AN: A word of thanks to all the readers who have stuck with me and this story thus far. It feels wonderful to have your support as I continue Diora's story in Thedas. This chapter and the next (already in the works) marks a turning point in Diora's tale, and I am super excited about it and hope you all enjoy. -Ella


Chapter 8

The Witch of the Wilds

Diora's adventure in Thedas was shaping out to be a punishment right out of a Greek tragedy. She was the heroine doomed to suffer as an innocent tool in fate's hands. She had never been a fan of the Greek tragedies.

Now she had a reason to hate them.

Her limp frame hung haphazardly over the her mount. The stallion's sinewy warmth and gentle, steady trotting lulled Diora in and out of consciousness.

Clip-clop, clip-clop, clip-clop.

Through her half-closed eyes, Diora watched the brilliant orange sun begin its descent in the west. Tiny sparkles of starry silver glittered against the streaks of pink and grey and violet in the painted sky. A carousel of visions whirled around and around in her head and a cacophony of voices weaved in and out of her dreams.

Gnarled hands waving around a fortune teller's crystal globe… 'The inevitable time is soon to come, be it for good or evil… Your reflection is cast in the mirror of illusion, darkness, and blood...'

Beady black eyes, full of hatred and dark vile… 'I asked the Eluvian to show me the most worthy sacrifice, and it brought you to me...'

Star-shaped flowers floated down from the sky and filled the air with their delicate floral scent… 'Friends, Lady Diora...?'

An owl hooted nearby.

Diora's eyes fluttered wide open. The jerking motion of her awakening body disrupted her precarious balance and she fell off the stallion. She landed on her side with a soft thud. A cry of agony escaped her lips as a lightning hot jab of pain bolted down her back and right arm. She took quick, shallow breaths until the throbbing subsided. Very carefully, not even daring to breathe, Diora slowly turned until she was flat on her stomach. Thank goodness she had landed on her side and not on her back.

Diora tried to raise herself up on her arms. She cursed through grit teeth and nearly fainted from the pain. 'I can't move my body,' she thought, collapsing back to the ground.

That's when she felt something in her tightly clenched hand. Delicate, yet strong, smooth yet rough at the same time. She didn't need to see it to know what it was.

Leyonir's bracelet.

It must had slipped off Leyonir's arm when... How had she managed to hold on to it all this time?

Through a blur of tears, her eyes adjusted to the darkness, taking in her surroundings. A thicket of shrubs and leaves had broken her fall. She was no longer on the road. Instead, Diora found herself in a lush forest nook, surrounded by curtains of overgrown hanging vines and a canopy of leaves overhead.

Wispy bands of greys and violets stretched out across the sky. The moon had already risen, a crescent sliver of pearl in the sky.

In addition to feeling like a red-hot fire poker was taking its sweet ass time scorching a hole through her shoulder, Diora now faced terrifying thought of spending the night in the forest injured and alone. Even if she survived the night, how would she ever find her way back to Ostagar?

A tiny sob escaped from her lips.

Then…

A hooting owl. A flutter in the trees. The sudden rustle of wind.

Tiny clouds of dust and swirling leaves blew up into her face. The dust stung her eyes and tickled her dry throat. Diora shut her eyes and coughed weakly. She winced as each tiny shudder sent waves of pain wracking through her body.

Then footsteps.

From their limited vantage point on the ground, Diora spied two slim feet clad in black leather boots stepping towards her. The feet stopped about a yard away from the front of her face.

Inch by inch, Diora's eyes sssslooooowwwwwly ascended along a pair of Victoria's Secret Angel-esque gams. They skimmed across jaggedly hewn strips of leather and soft hide that had been sewn together to form a loose skirt around bony hips and a tiny waist. Diora's deliberate gaze continued to travel up an exposed abdomen and a skimpy, burgundy tank top which dipped into a deep V and flowed freely over a set of envy-inducing, gravity defying -

Despite the agony she was in, Diora still maintained a shred of modesty. She averted her bashful eyes away from the prominent display of side boobage. All it would take was one swift and unforeseen breeze, and Diora was sure she would be a reluctant witness to a "flying shirt" accident not unlike Marilyn Monroe's iconic "Isn't it delicious?" scene with the white dress and subway air vent in The Seven Year Itch.

The owner of said glorious boobage began to gradually kneel down until her own face was mere inches above Diora's.

Diora found the courage to shift her eyes forward... and gulped.

Black, side swept bangs partially obscured a pale, heart-shaped face. The rest of the hair was pulled back into a severe bun, from which an array of iridescent blue-black feathers fanned out. Eyelids shaded deep Tyrian violet and lips stained crimson red stood out in stark contrast against their owner's flawless white complexion.

The stranger's eyes were the most striking feature of all: wild, hypnotizing...hungry, even… They gleamed at Diora, shining like two yellow diamonds in the dark.

Had the horse somehow led her out of the Dragon Age and into the Twilight zone? No, not the television show from the 1950' and 60's, but the vampire universe created by Stephenie Meyer.

Because the face before her surely belonged to an immortal vampire queen.

What other logical-but-still-fucked-up explanation could Diora come up with to explain to explain this astoundingly alluring woman's appearance in a gust of wind?

'Don't look into her eyes! She's trying to glamour you!' Diora's inner voice tried warning her. But try as she might, she just - Could. Not. Look. Away…!

The blood-red lips twitched into a small, wicked smile. A silky voice, one that Diora expected a vampiress would have, broke the silence:

"Well, well… What have we here?"


.o0O0o.


Duncan sat on his cot, elbows resting on his knees, forehead resting on his clasped hands, as though in prayer. However, the Warden Commander was not praying. Instead, he remained deep in thought over the troubling news he had just received.

A darkspawn attack on the convoy delivering Diora to the follower camp. No survivors, save the single man who had traveled back to Ostagar tonight to tell the tale.

Duncan sighed and rubbed his forehead. Shadows from the single, flickering flame in his tent danced across the planes of his face, emphasizing the darkness beneath his eyes and the weariness that marred across swarthy features. He rose from his cot when Alistair walked into his tent.

"Duncan… Is it true? Diora's..." Alistair choked the words out and couldn't bring himself to finish the question.

Duncan nodded solemnly. "I'm sorry, Alistair."

Alistair pounded his fist on Duncan's bedside table. "Damn it! Why did we agree to Cailan's request?! Even then, I should've insisted on accompanying her! Why didn't I go with her?! I should've-"

Duncan placed a hand on Alistair's shoulder. "Our reports had indicated that there was no darkspawn activity north of here. No one could have expected this. Do not blame yourself, Alistair."

"We did this to her. We should've taken Diora back to that mirror in the Wilds as soon as we found out the truth about her. She would be back in her world and safe, not dead on the road somewhere," Alistair said bitterly.

Alistair had refused to believe that Diora was gone until he heard the words from Duncan. Now, all Alistair could think about was Diora's last moments. How frightened she must have been before -! Alistair squeezed his eyes shut. He couldn't bear to bring himself to think anymore about her final moments.

"Grieve for her if you must, Alistair, but remember that you are a Grey Warden, and our duties as Wardens must take precedence above all else," were the only words of comfort Duncan could offer.


.o0O0o.


"So, are you always this articulate?" Morrigan mocked the gaping girl after several minutes had passed. She rolled her eyes and sighed with disgust when the girl continued to simply stare without a word. She walked over to the stallion and led it to the same tree, securely trying the reins around a low-hanging branch.

Diora's eyes followed the stranger, who was now scouring the brushes for dry leaves and snapping small branches into smaller pieces. 'In Twilight, vampires with yellow eyes are vegetarians - NO, wait. In True Blood - oh, God! Now I'm taking Dragon Age survival lessons from Twilight and True Blood!? Do vampires even exist in Thedas? God, I hate this place...'

"I watched your progress for some time. Truly, you were so still I thought you quite dead and beyond hope - until you fell off your horse, that is." Morrigan scooped the leaves and kindling into a tidy little mound. She pulled out a dagger and flint and struck them against each other other until the sparks lit the shavings on fire.

Diora cringed when the vampire reached down and pulled her up by the armpits. "Please don't eat me or drink my blood!" she blurted out the first thought that popped in her mind.

Morrigan shot the girl a dirty look and dropped her like a sack of potatoes. "Eat you?! What do you take me for, a hunger abomination?! One would think you would be more grateful for my help. 'Twould serve you right if I leave you here to die alone instead. The beasts will certainly get you once night falls, if your wound doesn't kill you first," she said in a superior tone of voice. She stepped over the girl in a dramatic show of nonchalance.

"NO! You can't go! Please don't leave me alone!" Diora begged desperately when the strange woman stood up to leave. With a startling burst of speed and energy she did not even know she had left within her, Diora swiftly reached out and wrapped her arms tightly around the stranger's legs, clinging as though for dear life.

SPLAT!

Morrigan keeled over and landed on the ground face first. She howled furiously and spat out bits of dirt and leaves from her mouth. She chucked a fistful of sod and foliage back at the creature holding her prisoner . "Release me, you little fool!"

Diora violently shook her head. "I won't! If you leave me here to die, I swear I will come back as a ghost to haunt you! You'll never have a moment's peace! I'll be worse than Stephen King's Pennywise!" she threatened, invoking the name of the scariest thing her mind could draw up at the moment. Her shoulder was throbbing, burning, but she still refused to let go.

Morrigan laughed. "Oh! You would do better to haunt the person who shot you with that arrow. And who is this King Pennywise of Stephen you speak of? I know not of any ruler or country by such- "

"Please, I can't die here!"

Morrigan glared back at the girl. This ungrateful, simple-looking girl… She had an arrow in her back and couldn't even stand up on her own two feet - and yet she still had the nerve to threaten Morrigan. It was infuriating…!

"Please!" Diora pleaded.

'Oh, I hope I don't regret this...' Morrigan pursed her lips and exhaled loudly through her nose. "Very well. As long as you mind your manners, I shall stay."

Diora sighed and released her grip. "Thank you…!".

Appeased - at least for for the moment - Morrigan helped the girl sit back up against the tree and then sat down next to the girl. "The fire will keep the beasts away tonight. Fortunately for us, the darkspawn have not made it here... Yet. Now, let us be more civilized. Tell me your name and I shall tell you mine."

Diora certainly did not want to be the one to offer up her name first, but giving up her name was a by far more preferable option than offending this beautiful woman again and being left alone to die. "I - It's Diora. Diora Starr. Please to make your acquaintance," Diora introduced herself.

"Now, that is a proper civil greeting indeed, even here in the Wilds. You may call me Morrigan," Morrigan said in response.

Diora had no idea if this Morrigan was really impressed or simply being sarcastic.

"Water?" Morrigan pulled out a skin of water and offered it to Diora. When Diora eyed the pouch cautiously and made no move to take it, Morrigan took a giant swig. She wiped her lips with the back of her hand. "Are you truly so mistrustful?" she grumbled.

"Morrigan...why are you helping me?" Diora asked, avoiding Morrigan's question altogether.

Morrigan shrugged her shoulders. "Why not? 'Tis not often that I meet many people in the Wilds."

"So you live here...in the Wilds?"

Morrigan stared wistfully into the flamed. Her eyes reflected the firelight and danced like two shiny gold coins. "Not all are monsters in the Wilds. Flowers grow as well as toads..." she said in a faraway voice.

Diora blinked a couple times. Wow. Without the confrontational edge to her voice and the frosty glare in her eyes, Morrigan looked...lonely.

'... I wonder if she has any friends… Now that I think about it, she looks younger than I first thought. We look like we could be the same age - even though that attitude makes her sound WAY older...'

"...I live in the forest with my mother."

"Your mother?" Diora repeated, half distracted by her own thoughts.

Morrigan shot Diora a withering stare, and a harsh annoyance immediately replaced the fleeting bit of wistfulness that had been in her voice just seconds ago. "Yes, my mother! Did you think I spawned from a log?"

Diora shrank back into herself. Morrigan's glare was positively dangerous, it was a wonder to Diora that she had not turned into stone. Diora was almost certain Morrigan must have taken personal death-stare lessons from the Medusa, the mythological gorgon whose eyes turned unfortunate onlookers into Greek garden statues.

'Maybe I hallucinated that wistful expression on her face...' Diora thought to herself. It was quite possible. Diora had, after all, lost a lot of blood after her injury.

"Anyways, shall I guess your purpose here, or were you going to tell me yourself what you were doing wandering in the woods with an arrow in your back?" Morrigan asked, not even bothering to mask her aggravation.

"I was on my way to the follower camp with King Cailan's guards. But we were attacked… and..." As the memories of the attack came back, Diora's voice broke down. She recalled the look on Leyonir's face as he…! Diora swallowed back a sob. "My friend… he died…"

"How embarrassing that the king's guards were defeated by simple bandits," scoffed Morrigan, hardly moved by Diora's display of emotion. She reached into her belt and pulled out the same dagger she had used to light the fire. She held the blade out above the flames.

"No, it wasn't bandits, it was -!" Diora paused abruptly.

Who, indeed?

That was the million dollar question.

Diora stared into the air with glazed over eyes, her mouth slightly agape. Thoughts raced through her mind. 'The caravan was attacked, and by members of King Cailan's own guard. Why? It… No. That makes no sense. Did someone order the attack to… to kill me? But who? Why would someone want me dead? It couldn't be King Cailan, could it? No- those guys said the king would never find out the truth. He and the Grey Wardens would blame the dark-'

Diora gasped. A lightbulb - an idea-

A DAGGER RIGHT IN FRONT OF HER FACE.

Diora squealed with fright and defensively flailed her good arm at the dagger.

Morrigan slapped Diora's arm away. "Do not be so squeamish! I will need to cut into the wound to extract the arrow." She poked gingerly at the blade she had been holding over the fire, and then cocked her head and inspected Diora's wound. "The blade is hot, and it will burn, but that shall stem the bleeding until-"

"Ugh! No!" Diora shuddered and tried to block out the horrifying images of blood and singed flesh that Morrigan's words had evoked.

"You are afraid. Or you doubt my abilities, perhaps? While I am no healer, I assure you, I can mix together a simple healing poultice once the arrow has been pulled out."

"You are not going to pull this arrow out."

"Oh? Shall I put you out of your misery instead?"

"Of course not!"

Morrigan furiously jammed the dagger back into its sheath on her belt. "Fine! I am to assume you have a better suggestion?" she asked sarcastically.

"As a matter of fact, Morrigan, I do," Diora replied.

Morrigan hid her confusion beneath a mask of annoyance. "Well, then, what is it to be? Don't just sit there, tell me!"

Diora remained silent, but her eyes spoke volumes. They were blazingly alive, like the blue grey ocean just as the first rays of dawn struck its rippling waters.

She needed to get back to Ostagar.

Tonight.


.o0O0o.


Diora and Morrigan were on horseback, slowly and steadily sauntering their way back to Ostagar. They avoided the main road, traveling through the forest instead. They traveled at a slower pace to accommodate Diora's injury. Morrigan held the reins and led the horse, while Diora tried not to fall asleep against Morrigan's back. Diora had no idea the horse had led her so far into the Wilds and away from Ostagar.

"I cannot believe I'm really doing this..." Morrigan complained to herself. She wondered how had she allowed herself to be talked into taking Diora back to Ostagar under the cover of night. Traveling during daylight would be far more practical and much safer.

"Keep talking to me, or I might pass out," Diora implored. Before setting out on their journey, Morrigan had mixed together a poultice for pain for Diora. While it provided some relief, it had left Diora feeling incredibly drowsy.

" 'Twould be a relief if you did," Morrigan sharply snapped back. 'Not a word of thanks from this one, just orders…!'

Morrigan found her companion to be impossibly exasperating. And infuriating. And perplexing. Diora still insisted on having that arrow lodged in her. And Diora adamantly refused to tell Morrigan what she had planned until they reached Ostagar.

"Tell me that story again... the one about the Witch of the Wilds...Flemeth. I didn't... understand it all the first time," Diora murmured. She nodded off, only to jerk herself awake.

In an attempt to keep Diora conscious - and at Diora's insistence - the two of them had taken turns trading stories.

"Truly, you must be the only person in all of Thedas who does not know the legend of Mo- of Flemeth. Even little children have heard the tales," Morrigan chastised Diora.

'Of course I don't know the legend. I'm not from this god-awful world.' "And I can't believe you've never heard Disney's tale of Aladdin," Diora rambled slowly.

Morrigan's lip twisted into a sneer. "A story about a demon trapped in a bottle who grants wishes but does not wish to possess you? Nonsense! 'Tis no wonder I've never heard of this bard, this...Disney. Tell me, are all his tales this ridiculous?"

'Duh! You've never heard of Disney because he doesn't exist in Thedas.' "It's not a demon. It's a genie. In an oil lamp. And I happen to enjoy his tales very much."

"And that Princess Jasmine. Un-be-lieve-able! She was a princess! She could have married any lord or king, and she married that peasant boy Aladdin."

"Because she loved him."

Morrigan choked out a laugh. "To indulge in love is to indulge in delusion. 'Tis better to be free of it. Love is fleeting and has no meaning. Survival has meaning. Power has meaning. Just think of yourself and your current predicament," she said loftily.

Diora pondered Morrigan's words in silence. While she did not completely agree with Morrigan cynical point of view, Diora saw the practicality in Morrigan's words. They made sense, especially when applied to Diora's own current all-the-elements-in-the-universe-lined-up-to-seriously-eff-up-your-life situation.

'Holy shit, this b**** actually makes sense.' "I suppose the survival and power part is true," Diora reluctantly agreed.

Morrigan glanced over her shoulder and scowled at Diora. "You suppose it's true? I'm telling you, Diora, 'tis true!"

"Then I guess I don't really know what to believe," Diora sighed wearily.

"Hmm... An honest answer, even if a vapid one. Perhaps you'll learn in time, if fortune smiles upon you," Morrigan mused aloud. Then as an afterthought, she added, "And if you do not die first."

'Eff you, too, Morrigan.' "Thanks... for that vote of confidence, Morrigan," Diora said in between yawns.

"Why, you're welcome," Morrigan responded in a silky-sweet voice.


.o0O0o.


How odd that Alistair should find himself back in the Arl Eamon's barn loft. Hmm, it sure seemed smaller and more cramped than he remembered. He hadn't been back to Redcliffe in years, not since Arl Eamon and Lady Isolde packed and shipped him off to the monastery.

Alistair crouched down and glanced out the window. From here, he overlooked the shores of Lake Calenhad and the entire village of Redcliffe. How many times had he glanced up at the stars from this perch, wishing away his loneliness upon the Golden Star?

He felt a gentle touch on his shoulder.

Alistair turned and drew a sharp breath.

It wasn't possible!

"Diora! You're alive!" he gasped.

"Alistair, come," she urged him.

Alistair followed her out of the loft, out of the barn, and into the village. Diora weaved in and out of the throng of villagers - or was she actually floating through them? He started running, heedless of the people he was knocking into. The quicker he ran, the faster she retreated from him. Alistair ran until he reached the small, open clearing right before the bridge leading out of the village.

It did not make sense. He should be able to see her clearly from here.

Diora had disappeared.


.o0O0o.


Alistair bolted upright off his bedroll with a start. His heart was pounding, his breaths deep and ragged. A single bead of sweat trickled down the side of his face. He glanced around over to the other side of the tent he shared with Aedan, and he slightly was relieved to find his companion's bedroll empty.

That dream.

It made Alistair's scalp crinkle. It was the same prickling sensation he had felt the first moment he laid eyes on Diora at the marketplace in Denerim. Since that moment she ran into him, Alistair had felt an inexplicable connection to her.

And now he knew why.

He couldn't have been more than ten years old, but what was once long lost in childhood memory was now as sharp and clear as though it had happened yesterday.

Diora was the girl who had appeared to him in the loft that morning so long ago.


.o0O0o.


The blanket of night was starting to give way to the grey twilight before dawn when Morrigan and Diora reached the outskirts of Ostagar. Morrigan pulled back on the horse's reins and brought the stallion to a stop in a small clearing. There was a small, bubbling brook nearby where the horse could drink and she could fill her skin of water.

Morrigan glanced over her shoulder. "We're here. Wake up," she hissed none-too-gently. In addition to giving her a terrible kink in the neck, having a passenger lay across her back for half the night had left Morrigan feeling more irritable than normal

Diora's eyes fluttered open.

And she instantly regretted it.

She groaned as the familiar throbbing in her shoulder set in, though she also suspected that the pain poultice Morrigan had given her was wearing off. Sleep had been a welcome reprieve from pain. And there had been something more… but she couldn't remember what it was, only that it must have been a wonderful dream.

"Are we there?" Diora mumbled.

"Did you not hear what I just said?" Morrigan replied, rolling her eyes. She slid off the horse and, despite Diora's moans and protests, pulled Diora off the horse, too.

"Why are we stopping here? Why aren't you taking me to the gates?" Diora asked, bracing herself against the stallion's sturdy frame.

"Because we had a deal," Morrigan replied, filling her skin of water. She took a sip before handing the pouch to Diora. "You told me to get you to Ostagar, and you would tell me what you had planned. Well, we're here. And I have no intention of going further until-"

The sound of a dog barking caught them both off guard. Then more barking, closer now, and voices.

"Blast and damnation!" Morrigan cursed quietly. She narrowed her yellow eyes and stared in the direction of the noise. Movements in the brush and rustling leaves indicated a party of at least two men. In the grey morning and the cover of the trees, Morrigan could barely make out the sigils on their armor. She knew it would be but minutes before they were found.

Diora's eyes grew wide and fearful when Morrigan turned a cold, calculating stare at her. What was Morrigan planning to do? Surely, Morrigan had not brought Diora this far only to kill her now? Then, to Diora's surprise, Morrigan's crimson lips curled up into smile.

"Truly, 'twas a pleasure to meet you, Diora. Do not doubt that our paths will cross again," Morrigan promised in a deep, velvety tone.

"What?! Please don't leave-!" Diora cried desperately as Morrigan turned and broke into run-

It all happened so fast, Diora's mind could not quite make sense of what her eyes saw next.

"Uh- uh-uh-uh- wha-! Buh-but-! Ha-huh-!" Diora's trembling lips bobbed up and down in a series of incoherent babble. Her legs threatened to give way beneath her. The skin of water slowly slid from her hands and landed with a dull, gushing thud on the forest floor.

One second, Morrigan had been running away with her back turned to Diora. Then, with a sudden flourish of hands, a gust of wind, and a swirl of dust and leaves, she had transformed into a black crow that now flapped its wings as it flew away into the woods.

Morrigan might not be a vampire… But she was definitely a witch...!

A Witch of the Wilds.