varric finishes telling the story of hawke to cassandra pentaghast. “is that all you wanted to know, seeker?” he asks. “no,” she replies, “i don’t believe you, these are all lies. there’s no way four of the champion’s friends were bisexual”
Ahh your notes on the Morrigan fanart are giving me serious feels *flails*
Are you ready for some more Morrigan feelings TOO BAD HERE THEY COME
Morrigan could teach the Warden a thing or two about hardening.
It is not telling one’s friends that the world is cruel. If they could not learn that lesson themselves, what good is it to hear from someone else? If they are soft, and know only warm beds, and expect only kindness and understanding, no amount of talk will teach them otherwise.
Loneliness - that will harden a soul.
When all your lessons are learned from books, left behind when your mother is out (and she is out for days at a time, doing blight only knows what); that will sharpen your mind to a fine point. When the only voice you hear in so long is your own, you will learn to speak confidently, to fill the space. When adults blanch at your childish presence and make signs to ward off evil, that will toughen your skin. When you must hide yourself from their hateful glare, you will learn not to envy their lives, but to despise them.
Mother taught her to be hard from the beginning. When you learn as a youngling that tears will not bring you aid, then what is the point in crying them? When your childish humors are not indulged, how could they not wither away? When you are never treated as a child, would you ever recall being one? When your only parent needs no other soul to survive in the harshness of the Wilds, how could you justify needing more?
When friendship is something never extended to you, how could you value it?
The Warden will never learn these things, of course. For the Warden is never lonely; everywhere she goes, she makes new friends. She is greeted with smiles and nods of respect at any village in Ferelden, in any circumstances, and where she is not it shan’t be long before they are won over.
So as the Warden troubles herself to harden her other companions, for Morrigan there are other lessons. Though she has resisted it. For it is not easy to learn without trust, and Morrigan has very little trust to give. But in time she has seen that it is indeed useful to have someone stand watch as you sleep. That she need not trouble herself with cooking and sewing if the boy warden and the old mage will do such things for her, and happily. And if she does not need the aid to decimate her enemies, it is certainly faster and less arduous to destroy them with reinforcements at her back.
Slowly she has learned that honor and valor are not fictions after all, and their bearers are not only in books. Such persons exist who would would listen to what her mother would call mindless prattling and even ask to hear more. Such a person could hear her idle reminiscence of a silly gold mirror and act thoughtfully upon it, for no hope of profit but to see her pleased expression. And it seemed such kindness did not imply weakness as she had once believed. For the Warden had bested her mother in the end, she who Morrigan could never hope to defeat, and she had done it as a mere favor to her. Happily the Warden will help her accomplish her own secret goals, and she believes at last that these impossible things will come to pass after all. They will stop the Blight and defeat the Archdemon, in the Warden’s own inimitable fashion.
The Warden is not hard. But perhaps hardness is not the only strength.