A/N This story was originally posted as the prologue of my Dragon Age: Origins story, "Spiritus Mundi". After a long period of consideration, I've decided to post it as its own story and delete it from the prologue of that one for a couple of reasons. First, the sexually explicit and somewhat violent events of this chapter do not accurately reflect the, how do I say it, the overall nature? The mood? of Spiritus Mundi. Second, my daughter, who is 11 years old now, had been wanting to read the story for a while after seeing me play DA:O and loves Alistair. It really bothered me that I had to forbid her from reading what would otherwise be a T-rating story because of one chapter that, while important in that there are references back to the 'Dark Promise ritual', didn't NEED to be made a part of the actual story. Thus, as of Oct 10, 2012, it is a separate story. I apologize for the inconvenience this may have caused, but would appreciate feedback on my decision either way.

Additionally, when I originally wrote this, I had Elissa as the name of my Dalish Elf because I really liked the name. I've decided to change the name in this story to the default Dalish Elf name of Lyna to reduce confusion, because Elissa is so firmly associated as being the name of the Human Female Noble, Elissa Cousland.

Disclaimer: I do not own Dragon Age: Origins, Bioware, or anything else to do with this game-though I will beg, barter or steal an Alistair if there's a chance. This story is for entertainment only and I'm not making any money off of it.

He was sitting on the end of the bed wearing only his smallclothes when she came into the room, his head low and his shoulders slumped, his eyes closed and muttering to himself—praying, actually. Asking for forgiveness from his worthless Maker, she realized. Even when his precious leader Duncan had died, despite his grief and remorse, Alistair had never looked as utterly defeated as he did now.

The irony of it amused Morrigan to no end. Yes, she was the one who had suggested this ritual, but it was his beloved Grey Warden who had laid him so low by convincing him to consummate it. And of that the Witch had no doubt, Lyna would have had to use every drop of persuasion in her arsenal, to induce Alistair to agree to something like this. She could nearly see the whole scene playing out in her head, the Dalish Elf wringing her hands as the former Templar looked to her for guidance, as he had done the entire time they'd known each other. "If you loved me, you'd do this…" Lyna would have said. That was always the most wrenching, and thus, the most effective emotional bribe to use. And it had worked, or Alistair would not be in her room.

A low chuckle of amused and sadistic delight welled up in her throat at the thought of the brave, noble Templar being brought so low by his love for Lyna. Their fearless leader may not have realized it yet but she had done far more to crush Alistair's spirit with that request than anything Morrigan herself might have done, and of course that made it all the more deliciously satisfying to the apostate.

Alistair's head shot up at her laughter and the panicked expression on his face when he saw what she was wearing, or more accurately, how little she was wearing, made Morrigan laugh again. "Waiting with bated breath, I see?" she drawled out, a predatory gleam in her golden eyes as she approached him.

He swallowed visibly, a sheen of nervous perspiration covering his nearly nude body. His eyes went wide with dismay as she stalked toward him, unconsciously retreating from her by edging his way up the bed. The woman crawled onto the mattress to pursue him, a deadly spider with bright hungry eyes fixed on a particularly juicy morsel that had been trapped in her web. There was only so far he could go to escape her though, and even after he had backed into the headboard, he was still straining to get away from her, his head turned slightly to the side and lips thin and tightly pressed together while, inexorably, she levered her lush body over his own, straddling his hips to settle down atop him.

The candle on the bed stand winked at her and delicately, Morrigan rested one hand on his muscled shoulder while leaning over to blow it out, making sure to drag one breast over his arm in the process. He stiffened even further at the touch, inhaling sharply.

There were still other candles in the room of course, and the flickering light highlighted the planes of Alistair's handsome face. Truly, he was a fine physical specimen of man, she admitted to herself, despite the fact that he could be as thick-witted as two short planks. The fear in his eyes and tension in his frame merely served to heighten her arousal and sense of utter control over him. Trailing her fingers lightly up his arm, she gave him a sultry smile and leaned forward until her lips were a breath away from his. "Do you remember when I said you would not dislike this as much as you thought?" she purred.

He shuddered, closing his eyes tight when her hands moved over his shoulders and then downwards to lightly brush over his flat, masculine nipples, but said nothing.

Chuckling wickedly at his silent denial, Morrigan grazed his lips with her own, murmuring, "Perhaps you'll even have a few new tricks to show to Lyna, after we're done."

Alistair stiffened beneath her at mention of the other woman and his eyes flew open, filled with such bitter loathing that she recoiled instinctively. Without warning, he thrust his hand upwards to grab her neck right beneath her jaw and she gasped at the feel of his fingers tightening around her throat, golden eyes wide with surprise as she looked down at him. "Don't even say her name," he snarled, his face twisted with rage as he flipped her over to lie beneath him.

He released his grip on her throat and his dark, angry gaze flickered down her scantily clad body. Without warning, he suddenly yanked at her underwear, the thin muslin ripping almost immediately and exposing her sex to him. Raising herself up to an elbow, the Witch smirked, "I confess, I had no idea you were so exuberant in bed. Had I known, I would have suggested this sooner than I did, perhaps we might have gotten in a few practice rounds," lifting her hands to reach for his body again. The prospect of him being rough in bed was turning her on even more, and she could feel the heat in her loins grow with anticipation of their impending union.

"Shut up," he growled, roughly capturing her hands in his own and then pinning them to the bed at her sides. Alistair leaned over her, hulking and more furious than she had ever seen him and fiercely grated out, "I don't want you to touch me. I don't want you to say another word to me until I'm done. Do you understand me? Because if you do, so help me, I will get up and walk out of this room, damned be your ritual."

Morrigan opened her mouth but the implacable look in his eyes drew her up short. She had never seen such an expression on his face—she doubted anyone had. This was not the same good-natured, jocular man who grated her nerves with his carefree spirit and annoying selfless nobility. He meant every word he said, she realized. He would leave her and return to Lyna, they'd do their duties as Grey Wardens and kill the Archdemon regardless of the price one of them would pay, and she would never have another opportunity like this, to bring an Old God back into the world. She glared and bared her teeth in frustration, but nodded silently.

Alistair immediately released her hands, moving his own down to her legs to part her thighs, sparing no more than a glance at her sex. Shifting himself away from her long enough to wrench his underclothes off, he settled himself between her thighs again. The apostate could only watch in helpless silence, her fists clenched in the bed linens, as he spat into his hand for lubrication and then gripped his manhood, starting to stroke to an erection. He kept his eyes tightly closed, his face contorted in a grimace of utter concentration, holding his breath before inhaling in a quick, tight gasp—trying not to breathe in any more of her scent than he had to, Morrigan realized with fury.

Even after he was hard, he still did not mount her but kept jerking himself, pausing only to rub more moisture around so he didn't rub himself raw. The Witch felt any sense of control she had over the ritual, and of Alistair himself, slip away when she realized he had no intention of entering her until the very last moment, when his body was too far gone to stop. She could tell when he had nearly reached that point, because he leaned forward over her again, bracing his weight on one arm and his strong thighs settling firmly between her own to hover over her until she could feel the heat coming from his hard shaft and quickly moving hand.

And even then he kept his face turned away from her until he made a choked sound, his eyes opening long enough to look down as he guided himself to her damp opening and violently thrust himself inside her body in one quick plunge. After that and two quick bucks of his hips, it was over—she could feel his hot seed filling her and he shuddered, grinding his teeth and grunting as he spent himself. She deliberately squeezed his length inside her, wanting every drop of that precious, life-giving liquid.

When she clenched around him, Alistair yanked himself out and off of her body. The abrupt departure made her gasp and she sneered at him, "Thank you so much for the ride," as she sat up in the bed.

He made no indication that he heard her, snatching up his clothes, pulling them on quickly. The Warden was still breathing heavy as he stalked over to the door and turned around to look at her directly, his brown eyes filled with hatred and revulsion as he grimly warned her, "Stay away from me. From both of us—and so help me, Morrigan, if I hear anything, hear even a rumor about you and this child being a danger to Ferelden or anywhere else, for that matter, I will hunt you down and burn you like the witch you are."

The door slammed shut behind him before she could even formulate a response. Cursing with rage, she made herself lay back on the bed, drawing her feet closer to her body until her knees were raised and she was reclined back on the bed with one hand tucked beneath her head. The other hand slid down her body to stroke the skin over her womb, trying to imagine how it would look swollen when she was heavy with their child. With her child. Her Old God, reborn, untainted, and hers alone.