Chapter 4: The Witch

"Flemeth?"

Varric smiled slightly, the skeptical look on the Seeker's face was to be expected. Still…he was only telling her what Hawke had told him. Not that it had been easy getting it out of her mind you.

He shook his head at the memory.

Hawke had been pretty drunk that night; one of the first times he had ever seen her drunk in fact.

The memory brought back a few things, both good and bad. He did his best to hide the painful things. The seeker was not the type of person to extend sympathy.

"Yes," he said, "I thought you might find this part of the story interesting."

Cassandra paced before him.

"You expect me to believe that a myth swooped out of the wilds and saved the Champion?"

"Come now, Seeker," the dwarf chuckled, "Surely you do not need me to tell you the tale of the warden as well?"

The mention of the legendary Hero of Ferelden made the Seeker pause. Varric could not be sure what she might have been thinking at that moment, but it was clear that he had struck a nerve.

Finally, the warrior woman frowned.

"Yes," she agreed, "I should not be surprised that the witch was involved in all this."

"I like my version better too," Varric said with a shrug.

Again the Seeker frowned.

"We are not here to discuss what Surana Stormbreaker said or did not say," The woman growled, "We were discussing the Champion, and her flight from Lothering."

Varric did his best not to show any emotion.

What was this, he thought, did the Seeker know the Hero of Ferelden? It was possible he supposed. It was said that Alim Surana had moved in high places before he had finally disappeared. Most people these days thought him dead. More than a few said he died in the final battle with the Archdemon almost ten years ago. That all the Stormbreaker sightings these last eight years or so were just wishful thinking at best, like people who claimed to see a still living King Cailan of Ferelden, or Flemeth for that matter.

Varric frowned.

The Seekers were not gullible, perhaps Surana was still alive? Perhaps they had talked to him, or…to someone who had known him. More than a few of the wardens' old companions were still wandering either the places of power, or the dark corners of Thedas.

Whether the warden was still alive or not did not matter he supposed, this was about Hawke, and the Seeker still had questions.

"Tell me," she said crossing her arms, "Did the witch send anyone with the Champion that day?"

Varric swallowed, and tried to keep his face bland and uncaring.

"In a matter of speaking," he murmured.

The Seeker nodded grimly.

"So it is true," she said, "We should have guessed."

Varric did not respond.

Few people in Thedas knew that Flemeth had given Hawke and amulet to bring to the Dalish in Kirkwall. It was not a fact he included in every telling of the story. Some versions did not even mention Flemeth, hence the Seeker's skepticism.

How did she know about the amulet, and what it contained? A question he might have to answer later provided he survived this interrogation.

The Seeker volunteered no information, not that he was expecting any.

"Continue," she said, "But if you try to tell me that they all flew to Kirkwall on a dragon?"

Varric chuckled.

"Nothing so fanciful," he said, "I assure you."

IOI

Moira shivered against the cold dark night.

She held her arms close to her chest, trying to preserve warmth, as her father had taught her years ago. The others were asleep, not far from where she lay, Aveline had been trying to keep watch, but after all the stress of the last few days, even the hardened soldier was exhausted.

Hawke sighed.

The Witch had promised that they would be safe. She had given them her word that she would see them safely to the Brecilian Passage; from there they would soon be able to reach Gwaren, and from there find a ship.

At least, Hawke thought with a shiver, we hope.

She shifted against the ground, unable to sleep. Her actions, her failures, of the last few days haunted her. The others stayed close to each other, avoiding her gaze. She suspected that they blamed her for everything that had gone wrong.

Sadly, she could not help but agree with them.

The mage resisted the sob that tried to escape from her throat.

She tried to keep from surrendering to sorrow, or despair, but it was not an easy thing. The past few days haunted her.

She could not even settle down enough to find a moment of sleep.

Every time she closed her eyes she saw Carver being cast down by that ogre, being tossed away like a piece of unwanted trash.

The memory haunted her, that and her mother's wailing accusations.

If it was not that, she saw the face of Ser Wesley; the Templar was always looking at her with white milky eyes, his pale skin already showing signs of the coming of black sores.

The young mage shuddered.

The Blight sickness had taken the Templar. The taint was within him, if it did not kill him, it would have turned him into a ghoul. He would have joined the darkspawn horde, maybe even have turned on them.

Moira…had not allowed that to happen.

The Templar had begged his wife to end his suffering, Aveline, as strong as she was could not, not that Hawke blamed her. What the Templar was asking for was a mercy, but it was a dark mercy.

No wife should be forced to end the life of the man she loved.

Moira was not sure what had motivated her to take matters into her own hands, to spare Aveline the pain of doing what needed to be done.

Hawke had taken Wesley's knife and driven it into his chest, it had been a mercy killing. She had taken no pleasure from the act.

It was just something that needed to be done.

It was strange, Moira thought, Carver's death, it…it had forced her to step into a role that she had never been brave enough to step into before. She should have been frozen after her little brother had died, should have wailed in despair, as mother had, but strangely enough, she had found the strength to accept the witch's offer. She would take the woman's amulet to the Dalish clan living near the city of Kirkwall, and she would do whatever their keeper asked that they needed to do with it.

That was the deal that was the price for their deliverance.

She shivered as another cold gust of wind washed over their tiny camp. The weight of the debt was heavy, but she would pay it.

A Hawke always paid her debts, Father had taught her that.

The sound of what might have been wings roused her from her melancholy.

She glanced up to find the witch standing watch over their tiny camp. Despite the cold they knew that they could not risk a fire. They were moving beyond the reach of the horde, but it was still possible that darkspawn packs were still out there somewhere, hunting for any unfortunate survivors.

The moon was half full, providing them just enough light to see by. The witch said that her magic would shield them from the darkspawn.

Moira sat up, she watched the witch for a time. The old woman did not even acknowledge her, just stared out into the night.

When she finally spoke, it startled the young mage.

"It has begun," Flemeth purred softly.

Hawke shivered, something in the witch's words felt like someone had just walked over her grave.

"What…what has begun," she managed to ask.

The witch glanced at her with amber eyes.

"Those you travel with," she said, "They avoid being close to you, they can…sense that you are no longer simply one of them."

The witch smirked.

"Do not be afraid of being alone, dear girl," she cooed, "The great ones are always alone…in the end."

Hawke's blue eyes narrowed.

"There is nothing great about me," she said defensively, "I'm just me."

Flemeth cackled to herself.

"Tell that to the ogre, dear girl," she said, "He learned of your greatness a little too late, don't you think?"

Moira was on her feet, she went to the witch's side. For a moment the two stared out into the darkness together. Even at night they could see the strange clouds that followed the darkspawn horde, the rainbow lightning jumping from cloud to cloud.

Moira shuddered.

She glanced over at the witch, earlier, right after sunset, the witch had vanished, perhaps changed shape and flew off. The group might have moved on, but by then it was too dark to see, they knew they had to wait until morning.

Now…the old woman had returned, that tiny part of Hawke that had been awakened by her brother's death now reared up again, trying to fill the timid mage with courage.

"We thought you left us," she said, a statement, not an accusation.

Flemeth chuckled.

"No game is won without pawns, clever child," she cooed, "I needed to go and set one of my pawns in motion."

Moira pursed her lips. She could not imagine what kind of game the witch was playing, not with so much death all around them.

Perhaps it was better that she not know, she thought, knowing things could be costly…expensive.

She was already in the witch's debt.

She did not wish to be any deeper in it.

Moira shivered. She stood there watching the distant horde.

Once again, she found her strange tiny bit of courage.

"Do you see the future?" she asked.

Flemeth might have smiled; it was hard to tell in all this darkness.

"I would say, that I know just enough."

Moira nodded, it was not much of an answer, but it was likely the only one she would get.

"Is Ferelden doomed?" she asked.

Flemeth's expression remained unreadable.

"The wardens have not failed, yet," she said, "A few still live, I've given them what they need to continue their journey, and a pawn to watch over them should they get in over there head."

Moira's eyes narrowed.

"What kind of a pawn?" she asked.

Flemeth chuckled.

"The kind that has no choice," she said coolly, for a moment Hawke feared that she had insulted the witch, but Flemeth chose to say nothing more.

Whoever this pawn was, she realized, she pitied him, or her.

The witch did not strike her as one who went easy on those who failed her.

Flemeth glanced at the young mage; she seemed to be looking right through her, seeing into her very soul.

It was a most disturbing experience.

Moira almost retreated back to her companions then, ran back to the others and forgot she had even been brave enough to come here.

Strangely enough, she did not retreat.

She still had questions she realized.

She was at least brave enough to demand answers.

"You…um…you said something to me, back where we first met."

Flemeth grinned.

"I said many things," the witch said dryly.

"About me," Hawke clarified, "What…what was it? Oh yes. Hurtled into the chaos you fight, and the world will shake before you."

Flemeth cackled slightly.

"Did I say those words? Perhaps, I'm a very old woman, dear girl; my memory is not what it once was?"

Moira's eyes narrowed, she got the feeling the witch was playing games with her.

She did not like that, not one bit.

If Flemeth was afraid of her anger she did not let it show, quite the opposite in fact, the witch seemed genuinely amused by their little conversation.

The witch raised her hand, she gestured in midair Hawke felt a bit of magic pass between them.

The experience made her shudder.

The witch let out a tired sigh, for a moment, she appeared to be simply a very old, very weary woman, just for a moment.

Those amber eyes pierced Hawke's blue ones.

"Some answers cannot simply be given, dear girl," she said, "Some must be found, ripped from the darkness with your bare hands."

Flemeth smiled anew.

"You are a clever child," she said, "I can say that. I saw it the moment you fought that ogre. Bravery and foolishness are sometimes close cousins."

Moira blinked.

"And what am I?" she asked.

"A brave fool," Flemeth cackled, "Or perhaps a foolish girl who is far too brave for her own good. Only time will give you that answer."

Flemeth once again turned to face the distant horde.

"In Kirkwall," she cooed, "You will find your answers. It will be then up to you to decide what you are going to do with them. The Blight has always brought change. Even if those few grey wardens lost in the wilderness end this Blight, the world will be changed."

Flemeth looked at Hawke with those ageless amber eyes.

"The Blight has already changed you; it will be interesting to see how much."

Hawke said nothing, what could she say.

The witch said nothing more, she seemed content to let what passed between them be all that there was to be said.

Hawke retreated back to her family, even if they hated her, it was better than the cold emptiness that the witch lived with.

Still, the young mage could not help but shudder, and for once it had nothing to do with the cold.

She thought about what Flemeth had said.

The great ones are always alone…in the end.

That…and:

No game is won without pawns.

The only question now was this…

Was she great, a pawn, or both?

The mage shuddered again.

She didn't really want to know the answer to that question.

In the end she lay down, and tried to sleep.

Carver and Wesley were waiting when she finally closed her eyes, that and the witch smiling at her.

The great ones are always alone.

She thought long and hard on that…

…and in that moment…she was afraid.