Appreciating any and all sapphic relationships in Dragon Age!

Morrigan dared not get attached, or at least she tried not to. The Warden was a means to an end. She was a reckless woman, charging into the fray without a care for her safety. Barging into battle, blades or bow gleaming, darting to and fro to keep their enemies focused on her. The Hero of Ferelden fought dirty. She had to, growing up a city elf in the slums of the Denerim alienage. She didn't get by with just honeyed words and good intentions, she had to fight and claw her way to where she is now.

Her cousin Shianni echoed in Tabris's mind as she soothed a scratch on her mabari's leg. That harrowing day that led to her conscription into the Wardens. Like dogs, Shianni.

Tabris barely ever mentioned what led to her becoming a Grey Warden. Clearly it was a sore subject for her. She and Morrigan made a silent agreement - she won't touch the subject of Morrigan's mother, if Morrigan doesn't touch the subject of why she became a warden. It was easy. It worked. They didn't have to know everything about each other in order to work together.

And then Morrigan made that request. To steal her mother Flemeth's grimoire and kill her. Tabris agreed to her unreasonable demand, nodding without question. Face unreadable as she left camp with mabari and Alistair and Wynne in tow to face the elderly witch of the wilds. She fought a dragon that night. The dragon that took Flemeth's place after she refused to back down.

Morrigan underestimated her. She hadn't expected the Warden to actually do it. She half expected her to get killed. But she came back, bloodied, muddied, carrying the grimoire in her arms. Tabris gave her the grimoire without any fanfare, then collapsed by the campfire exhausted.

She woke up not on the dirt ground by the campfire, but on her bedroll, the blood and grime cleaned from her wounds. Morrigan was pressing a cold damp rag to her forehead to break her fever. She recoiled at the sign of the Warden stirring awake, backed away to pretend it wasn't her that was helping. When Tabris blinked her eyes open, Morrigan said Wynne was the one that nursed her back to health. Something in the way the Warden smiled at her betrayed that she knew Morrigan was lying.

It was slow. A creeping, fluttering, warm sensation that nestled into Morrigan's chest. She hated it. The butterflies in her stomach. The bile in her throat as she watched the Warden flirt with anyone else. She hates to admit it, but she grew to care about the scrappy city elf that led their party. She dared to let the Warden close the gap between them, to no longer be kept at arm's length.

She doesn't know how it happened, when she woke up curled in the Warden's arms. Safe. Secure. Warm. A blanket wrapped around them. The dimming coals of the campfire their only light in the darkness.

The subject of her mother no longer scared her, at least in terms of telling the Warden about it. She discussed it in hushed tones, away from the prying ears of their other companions. The unspoken agreement between them shifted. What used to be off the table was now presented front and center.

The Warden was slow to respond with her own sordid tale. Hands on Morrigan's shoulders, gripping her to ground herself as she took a steadying breath. She told it all. The arranged marriage. The crashed wedding. Herself and her cousin and fellow elves dragged away by horrible drunken human nobles. The blood staining her wedding dress as she slaughtered them all for defiling her cousin. She killed those human pricks. She killed them all. Like dogs, Shianni. Like dogs, Morrigan.

Tabris didn't realize she was crying, muttering that phrase over and over, a mantra to her pain. Like dogs. Like dogs. Like dogs.

Morrigan with any other person would shrink away at a touch, but in that moment she chose to close in, to pull the Warden into her arms and give the best approximation of comfort she could. It was akward. It was clunky. It felt weird, and strange, to pantomime compassion. But it also felt like the right thing to do. She hissed at the Warden to not mention this in the morning. That whatever warmth and fondness is between them is to remain discreet.

The Warden and Alistair gathered their allies, scrapped with zombies and werewolves and darkspawn, found out the harsh truth of their oaths. In War, Victory. In Peace, Vigilance. In Death, Sacrifice. Tabris was dumbfounded when she learned what killing the archdemon meant for her. If she is the one to give the killing blow, she will die with it. The taint in her veins tying her to the blighted beast and taking her down with it.

For the first time in her life, Morrigan was worried for someone else. Scared, even. She hates that she cares about the Warden so much. That they've become close enough to call each other friend. More than friends. Those drunken nights of curling into a blanket together, pressing against each other for warmth. Their hands wandering down, tracing the scars on each other's skin. The Warden brushing Morrigan's hair out of her face to press a kiss to her temples. The sigh that escaped Morrigan's lips when Tabris's hands wandered lower.

The thought of the Warden dying terrified Morrigan. There must be a way, there has to be a way to save her life. She of all people deserves to live, to thrive. But the taint in her blood won't go away even if she survives. Even if she survives, her life is cut short by the blight. One day the taint will take over, and her mind will be gone, and she will descend into the Deep Roads to fight the darkspawn until her last breath.

Morrigan gave her the choice. Try a risky alternative, convince Alistair to bear a tainted child with the Witch of the Wilds. Let the child bear the taint meant to kill the Warden. The Warden was grim-faced at the idea. She hated the idea, in fact. And though Morrigan pleaded with her and needled her and begged her to reconsider, Tabris said no.

Their last night before fighting the archdemon was tense. The Warden holding back tears as she pressed a kiss to Morrigan's lips. Morrigan, used to not crying, finding tears are flowing down her face as she clutched at the Warden's shirt and sobbed. The first friend she ever made, the first person she cared about and even loved, and tomorrow she is going to die.