Title: The Good and the Evil
Author: Traxits
Rating: E (everyone).
Word Count: 598 words.
PC: None.
Pairing: None.
Spoilers: Mild Broken Circle quest spoilers, Morrigan history speculation.
Summary: This is actually in response to a challenge posted on Lunaescence. "Write either one shots or drabbles with the following themes (as taken from the song 'This is War,' by 30 Seconds to Mars): the good, the evil; the soldier, the civilian; the martyr, the victim; the prophet, the messiah; the liar, the honest; the leader, the pariah." In this work, I've paired each of them up, designed to kind of play off of one another.

[[ ... The Good ... Wynne ... ]]

It was endless. The waves of abominations and demons flooded the halls, and no amount of magic could keep them at bay forever. She was old, weakening; the children wouldn't be safe for much longer, no matter how desperately she struggled to keep the barrier up. Soon, it would fall, and they would be exposed; it was only a matter of time.

Help was coming, she reasoned, she whispered it to herself, wanting to believe it; willing it to be true. Greagoir wouldn't leave them- he wouldn't leave her in here, to be torn apart by the demons. First Enchanter Irving was somewhere in this blood and chaos, and Greagoir would sooner cut off his own hand that abandon the First Enchanter. He was rallying his men- the templars would be scared- and then he would be back, all blazing vengeance and flashing swords to protect them.

In her heart though, she knew: they were all as good as dead. Kelli's whispered prayers kept catching her attention- the barrier flickered- and she was screaming, but no one was reacting so she must have actually still been silent, concentrating on her task. It was draining, feeling herself slipping away to keep something so flimsy up, but she had no choice- it was this or allow the demons access to the children.

A tiny hand caught her skirt, made her look. Old as she was, even she didn't mistake the sounds of armored footfalls coming down the corridor behind them. Her concentration divided, she quickly herded her charges behind her, placing herself between the newest threat. If the Templars were coming, let them come.

[[ ... The Evil ... Flemeth ... ]]

The child was sweet- charming, even. Her silky black hair already poured over her shoulders, glossy as a raven's wing, and she was reaching up, reaching for her.

"That's right, dear," she murmured, taking the toddler in her arms. Years of looking for the perfect child had left her quite good at it. She knew how to look at a child's face and see, see what they would look like as they got older. This one would serve nicely for her purposes. "Come to your mother."

There was no confusion, only acceptance; no understanding, but that would serve just as well. It wouldn't do for her little girl to be scarred by this. She needed to know only her new mother, with no recollection of the past. The heavy weight of the toddler against her hip was ... comforting, strangely enough. It had been many years since she'd taken a girl, and she found that she had almost missed the slapping of tiny, bare feet against the wood floor, missed the affectionate smiles and light giggles.

She would enjoy those for a shorter amount of time with this one, she decided. It appeared to weaken her when she indulged in such ways. She needed to shape this girl more forcefully than she had the previous one. This one would be her most important, now that all of the players were in the game. A smile curved her lips, and she made a soft noise to the girl, reaching up to touch that little nose with one finger. "Morrigan," she whispered, and she left the little shack.

Blood trailed out behind her, running over the threshold and into the dirt. Bodies were still inside, a man and a woman. The blood was every where, even splattered over the shattered remains of a mirror, clearly one of the more prized possessions of such a household. It's brass finish glittered dully, slowly turning copper as the blood dripped onto it.