I awake with a thud as I hit the ground. Before I'm fully conscious I'm on my feet, my sword drawn. I find I'm back outside that shack in the Wilds, and I see the old woman that lives here handing Angel's limp body off to Morrigan.
"Quickly girl. Take her inside and strip off her armor. Put the kettle on to boil. She's going to need a lot of help very quickly."
"Wait! What are you doing? Where are you taking her?" I try to follow Morrigan inside, but her mother blocks my path.
"You care for this woman?" she asks.
"Yes, of course I do!"
"Then sit down and shut up. She is very badly injured. Pray to whatever Gods you worship that she'll live, else you will be the last Warden in Ferelden." My sword suddenly feels too heavy for my arm to carry and falls to the ground.
"What do you mean the last one?"
"When your general quit the field the darkspawn slaughtered all who remained, including your king and all other Grey Wardens in Ferelden. I have no time to comfort you boy, I have a life to save." With that she turns around and enters the shack. I stumble over to the side a few steps and collapse. Matika, who I hadn't noticed until now, stops whining at the door and lays down next to me.
They're gone. Duncan is gone. The Wardens are gone. The only place that ever felt like home... is gone. I'm all alone. Matika nudges my hand and I stroke his head. He looks in the direction of the shack and whimpers. It occurs to me that maybe I'm not so alone after all. So we sit there through the night, keeping vigil over the shack while Angel fights for her life inside and I plead with the Maker not to take her, not to leave me here by myself.
The old woman comes out of the shack at dawn. Her eyes find us immediately, as if she can sense our presence. I wait expectantly.
"She'll live." The breath I didn't realize I've been holding releases in a sigh of relief. "She won't be up for a few hours yet. Continue your mourning if you must boy, but stay out of my way." So she's alive, I'm not the only Warden left in Ferelden. My happiness is short lived, however. I still have no idea what to do. I spend the next few hours in contemplation, wishing Duncan was here to give me guidance one last time.
"See? Here is your fellow Grey Warden," says Morrigan's mother. "You worry too much young man." I turn to see Angel walking towards me, looking like she was never injured in the first place, save for the minuscule scar below her collar bone where the arrow hit her. Matika runs up to her immediately, licking her hand, and she gives me a sad smile. I guess Morrigan filled in her before she left the hut.
"You... you're alive! I thought you were dead for sure."
"It takes more than a few darkspawn to kill me," she says, making a weak attempt at humor. For once in my life, I'm not laughing.
"Duncan's dead, the Grey Wardens, even the king... they're all dead. Why not us too?" She looks at me hopelessly. It seems she doesn't have the answers either. "This doesn't seem real. If not for Morrigan's mother we'd be dead on top of that tower."
"Do not talk about me as if I am not present, Lad," she says sharply behind me.
"I'm sorry," I say, turning my body halfway to the side to include her in the conversation. "I didn't mean... What do we call you? You never told us your name."
"Names are pretty, but useless. Similar to most nobles of Ferelden," she says with her off-putting laugh. Angel stiffens.
"I happen to be a noble," she says.
"Well then, let us hope you don't fall into the category of 'most.' The Chasind call me Flemeth, it will do." My jaw drops. Can this day get any more surreal?
"The Flemeth? From the legends? Daveth was right, you're the Witch of the Wilds, aren't you?" I ask.
"And what does that mean? I know a bit of magic, and it has served you both well, has it not?"
"It has," cuts in Angel. "And we thank you for it."
"If you're Flemeth you must be very old and powerful," I say, warily. Back in the Chantry it was hammered into my head that apostates are dangerous. And I have a feeling this one is more dangerous than most.
"Must I? Age and power are relative- it depends on who is asking. Compared to you, yes on both accounts," she responds.
"Then why didn't you save Duncan?" I ask accusingly. "He is... he was our leader."
"Alistair," says Angel quietly, "it's probably not a good idea to yell at Flemeth. You know the legends as well as I do." Right. For a moment there I forgot that I don't want to be turned into a toad.
"I am sorry for your Duncan," says Flemeth in a level voice, "but your grief must come later... in the dark shadows before you take vengeance, as my mother once said. Duty must come now."
"She's right you know," says Angel beside me, that hard look back on her face. "Giving into grief would have left me dead in Highever, it's only planning my vengeance that's kept me alive." Sometimes I forget she's not all happiness and jokes. There is a very dark and vicious woman buried under there.
"So what do we do now?" I ask.
"It has always been the Grey Warden's duty to unite the land against the Blight. Or did that change when I wasn't looking?" comes Flemeth's response.
"It changed when most of them were slaughtered," states Angel. "Alistair is the real Grey Warden here, not me." I stare at her in shock.
"All the Grey Wardens in Ferelden are gone, except us. I've lost everyone! For the love of the maker, don't back out on me now!"
"My brother is out there somewhere!" she says, gesturing at the forest around us. "I need to find him. Would you have me forget my family's murder?"
"And what about everyone else?" I yell back. "We can't let all their deaths be in vain!"
"Ahhh, to have lost so much. It seems you two have much in common," says Flemeth. Angel's expression softens slightly.
"I can't do this one my own. Please, we have to do something," I plead. Angel sighs and begins to pace.
"What could Loghain hope to gain by betraying the king?" she asks aloud.
"The throne?" I suggest. "He's the queen's father. Still, I can't see how he'll get away with murder."
"You speak as if he would be the first king to gain his throne that way. Grow up boy!" spats Flemeth.
"Is it just me, or is Flemeth getting less helpful and more insulting?" I say to Angel, causing her to crack a smile.
"If my father was still alive he wouldn't get away with this," she says. "He was the only other teyrn in Ferelden, Loghain's equal in power. There would have been a landsmeet, and civil war if he refused to step down." An idea enters my mind. Don't be so shocked, it happens occasionally.
"Arl Eamon! Arl Eamon could call a landsmeet!" She pauses in her pacing.
"How do you know the Arl of Redcliffe?" she asks. Good question. One I currently have no desire to answer.
"It's a long story. But he's a good man, well respected in the landsmeet. We can go to Redcliffe and appeal to him for help."
"Alistair, keep in mind Loghain was also an honorable man. As was Howe."
"The Arl would never do what they did. I know him too well." The look she gives me says she's not convinced. After what she's been through I don't blame her. "Besides, he was Cailan's uncle. He will have no love for Loghain." She seems to come to a decision and nods her head.
"Well," she says, "it's a place to start, though I don't think Eamon on his own will be enough. He can't exactly defeat the darkspawn horde single handed."
"We'll find a way," I say, stepping closer and lifting her chin to meet my eyes. "It's up to us, after all." There's a small pause and for an instant I think, this is it, my very first kiss...
"You have more at your disposal than you think," interrupts Flemeth. I drop my hand and take a step back. Thank you very much Flemeth.
"You're right of course," I say. "The treaties give us the right to demand aid from the dwarves, elves, and mages to start with. They're obligated to help us during a blight."
"I may be old, but that sounds like an army to me."
"So can we do this?" I ask Angel. "Go to Redcliffe and these other places and... build an army?" She gives me her first real smile since she's awoken, a wry grin.
"Why not? Isn't that what Wardens do?" I return her smile with one of my own.
"As a matter of fact, it is."
"So you are set then? Ready to be Grey Wardens?" Angel turns to Flemeth with a grateful smile.
"Yes, thank you for everything Flemeth."
"No, no, thank you. You are the Grey Wardens here, not I. Now, before you go, there is yet one more thing I can offer you."
"The stew is bubbling, Mother dear. Are we having guests this eve?" says Morrigan, coming out of the hut. Please don't say Morrigan, please don't say Morrigan...
"My daughter, Morrigan." Damn it!
"I think that's an excellent idea," says Angel.
"Have I no say in this?" Morrigan and I say as one, followed by glares towards the other's direction.
"You have been itching to get out of the Wilds for years," says Flemeth. "As for you, Wardens, consider this repayment for your lives."
"We'll take her with us. She won't come to harm with us," reassures Angel.
"Not to... look a gift horse in the mouth, but won't this add to our problems? Out of the wilds, she's an apostate," I point out.
"If you do not wish help from us illegal mages, young man, perhaps I should have left you in that tower," counters Flemeth.
"Point taken," I concede. Morrigan gathers her things and suggests we head to a small town called Lothering. The whole situation still isn't sitting right with me. "Do you really want to take her along just because her mother says so?" I ask. Yes, I know I sounds whiny. No, I don't care.
"No, I want to take her because she's a powerful mage and we need all the help we can get," says Angel. I sigh.
"I guess you're right. The Grey Wardens have always taken allies where they could find them."
"I am so pleased to have your approval," says Morrigan. She doesn't sound pleased. I think it's official the apostate and I don't get along.
"So, how do you plan to get us past the darkspawn?" asks Angel.
"Good question," I say. "Just as we can sense them, they can sense us."
"Don't worry your little Warden brain over it," she says to me. "Just focus on making sure your armor isn't on backwards." Yep, it's definitely official. "Shall we go on, or do you have further questions?"
"Can you cook?" I ask.
"I... can cook, yes," is her response.
"Great! Then you can substitute for me," I say with a smile.
"I also know at least fifteen different poisons that grow right here in this marsh. Not that I would suggest 'tis at all related to cooking."
"Right. My cooking will kill us all, that's all I meant," I say. Angel rolls her eyes and adjusts her pack.
"All right you two, let's go. Morrigan, we'll follow you."
"One thing, before we begin. You, dim witted one," says Morrigan.
"My name is Alistair," I say through gritted teeth.
"And I'm sure your parents are so very proud you remember it! When I was watching your group in the Wilds I noticed your eyes seemed to stay focused on your fellow Grey Warden's figure while she was in the lead." Angel's surprised face snaps to me, while I feel my face turning a bright red and refuse to look at her. "I trust we will not have the same issue?"
"Oh, believe me, we won't."
"Good. On our way then," says Morrigan, setting off. It's official. I hate her.