Right winced, then opened his eyes. He was lying in a bed of some kind, a worn sheet pulled up over him. Plaster-daubed walls rose to a rough wooden roof not far overhead, lit by the flickering light of a fire nearby. He frowned; the place didn't look in the least familiar.
"Ah, your eyes finally open; Mother shall be pleased," an all-too familiar female voice said from somewhere nearby.
The witch! Startled, Right sat up, looked around. Morrigan stood over by the fire, watching him him a curious expression on her face. Right abruptly realized he was nearly naked, dressed only in his smalls. He felt his ears heating, and had to suppress a sudden desire to pull the sheet back over himself and hide from her view.
"Err... yes. Where am I?" he asked.
"Back in the Wilds, of course. I am Morrigan, lest you have forgotten, and I have just bandaged your wounds," she said, and slowly paced toward the bed to stand uncomfortably close to him, running her eyes over him in a way that made him feel deeply uncomfortable. "You are welcome, by the way," she said pointedly after he didn't respond. She turned and stepped away again, looked back at him. "How does your memory fare? Do you remember Mother's rescue?"
"I remember being overwhelmed by darkspawn..." he said, trailing off as his last memories before waking here returned in a rush; darkspawn rushing into the room, the guard falling dead, the impact that drove him to the stone, seeing arrows standing out from his own chest, the cries of the darkspawn as they rushed forward...
"Mother managed to save you and your friend, though 'twas a close call. What is important is that you both live. The man who was to respond to your signal quit the field. The darkspawn won your battle. Those he abandoned were massacred. Your friend... he is not taking it well."
Friend? Oh, she must mean... "My friend? You mean Alistair?" he asked cautiously.
"The suspicious, dim-witted one who was with you before, yes. He is outside by the fire. Mother asked to see you when you awoke."
Right nodded, his hands running over his torso, seeking any sign of the arrows that by any rights should have killed him, and finding nothing worse then some vague soreness, like an old bruise. "Were my injuries severe?" he asked, uneasily.
"Yes, but I expect you shall be fine. The darkspawn did nothing Mother could not heal."
"I will go, then," he said abruptly, wanting to get out from under the too-bold gaze of her strange yellow eyes.
"I will stay and make something to eat," she said, and paced back over to the fire.
Right looked around, and was relieved to spot his armour, weapons, and backpack piled nearby on the floor. He rose and dressed quickly, wishing the witch would keep her eyes turned away, then hurried out of the hut.
He wondered which thought was worse; that she was the one who had stripped him of his clothes, or that her old hag of a mother had.
He emerged from the hut to find it was late evening. Alistair was standing nearby, looking out over the swamps, the old woman watching him silently. She saw Right emerge from her hut, and gave him an enigmatic smile before turning to Alistair.
"See? Here is your fellow Grey Warden. You worry too much, young man."
Alistair spun around, a look of relief crossing his face at the sight of Right.
"You... you're alive! I thought you were dead for sure," he exclaimed.
"Afraid you were going to be left alone?" Right asked.
Alistair's face fell. "Duncan's dead. The Grey Wardens, even the king... They're all dead. This doesn't seem real. If it weren't 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 said acerbically.
"I didn't mean... but what do we call you? You never told us your name." Alistair pointed out.
"Names are pretty, but useless. The Chasind folk call me Flemeth. I suppose it will do."
The name seemed to mean something to Alistair, a startled, half-fearful expression crossed his face. "The Flemeth from the legends? Daveth was right-you're the Witch of the Wilds, aren't you?"
"And what does that mean? I know a bit of magic, and it has served you both well, has it not?"
"I suppose we should thank you," Right said, wondering as he did why she'd helped them.
"If you know what is good for you, I suppose you should!"
"Is there some way we can repay you?" he asked guardedly. Surely she must have some reason for having saved their lives, after all. Something she wanted out of them. People didn't just help other people for no reason at all, not in his experience anyway.
She laughed. "All that I wish you to do is what you are meant to do. It has always been the Grey Wardens' duty to unite the lands against the Blight. Or did that change when I wasn't looking?" she said, looking back and forth at the two Grey Wardens.
Right expected Alistair to answer her, but he seemed lost in thought, barely paying attention to the conversation. He ended up having to respond to and question the woman himself, constantly exasperated by her enigmatic evasions and hints, Alistair only occasionally speaking up. The death of Duncan and the other Grey Wardens, the other overwhelming losses at Ostagar – the King, and portion of the army with him, Loghain's betrayal – Alistair seemed to be taking it all very hard.
He only regained a little animation after Flemeth pointed out that they could use the recovered treaties to recruit a new army to combat the darkspawn. The thought of having a way to fulfil his duty as a Grey Warden seemed to restore Alistair to his normal self at least somewhat.
Morrigan emerged from the hut. "The stew is bubbling, Mother dear. Shall we have two guests for the eve - or none?" she asked, giving the two men a disdainful look.
"The Grey Wardens are leaving shortly, girl. And you will be joining them," she said.
Alistair and Morrigan were both openly shocked by her announcement.
"What makes you think we want her?" Right asked suspiciously. "Was this your idea all along?"
Alistair chimed in, protesting the addition of the girl to their party. He and Flemeth argued it back and forth for some while.
"We don't need her help," Right finally interjected, not liking the idea of travelling with the acerbic young witch in the least.
Flemeth shrugged. "Let her guide you out of the Wilds. If you truly do not desire her help after that, simply tell her so."
Right remembered how quickly she'd led them back to Ostagar after their previous encounter with her and her mother, and had to admit that she'd at least be useful as a guide. He certainly didn't have any idea of where to go from here, especially of how to get back to the north, past Ostagar, without encountering the darkspawn that still undoubtedly swarmed around the area.
An uncomfortable silence descended as she returned to the hut to pack a few belongings before they left. Thankfully she was quick about it, re-emerging only a few minutes later.
"I am at your disposal, Grey Wardens. I suggest a village north of the Wilds as our first destination. 'Tis not far and you will find much you need there. Or, if you prefer, I shall simply be your silent guide. The choice is yours."
"I think we should just get underway," Right said.
She said a few parting words to her mother, then the three of them set out, Alistair and Right trailing behind the witch as she confidently strode away from her mother's hut, leading them out into the swamp.