the anger was directed at her attacker though she was sorely mistaken for Flemeth smacked her hard across the face.

"Foolish girl, you deserved this," Flemeth said icily. "You failed to practice the lessons I instructed you in. You chose the attractive boy, knowing that beauty, like love, is fleeting and frivolous. You asked for him to be bathed, forgetting that sex is a weapon, stronger and deadlier than the sharpest blade. It is to be unsheathed and wielded without feeling and regard for your own sensibilities and desires. It is simply a means to an end. It is a tool to bring you another step closer to your goal. It casts a spell on the man between your legs and binds him to your will as you take his power and his heart.

Sex is the ultimate expression of power between man and woman, and yet you let that lowly dog take you roughly and abuse you. Did you fear my anger and punishment at defending yourself? You are supposed to be strong and powerful, act like it or you are no daughter of mine."

Four more times Flemeth took her to Chasind villages to ensure Morrigan had learned her lesson. Each time the young witch let her 'lover' initially proceed as he wished, hoping that he would be different from the others and yet not surprised when he was not, before displaying her power and her dominance; bringing the man to heel. She found that she did not enjoy the act of sex, but rather enjoyed dominating and finally breaking her lover to her will. If left with no other alternative she would break Lachlan to ensure that when the time came he acted according to her wishes, but he intrigued her and she desperately wanted him to be different from the rest. She did not want Lachlan to be another damned golden mirror; pretty and desirable to her and yet fit only to be destroyed by her mother for bringing weakness.

Morrigan took a deep breath to still her thoughts. She could see as well as feel Lachlan gathering his focus and will, drawing his magic to him, and knew the time for his transformation must be close. The first transformation into a higher order animal was always difficult and painful - he would need to be strong to succeed. She held little doubt that he would and that with practice he would change form as easily as her, but the first transformation was not without danger, so much was unknown for the potential shapeshifter and surprises could easily occur. She fought back the revulsion at the intrusion of childhood memories of Flemeth's tales of hideous monstrosities, neither human nor beast, created when a mage failed to understand their chosen animal or endure the pain of transformation and stopped part way through. Most trapped in that mid-transformation form and enduring an unfathomable agony, could not regain their focus and will, and deserved only the release of a quick death. For her plans to succeed that could not happen here. She already knew the strength of his will and from Flemeth's tales of the Warden's Joining ceremony, the witch knew Lachlan had already overcome a greater pain than this would be. She could only hope his understanding of the wolf was as thorough as it appeared to be.

...

Lachlan opened his eyes and released the will and magic he had gathered; his focus and determination so great that nothing else in the small clearing even registered to his senses. The transformation process started with vicious cramping in his stomach. From there, he could feel the tendrils of magic snaking throughout his body, altering his form. Lachlan felt his bones lengthening and shortening as appropriate for his desired wolf form; his internal organs changing shape and position; and even his hair growing. The pain was almost unbearable, and at its peak he cried out and fell to the ground.

After what seemed like an eternity, but in truth was only several moments, the pain receded. He was lying on his side and could no longer feel the soft touch of his robes on his bare skin. He took a deep breath, and pushed himself onto all fours. Morrigan was staring at him with a jubilant look.

"How do you feel Lachlan?"

He wanted to say fine, but what came out was "arrr warrf." He shook his head at the foreign sound from his lips as the sound of Morrigan's laughter filled his ears. He turned his head and looked upon his new form.

"You have successfully transformed – you are now a wolf," the witch said proudly.

As though guided by instinct, Lachlan raised his head so that his muzzle was almost perfectly vertical and released a great howl, "Awooooooowll." Moments later his howl was matched by one from the pack they had left a short while ago.

He breathed in. Hundreds, possibly thousands of new scents assaulted him, all crying out for attention and exploration. He could smell the carrion from the den of the wolf pack they had studied even though it was maybe half a league away. The smells of their camp and their companions were instantly recognizable: the stew they had eaten for an early dinner; the flowery smells that lingered on Leliana; the exotic musk of Sten; the smell of feet from Alistair; the smell of lye soap from a freshly bathed Wynne; and finally the strong scent that marked a kindred spirit, a brother, from his hound Mako.

Morrigan was also in his senses, almost frighteningly and overpoweringly so. He could smell the herbs, oils, and spices that she collected and refined. The witch was a mixture of juniper, sandalwood, peppermint and clove that somehow combined to form an altogether intoxicating scent. There was a hint of nervous anticipation about Morrigan, and her heart was beating rapidly. He could hear it with a clarity that reminded him of great Chantry bells ringing out, calling worshippers to services. Using his newfound senses Lachlan could smell, hear and even feel Morrigan's excitement, and it nearly matched his own.

With wolf eyes, Lachlan looked upon the witch under the light of the full moon. Morrigan stood out sharply, her pale skin practically shining in the moonlight and her golden eyes taking on an even richer and more pleasing shade. She was so beautiful and yet a part of him rose up, telling him that she was alien and not of his kind. Lachlan remembered Morrigan's warnings that the flush of excitement from newfound senses and instincts could overwhelm and control him and so he pushed down the wolf thoughts – he was in control.

The moon and the wild called out to him, little different to how the taint in his blood did when darkspawn were near. He yearned to race through the forest, to explore with his new body and test his senses. He knew that in this form he was truly a master of this forest with few equals and his instincts cried out for him to prove it.

With a flash of purple light Morrigan was beside him in wolf form. The witch-wolf quickly turned from him and bounded off. He started off after her, slowly at first. He expected that walking or worse yet running in this form would be a learning experience. He was used to two legs, not four. Yet, as had happened when he transformed into a spider, animal instincts took over and he began to move with surety and confidence. The chase was on!

Quickly, they raced through the forest, bounding over fallen trees, moving through dense brush, and leaping over small brooks. While Lachlan was a larger wolf and carried a longer stride, Morrigan was far more familiar and comfortable in wolf form. She used that knowledge to elude and taunt her faster pursuer, allowing him to close before slipping away at the last second while giving him a playful bark.

He had no idea how long he chased Morrigan. Certainly long enough for tiredness to overcome his euphoria and definitely long enough to become frustrated by his inability to catch her. As he ran Lachlan realized that they were close to their companions and camp and were likely heading back to the small clearing where his clothes and their equipment lay.

Ahead of him Morrigan veered off, taking a route that would comfortably skirt their camp. If she expected him to follow though, she would be sorely disappointed. Lachlan headed straight for their camp; avoiding Alistair and Wynne on watch and the traps that had been set out to deter trespassers. He entered the camp and could smell and hear Leliana softly singing in her tent. Sten was sitting on one of the logs they had earlier pulled beside the fire sharpening his sword. Mako was lying beside Sten, but his gaze and attention were focussed upon him as though the hound had been expecting him.

"Katara, bas," Sten yelled as he stood and prepared to do battle with this unexpected and he assumed unfriendly visitor.

Lachlan, in his desire to outwit and catch Morrigan, had forgotten that his companions would not have known to expect a friendly wolf in their camp. If he had not wanted to catch the witch, and if he would have been fully clothed once he shifted back to human form, he might have transformed back to avoid any confusion. Instead he raced well outside the range of the giant's blade towards the far end of camp and his intended goal.

Had he looked back, Lachlan would have seen that Mako was blocking Sten from following. The hound's barking and finally a gentle bite to the Qunari's sword arm convincing the giant to stop. He also would have heard Sten say "Saarebas" as though it were the foulest of curses before again taking his seat.

Once safely through camp Lachlan continued on towards his goal although at a slower pace. He had to be ahead of Morrigan and he wanted to move to a covered position where he could lie in wait for her. Slowly he slinked through the brush, his every sense alert for some sign of the witch-wolf.

He smelled and tasted when the wind changed, bringing with it the scent of Morrigan, now burned into his brain at previously undreamed of levels and layers of comprehension. Cautiously he approached the clearing, positioning himself so that he would remain downwind and yet close enough to strike and capture his taunting prey.

Lachlan waited and before too long he smelt, heard, and then saw Morrigan approach. The witch-wolf moved slowly, as though sensing the hidden danger that lay nearby. She would take a few steps, pause, sniff the air, and then look around before repeating the cycle. It took every ounce of patience Lachlan had not to pounce on his prey and win their chase, but he knew, and the wolf instincts confirmed, that if he moved now Morrigan would escape him yet again.

He tensed his muscles as he waited for the perfect moment to strike, waiting until every sense was screaming at him that now was the time. Finally, he jumped out and struck out between Morrigan's flank and rear. The witch-wolf sensed his attack at the last possible moment and turned. Rather than catching and pinning her beneath him, they tumbled into a mass of snarling and fighting wolves. While neither intended to injure, neither doubted that there was more at work than simple pride over who won the chase.

Morrigan batted and swatted at her wolf apprentice as she tried to stop from being pinned and thereby dominated. The animal instincts of both mages, aided by their tussle and their underlying feelings, began to assert themselves, nearly overwhelming them both. Claws were now used and Morrigan bit at her hunter, although she still possessed enough restraint not to draw blood. Finally, and before and significant damage could be done, their little battle had ended. Lachlan had gained a measure of control over her body and had his sharp teeth pressed against the tender flesh of wolf-Morrigan's neck.

Wolf-Morrigan stopped her resistance, recognizing that at least in this small thing she had lost. She felt the pressure of Lachlan's teeth against her neck recede as she stopped struggling. She gathered her will to change back into human form and her senses told her that he was doing the same.

Now that he knew what to expect from the transformation, there was no cry of pain from Lachlan. Rather there was a deep exhale, which she sensed had as much to do with the lingering wolf instincts in both their bodies as from the pain of transformation. Morrigan was suddenly all too aware that she was on her back, with Lachlan's naked body on top of her and his mouth so close to her neck that each breath tickled her skin. One long moment stretched out before she felt first lips and then tongue against her neck, claiming it and marking his territory. He trailed kisses and licks, from behind her ear to down her neck and then he just stopped.

Lachlan moved to face Morrigan directly, their faces and lips a hairsbreadth apart. He felt the lingering touch and need of the wolf to dominate his mate keenly and that instinct was further strengthened by his own desire and longing for Morrigan, but he would never force himself upon anyone. The man controlled the wolf and not the other way around.

Perhaps Morrigan sensed his battle with the lingering animal instincts and that he was giving her a moment to tell him to stop. Certainly, with her greater experience she would know and understand the feelings and urges still coursing through him. She nodded her head yes and then reached up and claimed his lips, parting them with her tongue.

There was a sense of savageness to Morrigan and it was reflected in her kisses and the touches, squeezes, and caresses she tracked over his naked body. They were not soft or gentle. They were strong, powerful, and yet oh so delectable; nothing like what Lachlan had ever experienced before. He countered her kisses and touches with his own; lightly running his fingertips and tongue across her supple body, yet with an intensity that matched the witch's. While they were not still two wolves fighting for dominance, their passion was a battle of another sort, a test of wills and methods. While there would be no losers, Morrigan still felt a need for control.

Lachlan shifted his position so that he was not resting his weight upon Morrigan. The witch, feeling his movement and recognizing her moment to reassert control, grasped his hard manhood, twisted and turned so that he was now on his back with her straddling his waist.

Morrigan took a heartbeat to savour the reversal of fortunes before continuing. With her right hand she reached back to again grasp his manhood. She smiled devilishly at the moan that escaped Lachlan as she began to stroke him. His pleasure was literally and figuratively in her hands now, as it should be. With what was in her hand she was in control, she could steer him as surely as a sailor with his hand on the rudder did a ship.

Lachlan curled his torso up off the ground, causing the witch to release his manhood, which was probably for the best as he was not sure how much longer he could have lasted under her touch. The chase, the cool night air, and the lingering animal instincts under the full moon, and most importantly Morrigan's kisses and her touch – it was all too much and he almost felt as though he was drowning in her. Lachlan needed to re-establish some sense of self-control, lest we be swept up and away by Morrigan's tides.

He took a deep breath and then moved into a sitting position with his legs out before him and manoeuvred Morrigan so she was now kneeling, straddling his thighs. He began to undo the laces tying Morrigan's robes together. Once undone, he pushed the twin bands of fabric away, exposing her breasts. They again began to kiss passionately as he traced her hardening nipples with his thumbs. The witch pressed against him, so he increased the urgency of his touch.

Lachlan moved a hand down to cup and squeeze Morrigan's firm bottom. Her robes preventing him from the feeling he really wanted - the touch of her bare skin. It wasn't right that he was naked while she was still practically fully clothed – that would have to be rectified and soon. He began to remove Morrigan's top and she moved to assist him. Once free, he drew first one and then the other hardened nipple into his mouth, suckling on it and then finishing with a playful nip. Lachlan relished the soft moans that escaped Morrigan as he continued his attentions.

Morrigan suppressed a laugh as Lachlan moved his mouth to her breast. "Once weaned, men spend the rest of their lives longing to be back on the teat," she thought, echoing a favourite saying of Flemeth's. So far, apart from being more gentle and skilled than any of the Chasind men she had bedded, Lachlan was proving little different from what she had expected. As he continued to lick and suck her nipple though she began to admit that perhaps he was different. His touch was stirring something deep within her and her body was reacting to him of its own accord. She registered the moans that escaped from her lips unbidden, her hips grinding against him, and that her hands were now clutching his head, drawing him to her breast, even though she had no recollection of moving them there.

She moved her hands to his shoulders and tried to push him down to the ground, but he resisted. He tried to turn her and bring her back underneath him, but she resisted and ended up kneeling beside him. Morrigan tried to grasp his hard manhood again, seeking to regain control, but he pulled away from her touch; standing and bringing her up with him.

She stood silently as he knelt down before her on one knee, placing first one foot then the other onto his thigh to remove her boots. Still kneeling, he pulled her closer and began to caress up her legs until reaching the laces that undid the last of her robes. Her robes fell to the ground, quickly followed by her small clothes and she stepped out of them, now as naked as him. He eyed her, from her toes to the top of her head, and from his smile and the light in his mismatched eyes she knew with certainty that Lachlan desired her more now than ever. The witch pressed down on his shoulders for him to lie on his back – even to achieve her goals she would not be under a man as he hammered into her – he resisted and again rose to his feet.

Lachlan stepped closer to her and the air itself seemed to crackle with lightning. She could feel his hardness against her and the touch of his warm skin against her breasts. His hands freely roamed her body as hers did his. Lachlan's lips were so close to hers and yet he made no effort to kiss her – "Why?" she thought.

She let out a startled gasp and instinctively threw her arms and legs around Lachlan as he picked her up, his strong hands grabbing her just below her bottom and pulling her even closer against him. He carried her over to a nearby, waist high, stone and set her down upon it; seemingly answering the question of who was to be on the bottom – neither. While not preferred, this was acceptable.

Lachlan moved to kiss Morrigan's delicate neck, marking a trail from behind one ear, down and across, then up to her chin and along her jaw to the other. He could tell from the hitch in her breathing and the flush of her skin that Morrigan was enjoying his attentions, but he sensed she was holding back and fighting for control. He moved back up and stopped just before her mouth. He wanted to kiss those velvety lips, but more than that he wanted Morrigan to kiss him, to let herself go and lose herself in the moment – control be damned. He paused, giving her a chance, and when she made no movement he moved down her body.

He lavished his attentions on her breasts while caressing her shapely legs, savouring the feel, the smell, the heat, and the very thought of what they were going to do. Lachlan moved back up to her lips, again giving Morrigan the opportunity to let go, but instead he saw a look of confusion upon her pretty face.

While Morrigan did not act or speak as if she was a virgin, more and more Lachlan was beginning to wonder whether in fact she was one. If not a virgin, then certainly her experience was limited and Maker only knew what Flemeth had told her, if anything. That unknown drove him to make this special for her, to prove that feelings and emotions were not without use.

Again Lachlan slowly trailed kisses down Morrigan's body as the witch clutched at his torso and tried to suppress her moans. He ignored her breasts and moved lower, pausing to elicit a ticklish giggle as he licked her belly button before moving lower still. He knelt before her, placing her legs one on each shoulder, and moved in towards his destination. Looking up, he again saw the confused look upon Morrigan's pretty face and then, as if now realizing what he was preparing to do, she attempted to push him away. While he would never force himself upon a woman, in this case Lachlan felt he knew best and continued. He could see and feel Morrigan tense her body, and so he kissed her inner thighs and caressed her legs. It almost felt as if he and Morrigan had passed some hitherto unknown turning point in their relationship when he felt her begin to relax and so he slowly made his way to his goal. He resisted the temptation to head straight for his destination and instead began to kiss and lick around her folds to put Morrigan further at ease, and hopefully build some anticipation for when he finally tasted her.

...

She was confused.

Lachlan was not acting like she expected him or really any man to do. She made the motions to let him know she willing and ready. She had given him the opportunity. Why did he not take her as he clearly wanted to do? She earlier thought he was more skilled than the Chasind men she'd had, but was it possible that he did not know what to do next? Should she reach down and show him? No, he was too handsome and his movements were too confident, surely some girl in the tower had opened her legs for him. There must be some other reason for his maddening delay.

Her body was betraying her.

She was supposed to be the one in control and yet he was playing her as easily as the Chantry wench played her lute. Her mind catalogued the litany of her body's failures: the moans she tried to silence before they left her lips; the way her skin flushed and tingled under the touch of his fingers; the charge she felt as his warm, wet tongue traversed her body; the way her body leaned into him, as if begging him for more; and, if she was being honest, worst and most damning of all, her mind was betraying her – she did want more, all that he could give her.

He moved up from suckling her breasts, pausing just before her lips. He was so close that from a distance they would appear as one being and yet she sensed the distance quite markedly. Why did he not kiss her? They had kissed earlier, what had changed? There was still so much of human society she did not understand.

Lachlan's lips hung there, waiting, for what seemed like an eternity before he again moved down her body. She giggled like the little girl she had never been as he paused to kiss and lick her belly button, discovering a previously unknown ticklish spot. He knelt before her, caressing and her legs before finally placing one on either side of his head. He looked up at her and suddenly she realized his intentions. No one had ever done such a thing to her – why would they want to? She tried in vain to push him away.

He gave her a look that said trust me and that was really what this was about. She trusted him with her life in battle as she knew he trusted her. In fact, she trusted all of their companions in battle even Alistair, but while her training told her this was just another form of battle could she trust him in this? She was so uncertain when it came to him and his effect upon her.

Morrigan thought about Lachlan: the path that had led them to tonight; the need they both felt that had brought them to their present state; and the road that lay ahead. While some day she knew that she would have to hurt him, Morrigan felt certain she knew Lachlan well enough to know that he would not willingly hurt her. Her tension began to ease with that realization and she knew Lachlan somehow understood when he began to kiss further up her thigh.

She felt as if Lachlan's kisses grew in intensity, that his tongue was made of fire as it burned a path up her skin towards the core of her womanhood. While she could only guess at Lachlan's motivations, her body seemed to know and understand his intentions, instinctively opening to grant him further access as a shiver of anticipation ran up her spine.

No teachings from Flemeth or any experience with Chasind Wilders could have prepared her for what Morrigan felt as Lachlan reached his goal. The feelings and sensations washing over her were indescribable and she had to fight to maintain control. If Lachlan had any idea of what she was experiencing he gave no sign, as he continued unabated. She quickly lost track of time as she fought against her body. She bit her tongue to silence her moans. Her hands clenched the stone she rested on in a death grip to stop them from grabbing Lachlan and betraying her. She almost hated the feelings of need and desire Lachlan was rousing in her – almost.

She had a sense that her body was building to something, though to what she was not sure. Morrigan looked down to see Lachlan looking up at her. She quickly tried to put a mask of control on her face, not wanting him to see the effect he was having upon her; the weakness he was making her show. There was a sense of disappointment in his mismatched eyes.

Morrigan was troubled by that disappointment – why would he think that? The truth suddenly dawned on her. He wanted her to surrender her control, not to him but to the moment. He wanted her to let go and enjoy the pleasure he was giving her. That realization struck her like a slap across the face and she quickly reviewed his actions in this new light.

Flemeth taught that all men sought to dominate and impose themselves upon women. That a man was always a slave to his basest desires and any 'civilized' manners were merely a disguise hiding their true nature, and yet she sensed no malice from Lachlan. His hands pushed and pulled her, but his touch was gentle and more guiding than controlling, almost as if he sought to instruct her. He did not painfully grope her as others had, quite the opposite, he was making her feel things she had never felt before.

It was all clear to her now. He had not kissed her before, not because he did not want to, but because he wanted her to want to kiss him. Lachlan had not taken her as the Wilders had, seeking merely to satisfy himself, he delayed in an attempt to bring pleasure to her and despite herself he was.

Once again it came down to trust.

Tentatively, she lowered the mental walls around her; fighting against years of training and discipline and opening herself up completely to him. The sensations she was feeling suddenly magnified tenfold and it felt like she stood in a raging inferno centred on the sensitive flesh under Lachlan's tongue. The excitement that had been building in her body now screamed at her and Morrigan felt that she was now nearing the precipice. This time when the moans rose up in her throat she did try to silence them. When her hands acted on their own volition and grasped Lachlan behind his head and pulled him even closer, she did not fight them. When the waves of pleasure began to wash over her, she rode them. And when Morrigan could again catch her breath and opened her eyes to find Lachlan's mismatched ones looking back at her, she kissed him without hesitation.

Lachlan did not force himself on her. He entered her slowly, keeping his eyes on hers as if checking to ensure he did not hurt her. Slowly he began to thrust into her, not increasing his tempo until she began to meet his thrusts with her own. Morrigan felt the same stirrings rising in her as before and she looked at Lachlan. She could see the desire and pleasure in his eyes and upon his face. She could also see the moment of his release was quickly approaching, and that he was fighting it. She knew with absolute certainty that he saw the same signs in her and was fighting to ensure he did not leave her wanting.

Morrigan could feel that her own release was soon at hand and she locked her ankles around his hips and drew him to her. They kissed hungrily and his thrusts now became feverish. She drew blood as she scratched her nails across his back when she crested. Lachlan arched his back and cried out at the unexpected pain, and Morrigan felt him spill his seed inside her.

It was a good thing she sat atop the rock as Morrigan almost felt like she was going to black out. Lachlan too was struggling; he was leaning against her, his head on her shoulder, as if he no longer trusted his legs to support him. They both were breathing in ragged gasps, trying desperately to catch their breath.

Once calm, Lachlan cupped her chin and gazed into Morrigan's golden eyes. He surprised her by simply saying "thank you," and she knew his thanks were not for the act they had just performed. He was thanking her for trusting him enough to lower her defences. By his every action and deed Lachlan was casting doubt on everything Flemeth had ever taught her about men and sex.

By unspoken agreement neither wanted to return to their camp yet. Lachlan picked her up and laid her down atop his spread out robes before lying down beside her. He put his arm around her and she snuggled up closer to him and rested her head upon his shoulder. The air was still charged with their loveplay and Morrigan began to run her fingers across Lachlan's broad chest causing his breath to hitch. He responded by tracing a finger down her spine.

"I see the stories they tell of Grey Warden endurance are not exaggerated," Morrigan said impishly while looking down to see his again hardening member.

"Do you really need to talk, can't you just be silent and enjoy the moment?" Lachlan answered with a laugh, knowing that it would annoy and challenge her.

"You lie there so cocksure and proud of yourself. Well I will have my way with you until I am satisfied, out of a sense of fairness if nothing else," she said with a hint of feigned fury as she swung her leg over him and moved on top of her lover.

"Very well, use me to quench your thirst my ravenous witch."

They shared a laugh before Lachlan drew her down into a kiss. Morrigan kissed him with a passion that surprised her. Lachlan had raised so many questions about Flemeth's teachings and Morrigan's own experiences and feelings. Questions, for which she had no answer as yet, but it was still some time before she had to ask him to make a decision that would change both their lives. Until then there would be other nights like this one and she would take the pleasure he offered as she searched for answers.

She moaned softly as he began to enter her. Morrigan broke their kiss and leaned back, impaling herself fully.

She would have her answers.