Spoiler Warnings: Stolen Throne Novel

Chapter Seven – Flemeth's Warning

'There was a griffon?' Lowena squealed.

'Oh no.' Nyra grinned at Alistair. 'I'm suddenly having a flashback to a conversation with Wynne.'

'Ah, the infamous "Griffon" conversation,' Alistair laughed. 'No, Lowena, no griffons, but there was a giant shape-shifting bird, also known to us as the Witch of the Wilds,' he offered as he began to tell of their survival from the massacre that still marred their memories…

'Breathe,' Alistair growled into Nyra's long white hair as he held her tighter in his arms. His back was against the bed head and his arms cradled Nyra as if he could keep her clinging onto life if he clung on to her. He was covered in her blood – but then there wasn't much that hadn't been drenched; the bed, the witches, the floor – as all night he had held her, willing her to keep going, to accept the healing of the Witch of the Wilds who had pulled them from the tower. But the witch's magic wasn't working; Nyra's dwarven resistance was, this time, going to prove to be her undoing.

'Come on, Nyra,' he pleaded with her. 'We've got to get bards singing about you, not much to sing about if you...' his breath caught in his throat. 'Please, Nyra, please don't leave me, not you too.'

Her breathing hitched and then stopped, and Alistair felt his own breath leave in a rush.

'No,' he whispered as the Witch leaned her head against the dwarf's bloody chest and shook her head grimly. 'No!' he cried, holding onto her; tears falling freely down his face and into her hair. He buried his head in her locks and wept. 'You can't leave me, I can't be the only one, I can't be left alone – you have to stay, you have to...'

When the witch shook her head at him, he moved away, resting Nyra gently back on the blood-soaked bed, and pulled a sheet over her naked torso. He looked down at her and brushed her white hair away from her face. She looked peaceful and content, that's something, he mused sadly. He turned away and left the room.

'Morrigan,' he heard the older woman saying. 'Let's give this one more go.'

He hesitated with his hand on the door, tempted by hope, before he wrenched it open and stumbled out, blinded by tears, into the cool night air. He had to face it; he was on his own.

Alistair stood looking off into the distance thinking about how lucky he had been by being sent to the tower and then rescued by the 'Witch of the Wilds' – that was two debts he owed the creepy old woman – but thoughts of his brothers falling after being betrayed by Loghain made his fortune bitter sweet. How can I be alive when so many are dead? His mind begged for an explanation.

There had been over two thousand men in the King's army, another thousand or more in Loghain's; they were outnumbered and yet they had been winning. Why had Loghain left? How could he leave them all? Allow them to be slaughtered; men fighting for justice, for their country, their families?

Everyone knew that Loghain had been King Maric's best friend, so how could he leave his son to die? His own daughter's husband?

So many thoughts swirled about his head; memories of his fellow Grey Wardens and Duncan, who had taken him under his wing and guided him as he left the isolation of his chantry upbringing. But one thought dominated them all; Loghain had killed her. Nyra, the beautiful little dwarf who had smiled at him, had reassured him in the wilds and helped him to lead their party, had died in his arms. Her blood soaked his clothes and tinted his skin. He had felt the life drain from her, had felt her heart fail and her breathing stop…

A raw cry of anguish ripped through him as he punched a nearby tree, tears tumbling down his face. Physical pain he could deal with, but this…

'Haven't I already patched you up, boy?' Flemeth's creaky voice startled him. 'After saving your friend I don't have the energy to fix anything else you might break.' He stared at her.

'What?'

'You heard. She lives. When she died, her body was finally able to succumb to my magic. I was able to heal her heart and her wound, and finally revive her.'

He stared at her, dumbfounded for a moment, before he finally managed a whispered, 'Thank you.' He wiped at his eyes as he sank to his knees. All the fury and rage that had been fuelling his body, spurring him on, vanished; relief and hope replacing them. 'You… you have no idea how much that means to me.' He threw his head back and let out an optimistic bark of laughter before giving a silent prayer to the Maker.

Thank you. I'll look after her, I swear!

'She is not out of the woods yet, boy.' The witch pursed her lips as she appraised him, looking down her long crooked nose as he sat there, head back, eyes closed. 'She will need time to heal; once I revived her, and what little blood she has coursed through her veins again, my magic failed.'

Alistair peered at her through one eye as she shifted uneasily, suspecting that the notion that someone could be so unresponsive to her will unnerved the aging witch.

'Potions and poultices will have to suffice now.'

'Can I see her?' he asked as he watched Morrigan slipping inside the little hut carrying fresh water, more bandages and jars of coloured liquids.

'In a little while; allow her time to rest first, her body is in dire need of it. My daughter will finish off.'

He nodded, pulled himself to his feet and flung his arms around the unsuspecting witch, with a happy chuckle before he turned back to gaze across the suddenly beautiful Wilds; the rising sun shimmered low in the sky, bathing the land with its warm tones, bringing promises of hope to the new day.

Something was tickling the back of his hand. He tried to push it away; far too early to get up, his tired mind reasoned. 'Stop it,' he mumbled as the tickling started again. The tickling moved from his hand to his nose. He batted it away and snuffled. 'Stop it.' Soft giggling made him jump, his eyes flying open-

'Owww!' He sat bolt upright as something poked him in the eye. Another gasp slipped from his mouth as his back protested at the sudden movement. He had fallen asleep sitting on the floor again, his head resting upon the bed Nyra occupied.

With one hand clamped over his eye he looked around for the source of the sound. Nyra lay staring up at him, her steel-blue eyes wide with surprise, shock and a little horror.

'You're awake!' he exclaimed, stumbling quickly to his feet. 'Oh, Nyra, I've never been so happy!'

She tried to speak, but no words formed on her lips.

'Water?' he asked, moving to a dresser and pouring a cup from a large jug. Her eyes watched him, he could feel them burning into him, a million questions waiting to be asked. Gently he lifted her head and offered her lips the cup. 'That's it,' he coaxed, 'just sip it, no guzzling – it's not dwarven ale.' She spluttered a little, coughing as some of the water went down the wrong way. She grimaced in pain as each cough rattled her delicate chest.

'Sorry,' he muttered, as he eased another pillow under her head, helping her to sit up a little. Without thinking he brushed back her long fringe. 'It's always doing that,' he told her, sitting on the bed to look at her, a sad smile on his lips. 'I don't know how you cope with it.'

'Al-Alistair,' she croaked.

'Ah, the lady remembers me, that's a good start at least. Do you remember what happened?'

'Ogre bashing.'

'Yes,' he sounded amused, 'Ogre bashing. A favourite hobby of mine I must say. Anything else?' She shook her head.

'Wait,' she pulled her bottom lip between her teeth. Alistair's eyes dropped to her mouth; whilst he had been caring for her, he had memorised every line of her face, counted the fluttering of her eyelashes and smirked at the little snores she made when she turned her head in her sleep.

When they had first met at Ostagar he had thought she was beautiful, but watching over her he had seen her little flaws; her nose that was slightly bent on one side and turned up at the tip, the scar under her eye and her lip had a dent where she obviously chewed it a lot. He had realised she wasn't beautiful, she was breathtaking – her flaws adding to her charm and beauty.

'We lit the beacon,' her weakened voice interrupted his thoughts, his eyes moving back to her own. She stared off into some unseen distance as she tried to recall the events they had both lived through. 'Cailan and Duncan…' what little colour she had in her face left it. He put his hand over hers and squeezed it tightly.

'Morrigan's mother rescued us – she's a shape-shifter-'

'The griffon,' she whispered. He looked at her momentarily confused and made to ask her what she meant when she asked another question: 'Where are the others?'

He didn't speak for a moment, unsure how to break the news. From the little she had revealed about herself in the short time they had been in each other's presence before this mess had happened, he knew that her life had been turned on its head; how did you tell someone that their hope for a new life was again flipped upside down?

Finally, knowing how he hated it when people sugar-coated things, he decided on just simply telling her the truth.

'They all died,' his voice was low. 'Even you died.'

'I…died?' She looked at him with big, questioning eyes.

'It was a hell of a time trying to save you, Nyra.' His voice was soft as he brushed back her hair again, and watched as a shiver ran through her. 'You had to die before Flemeth was able to fix you up…'

'So are you telling me that we're the last?'

'The last in Ferelden, at least.' He sighed heavily. 'Teyrn Loghain didn't even enter the battlefield; he marched his men into a retreat and quit the field.' She hissed, her eyes narrowing as the ramifications of what had happened hit home.

'He murdered them. Sent each one of them to their execution.'

'They were doing better than I expected,' he told her. 'If Loghain had followed the plan, they'd have beaten the bastards back long enough for more reinforcements to have arrived.'

'I'd have gone to Orzammar with Cailan.' He raised his eyebrow in question, but she didn't notice – her expression was filled with fury. 'He'd have had their support; I'd have made sure of it. Without him though…

'I remember now.' She licked her lips and finally looked at Alistair, whose gaze quickly lifted to hers. 'The ogre, the lighting of the beacon, looking out the window and watching that other giant grab Cailan. I remember you standing next to me…'

Alistair's cheeks flushed as he remembered gathering her to him as she turned away from the scene below them, instinctively wanting to protect her from the horror raging around them.

'And then pain… so much pain…' her voice quivered.

'Shhhh,' he soothed her as he shifted closer to her. She leaned forward and buried herself in his frame, his arms wrapping around her as she cried softly into his chest. She had almost died; her life gone, over and done with.

'Thank you, Alistair.' Her voice was muffled against his chest. He pulled back a little and tilted her head to look at him.

'No,' he said gruffly, noticing how the last of her tears clung to her lashes. He brushed them away with this thumbs, holding her face in his hands. 'Thank you for coming back to me. If I had the choice of surviving this with anyone, I wouldn't have chosen anyone else.'

Her eyes softened and her lips parted slightly, as a silent sigh escaped her. His breath stopped in this throat as he looked at her parted lips, a sudden ache burning within him to capture them with his own, to run his tongue along that little dent. If he just leant down slightly…

'Well,' she cocked a smile as she pulled back from him, her cheeks slightly flushed. His hands fell away from her face, but she caught them in her own small ones and squeezed them tightly. 'Who would the bards have sung about if it wasn't me? You?' She looked mock-horrified before winking at him.

Lowena jumped as Nyra suddenly stood up.

'I have to use the little Warden's room. Please continue, Alistair.' Nyra excused herself, and made for their bedchamber despite what she said. She knew that Alistair's eyes watched her as she left. When the door closed behind her he sighed heavily, and dropped his head.

'Is there something the matter, ser?' Lowena asked, noticing how sad his eyes had become.

'This part is hard for her to hear, something Flemeth warned me about…'

Flemeth hadn't been happy that he hadn't fetched her straight away and told him so when she found them talking on the bed; Nyra propped up against pillows holding hands with Alistair, who sat cross legged half way up the bed.

Alistair had stood there, his hand rubbing the back of his neck as his cheeks burned, feeling like he was a child again being chided for coming in covered in mud. Nyra had spoken quickly, thanking the woman for her aid, for healing her and not giving up when she probably should have. Flemeth had seemed taken aback by such politeness, as if she hadn't been spoken to in such a manner in years. If ever.

'I will ensure that you haven't wasted your work,' Nyra promised the witch. 'I will give my all to ensure that we put an end to this Blight.'

The witch regarded her carefully. 'I believe you will,' she finally commented. Her head snapped back to Alistair, 'Is that what you have been discussing? Is that what has kept you from seeking me?'

'Ah, yes,' Alistair mumbled.

'Good, then at least you haven't wasted your time.' Flemeth looked over at Nyra. 'Morrigan will come and see to you. Alistair, may I have a word?'

He walked outside the hut; Flemeth seemed to prefer their discussions out in the open as opposed to inside the walls of her home. He thought it strange, but hadn't questioned it.

'I'm sorry that I didn't come and fetch you, Flemeth, I didn't think-'

'No, I don't suppose you did.' The witch looked around them and sighed. 'I will check her over once Morrigan has seen to her wounds. I think it is time to stop the sleeping draughts. Her own body should now know what is best for her.'

'So it is left to us?' Alistair mused, grimacing at the thought. 'Two of us against everything.'

'Boy, stranger things have happened. Your father for one thing – oh yes,' she laughed as he looked at her. 'I know who you are, boy; I know where you come from. Don't worry, lad, I won't tell your friend. Although at some point you will have to, understand?' Alistair swallowed and looked away into the distance. The sky was dark today, rain falling somewhere far in the distance.

'I met him when he was not much younger than you are now,' Flemeth said as she walked around the wood that marked where their cooking fire usually roared. 'Just after your grandmother was killed by traitors, people she should have been able to trust.' The witch's eyes darkened as she looked up and let her gaze wash over him, and he felt as if he was guilty of the same crime.

'Strange, how the past repeats itself.' She mused as she idly threw some dried herbs onto the unlit bundle of firewood, her gaze not leaving his.

'I told him,' she continued as her stare grew stormier, 'that his friend was not to be trusted, that he would keep betraying him, each time worse than the last.'

'Loghain?' Alistair asked incredulously. Flemeth nodded, walking back to him.

'I told him, once he was king, dispose of him, make sure that he… Bah,' the witch barked angrily. 'He never did though – foolish man – and now he is 'lost at sea.' Of all the things.' She shook her head as if she could change everything by doing so. 'Now I have his bastard in front of me, the last of his line…'

'Going to turn me in?' he snapped. To his surprise she slapped him. Hard.

'Do you think I would waste all my time doing this, giving up my bed for your companion if I was just going to hand you over? In all my time…'

'Then what?'

'I'm going to offer you the same thing I offered your father?' She clicked her fingers and the fire behind her sprung to life. Alistair jumped and she cackled as she bade for him to sit. 'I'm going to tell you of your future – a warning if you will.'

'I… err…' his eyes shifted towards the hut.

'Boy, give up the good little templar routine – you never liked the life, why carry it with you?' With slight hesitation he sat and nodded his head to the old woman opposite him. She turned her gaze to the fire and watched its dance. The red and orange flames seemed drawn to the haggard woman, her eyes glazed, her breathing deepening… She sucked in a sharp breath.

'Your future is entwined with the dwarf. Intricately so.' Her voice was strange – strong and yet so far away.

'We are the last of the Wardens, I would take that as a given.' He grinned to himself. So much for fortune telling.

'I see her… leading – guiding you down the path your future is to take in ending this Blight… and beyond. Her eyes… hardened, decisions this journey will force her to make etched onto her soul. A soul already burdened.

'You both stand side by side as you face the archdemon… you have stood by her side throughout the journey, aiding her in a land so strange.'

'What?' He peered into the flames, his brows furrowed as he tried to see what she was looking at.

'A treasured advisor she will be – as you step forward and lead your people. She will complete the part of you that remains empty, filling your soul with the thing that you so desperately desire. Never will she betray you… nor lead you wrong, but thrice you will have the choice to betray her.' Again Alistair started, but the witch continued as if he wasn't there.

'Set are two. Twice you will choose to do so, as it will save her; first you will end her line. Second you will begin a new… she will forgive you – her heart is large, and your place within it assured… until the third. The third, unclear – you struggle –, but should you fail to keep your promise you will hand her over to her greatest fear, her worst nightmare that she has yet to realise.'

'And if I don't betray her that last time?' he whispered, praying she'd answer him this time.

'The world will change–'

'Fortune telling again, mother?' Morrigan interrupted them, causing Flemeth to jar out of her trance.

'Girl you vex me so!' Flemeth cursed as she looked up at her daughter in the fading light of the day. 'I am sorry,' she sighed and stood up, dusting off her rump as she looked at Alistair. 'The spirits recede, the connection lost.' She glared at her daughter again, before turning back to the young man, who stared up at her with wide, surprised eyes. 'Only time will tell what will happen… it lies upon you now.'

'Have you betrayed her?' Lowena asked in a whisper. There were a hundred other questions she wanted to ask, but this seemed to be the most pressing. The fortune telling had spoken the truth of the Blight ending, of Alistair leading his people, even if briefly, and of how Nyra had never left his side during it all.

Alistair nodded, his head bowed, ashamed. 'How many times?'

'Twice.'

'But to save her life?' He nodded again and looked out toward the window, the heavy curtains had yet to be drawn and the full moon was high in the sky.

'And you chose to?' Again he nodded. 'I see.'

'Once more, apparently still stands before us. Either I hand her over to her greatest fear or the world will change – for good or bad I don't know. I have no idea what it all means – although the moment it presents itself I probably will. That's how it was for the others. Cryptic as hell until it happens.'

Lowena looked at the door where the Commander had disappeared. She didn't blame her for not liking this part of the story. He'd had warnings – he could have avoided them, but dooming her to her death. How, the scholar wanted to know, did someone live with that knowledge? On both their parts. Him living with betraying the woman he professes to love, her living with the betrayals and still giving her heart so freely.

'I think,' Alistair followed Lowena's gaze. 'That she already has an idea painted in her mind of what her worst fear is, but she refuses to voice it, even to me.' He looked back at Lowena. 'When we had left the Wilds I had put it out of my mind, convincing myself that I didn't believe the Witch's warnings.

'It wasn't until the first time that I went against her that I thought about it and confessed the fortune telling. She dismissed it as I had, until the second when I-' he smiled sadly, 'but I'm getting a bit ahead of our story again.' He looked back towards the door and Lowena realised that that was her cue to leave.

'I will bid you good night, ser, and I will come by tomorrow eve to hear more of your tale.'

He saw the scholar out of their quarters and turned toward their bedroom door.

He took a deep breath before he opened the door to their chamber; he could hear the quite sobs through the thick wooden door and his heart always broke at the sound.

He knew that, like many times before, he would hold her to him, comforting her late into the night, telling her of his love, how she was far too precious, too cherished for him to choose to hurt her the way Flemeth suggested.

He would remind her how much he loved her, how he worshipped her body, mind and soul, and then he would show her, making love to her carefully, lovingly throughout the night until she told him she believed him, that all was well between them and that she loved him too.

And then they would sleep until late in the day when she would get up and put on her armour and go and be the strong Warden Commander again.

He opened the door and went to her side.

After Reading the Stolen Throne and 'Flemeth' warning Maric I just had to add her talking to Alistair here. She already makes a comment about your future being uncertain when you arrive with Morrigan to get the Treaties, but I thought that it would be better if she could tell them something actually. And she also HAD to know who Alistair was from the get go – she's all knowing after all!

I'm not completely happy with the chapter, but I hope you enjoyed it :D