**I'm sorry everyone. I keep posting new chapters and only after I post it to it turns into code. I'm not sure why this keeps happening. But I'm keeping an eye on it! Thanks for reading! Reviews are much appreciated. I like to hear what you think!**
An odd trio of magical power, Morrigan convened with Philippa- a Senior Warden and experienced mage, and Fiona, the former Grand Enchanter. Morrigan did not try to hide her aversion to Circle mages, applying assumed authority as the leader of their crusade to heal Alistair and Caoilainn of the taint.
"Blightcap," Morrigan ordered, her impatient gaze traveling toward Philippa. Dusty bottles littered the surface of the table where Morrigan stood; each time she moved a bottle, an imprint of the round glass remained in the thick coating of dust. An underground sanctuary found beneath the Skyhold gardens allowed the sorceresses to prepare the ritual for Caoilainn and Alistair.
"You can't add deep mushrooms to a corrupter agent! You'll kill them." Philippa guffawed, looking up from her chest of supplies with an offended frown.
"Are you going to tell us your plan, Morrigan?" Fiona stood across from Philippa, aiding the Warden mage with the herbs she separated. The former Grand Enchanter's uneasiness showed through passing glances from the other two sorceresses.
"And please, witch of the wilds, do tell us how one such as yourself came across this elaborate ritual despite your… rural upbringing." Philippa held the deep mushroom she located, eyes narrowing in a critical stare at Morrigan.
Morrigan's brow twitched; her subtle glare pierced the mage with hostility. "'Tis inconsequential, my plan." She informed, shaking her arm to rush the delivery of the ingredient she demanded. "What matters is it will work. I doubt the Circle has loosened your leashes enough to comprehend the magic's nature, anyway."
A light shift on her feet preceded Fiona's interruption to their derision. Though she was the only active participant in the Circle of Magi, she proved to be the mediator between the cantankerous women. "The ingredients of this ritual seem quite caustic. You're certain there will be no adverse effects with the red lyrium?" Learning of the red lyrium trapped within the Warden Commander disturbed Fiona. Though the effects of the blunder accelerated the Calling for Caoilainn, Alistair was Fiona's concern. If harm met Caoilainn, he would suffer.
"Yes, Morrigan. Lest we not forget, my ceremony must weave with your arcane, backwoods ritual. I cannot abide by danger presented to Caoilainn or the King," Philippa declared before Morrigan could answer, romanticizing the royal couple's relationship. Her tone suggested she cared more for the well-being of Caoilainn and Alistair than the Witch of the Wilds.
"And I do not abide fools. If you are afraid of my magic, go play healer to the sick and wounded elsewhere. Leave me to my work." The level of her voice rose with her brusque answer.
Contempt grew from mercurial dispositions catalyzed by care for Caoilainn. Philippa and Morrigan's worry resounded in their bitter griping.
Fiona became the mediator to propel the preparation, communicating between the other two women as the voice of reason. "Please, Morrigan. We cannot be kept in the dark and confidently channel magic."
The annoyed clink of glass against the wood table reverberated as Morrigan walked to the other two mages. A hand extended, reaching to pluck the deep mushroom from Philippa's fingers. Resistant, Philippa's arm moved from Morrigan, keeping the fungus out of her grasp. "Just as this Blightcap has tainted elements so do our Wardens. And just as dwarves clean the tainted elements from their food, so too must the taint in the King and Queen be cleansed. It will require far greater measures, however. Please tell me if this is beyond what your little Circle trained minds can follow."
"You must explain more." The Warden mage's eyes narrowed. Her guarded posture patronized the Witch of the Wild's vague reply. "My education on corrupter agents and deep mushrooms did not include taint expulsion. There were no courses on wildling magic. I did, however, learn enough from my text to purge the red lyrium from Caoilainn's body."
"The honesty of your inferior education is at least refreshing." An arch of her brow, Morrigan's smirk condescended. Philippa's scowl did not prevent her from listening to Morrigan's explanation. "'Tis a poison for a poison, essentially. The potion I am making will overwhelm the taint. The taint's leeching elements, a facet of the symbiotic function of the disease, will feed off the potion. The disease will be unaware of ingredients that will neutralize it. For reasons I do not wish to disclose, my son's blood is unique. When added to the potion, it will lure the taint from their blood, nullifying the sickness as the taint absorbs the potion. The red lyrium will be loosened, its power minimized, but the potion will not remove it."
Whispers from the Well of Sorrows spoke of the taming power of Kieran's blood. The essence of the Old Gods entwined with another ordained bloodline. Alistair's heredity of House Theirin contained powerful elements. Dragon blood, a vigorous counterbalance to the parasitic aspects of the taint, binding the two through Kieran and creating the final ingredient to the complicated potion.
The subtle nod of Philippa's head suggested she understood the logic of Morrigan's ritual. But squinting eyes hinted at wariness of the origin of the qualities of Kieran's blood. She handed over the Blightcap. "Somehow I am not surprised an apostate would have exceeding knowledge of a covert blood magic potion that manipulates its target." She did not wait for Morrigan's retort before asking another question. "When will the ceremony for Caoilainn take place?"
"Before I give the recovery antidote," Morrigan answered as she took the mushroom back to the table, severed it with a sharp knife, and placed the pieces in a concoction of other liquids. The low screech of a toxic reaction sizzled as the liquids devoured the artifacts of the mushroom. "This process will deplete Alistair and Caoilainn. Their bodies have incorporated the taint; 'tis how they lived through the Joining. You'll have a brief opportunity to perform your ceremony before they must be healed. You'll know when it's time."
Glancing around the room, Philippa's eyes measured the space, determining the steps needed for her ceremony. "My plan is much simpler. With far less room for error, mind you." She turned to Fiona. The two women had met and discussed the steps to the ceremony prior to meeting with Morrigan. A few final aspects remained to be resolved. "As you were the one to heal Caoilainn, you will need to speak the incantation, dear and I will strengthen your spell."
In their previous discussion, Philippa explained the incantation that would summon the red lyrium from Caoilainn's body. Upon learning of the Warden Commander's status and the need for the ceremony, the former Grand Enchanter agreed for the sake of Alistair. When Caoilainn's death seemed imminent, the heartbreak Fiona saw in her vision of Alistair rattled her conscience. Though she abandoned any opportunity to make amends with the King, setting aside her mistakes with the Tevinter Magister and the damage it caused to Redcliffe, Fiona's participation in healing Caoilainn assured his happiness. It was the only reasonable aspiration she could have for her son.
Fiona gave silent agreement, nodding to Philippa in response.
The Witch of the Wilds waved her hand over the small pot that contained her ingredients. Low screeching ceased, and the steaming potion simmered, wisps of smoke wandered up, entwining in unique forms. Morrigan's satisfied smirk suggested she was pleased with the results. She returned to cutting up herbs while speaking over her shoulder to Fiona and Philippa.
"Her holiness, Grand Enchanter," Morrigan started, addressing Fiona with a wave of her hand.
"Former," Fiona corrected, her finger lifting to interrupt. The small elven woman stood strong, contradicting her previous timidity. "Former Grand Enchanter, thank you." Absent of a comeback or jibe at Morrigan, the firmness in Fiona's statement could not be denied.
Morrigan's lips pulled down, impressed by the small woman's attitude. Her knife divided remnants of the plants she dissected. " Former Grand Enchanter Fiona," Morrigan edited her previous statement. "I will need you to cleanse the shallow bath before I diffuse the potion."
Within the cavernous sanctuary, beyond where the women stood concocting potions and completing their tasks, a pool of water lay. Engraved stones adorned with elven runes, relics to the history of the stronghold above, contained the shallow altar. Veilfire burned at torches resting in stone columns, pillars reaching up from the watery shrine to the rocky ceiling overhead. Moving shadows murmured secrets of the magic illuminating the reliquary.
Fiona nodded again, this time to Morrigan. An impatient woman, Morrigan's use of time a high priority, she continued leading the meeting. Listing the next item on her list of things to complete prior to the ritual. Her hands still active at the table with the contents to her recipes.
"Warden, for the antidote I will need embrium." Without facing her, the Witch of the Wilds addressed the mage whose bountiful collection of ingredients seemed to have no end.
Philippa grinned and reached into the chest in front of her to locate the herb Morrigan demanded. She pulled it from the depths of the wooden container and held it out, forcing Morrigan to turn around to face Philippa. "Ah, embrium. A wonderful healing herb, particularly for regenerative purposes. I've heard it's great for getting out stains. Tell me, Morrigan, is that true?"
Knife in hand, Morrigan made a poignant turn. Glaring, she took the few steps between them and snatched the plant from Philippa's clutches. Both women's eyes glanced at the knife. "I'd be more than obliged to find out."
Fearful, breath held, Philippa froze as Morrigan's blade descended toward Philippa's palm, causing the Warden to retract. Philippa stepped away, pulling her hand in close to her body; she sneered at Morrigan. The subtle curve of the Witch of the Wild's lips showed amusement with the mage's fleeting dread.
Fiona cleared her throat and spoke up. "When will this ritual take place?" The question to Morrigan interrupted her taunting. Morrigan glanced back to Philippa once more before shrugging and returning to the table.
"The potions will be done by the evening, but the hour before daylight is most auspicious," Morrigan replied, slicing the embrium and placing it in a separate pot with another combination of items. The liquid swirled, calmed by the addition rather than agitated. "One of you will fetch the couple at the appropriate time."
"Fuck's sake, Nate. I wanna be near you."
The confession punctuated Hale's tangent of her dilemma. To stay with the Wardens or leave.
Shit. Emotions conflicted, the tugging feeling in Nate's chest opposed the buzz of warnings running through his mind. Duty over… whatever this is. But her words resonated; he felt the same. Raw and unrefined, the desire to be near Hale put simple words to a complex reaction. Despite all the time he spent pondering his attraction to the young woman, and the reverse, he found no answer. Yet the pull was consistent.
And in spite of the internal warnings, he neared her. Closing the space between them to Nathaniel's surprise, his movement came naturally. Without words, his arms encased the young huntress. Nothing but sheer trust and vulnerability allowed her to find comfort. Her shoulders relaxed; her body eased in his arms and she rested her cheek against him.
The hostile young woman who had thus far shielded herself with a crass tongue and more blatant forms of rebellion now showed him fragility. Empathy and concern brought his head to rest on top of hers. Standing together as the mountain air breezed around them in their embrace.
The morning with Hale mellowed. She gathered herself, anger calmed to gaiety as they walked back to camp. Joking conversation made light of the interaction on the mountainside. She teased Nate for following her and he reminded Hale of her 'fuck everything' tantrum. Shared laughter made light of the intensity from which they walked. The change of energy between them apparent though unspoken undertones dominated. They avoided discussing the questions at hand. What does this mean?
Would Hale stay at Skyhold? The question lingered for Nathaniel despite Hale's affirmed love of the Wardens and her admitted desire to be near him.
Shrouded within the jovial moment with Hale, Nathaniel's thoughts darkened. Severance of the Grey Warden's alliance with the Inquisition posed repercussions. The potential for Hale staying at Skyhold affirmed a variation of his prior fears, but the news sparked other worries. Caoilainn stepping down as Warden Commander was imminent. Returning to Ferelden would add pressure to Caoilainn and relayed immediate consequences to Nathaniel's responsibilities in her stead. He tried to ignore the unsettled pit in his stomach, dreading the obligation of choosing the Wardens over Hale. What are you doing to me, Huntress?
Arriving at the Grey Warden camp, Hale left Nathaniel's side to find her fellow scouts. Nate returned to the training yard where some Wardens voluntarily took up combat practice to occupy time. Tent flaps waved in the mid-day breeze, revealing Caoilainn inside her tent as Nate passed by.
Diverting from his path to his own quarters, Nathaniel entered Caoilainn's tent. Determined steps prepared to demand answers to the news Hale had delivered. The Warden Commander stood at her table, preoccupied with a quill to parchment scratching a lengthy note.
"Fancy seeing you here, your Majesty." His snarky greeting commented on her recent absence from the Warden camp and her steady position at Alistair's side.
"I could say the same for you." Caoilainn's annoyed glance moved from her parchment to Nathaniel and back again. Her comment pointed out his absence from the camp that morning. "Not now, Nate."
His eyes narrowed at her remark, taking it as an insinuation of irresponsibility equivalent with her own. "Were you planning to tell us about the end of our aid to the Inquisition?" Nathaniel took another step closer toward the table. Regardless of his recent distractions with Hale and the end of the less professional aspects of his friendship with Caoilainn, she still held the rank of Warden Commander. Her duty to the Wardens cannot be circumvented with a tender reunion with her husband.
"How do you-" Caoilainn's eyes darted to Nate, shocked by his question. Her thoughts preoccupied with Morrigan's news, Caoilainn's anger with the Inquisitor lost precedence to the Cure. "You know. It doesn't matter. Yes, Nate. We're returning to Ferelden." She gave an irritated glance to him before returning to drafting her letter. After dabbing the quill in the bottle of ink, the nib pressed against the parchment. A single word flowed before her attention returned to Nathaniel. "Have you thought more about what I asked?"
She referred to her proposition Nate assume the role of Warden Commander. Nathaniel had demanded time to think. To construct a plan. The decision came with deliberation. Nathaniel met with Isenam to discuss the scout's willingness to receive a promotion to Lieutenant. A Dalish elf native to Orlais, Isenam was a most experienced and disciplined Warden. The trust Nathaniel had in Isenam assured a qualified replacement.
But Nathaniel's agreement to become Warden Commander had to occur on his terms, requiring clarity his elevation wasn't to support Caoilainn's negligence.
"I have," Nathaniel's posture straightened as his emotions drew inward. Shutting down to Caoilainn's urgency to receive an answer to her selfish request, he withheld his acquiescence.
"And?" Her head made a quick shake, pressing him for an answer. "Will you succeed me?"
Her insistence agitated him. The massive responsibility she haphazardly discarded suggested ten years as Warden Commander could be easily forgotten; her life as a Grey Warden abandoned for a fairytale ending of a family with the King. And she knows I have no disillusions for another life before the Calling. Caoilainn understood Nathaniel's commitment to the Wardens better than anyone.
Nate's heart pounded and his face grew hot. "How can you leave?" His voice rose and his hands planted on the table across from her. "Most of ten years spent commanding and you're just going to throw it away because your King commands it?"
Caoilainn's fist slammed on the table. "This is my choice, Nathaniel!" The bottle of ink rattled with the impact, reverberations echoing after her display. She collected herself, standing up and flattening the wrinkles in the fabric of her gambeson. "I'd like this transition to be civil. You're my closest friend."
"Then don't leave this to me." He grumbled in exasperation, words coated with disappointment. "At least teach me, Caoilainn. What if I need your insight?"
Looking toward the ground, Caoilainn paused. Visibly uneager to share this caveat of his promotion, she mumbled. "You'll communicate with Alistair. I can't help you once I go back to Denerim."
"What?" Nathaniel's voice resounded utter disbelief. Nate's mouth gaped, skeptical of this powerful woman's preference of these circumstances by her own volition. His assumption the stipulation resulted from Alistair's demands made Nathaniel even more livid. "You're kidding me. He's not qualified. And you're submitting to this?"
"Nate." Caoilainn sighed. Her shoulders slouching, hands raised to her chest expressing heartfelt sincerity. Her eyes shined. "I hope in time it will be different, but for now it must happen this way. I need to rebuild trust with Alistair."
Disgust churned within Nathaniel. Caoilainn's out-of-character compliance with Alistair's rules based on nothing more than the King's insecurity nauseated Nate. Memories of his last conflict with the King arose. Alistair spouted derision to Nathaniel's name, relating him to the crimes of his father. Contempt boiled, but not without his pledge to the Wardens weighing on his shoulders. You're making an enemy, Alistair.
"Fine." He growled. The curt reply resonated his dislike of the agreement, but he took the responsibilities. She knew I would.
He didn't wait for Caoilainn's response and made an abrupt leave of the Warden Commander's tent. The afternoon sun dragged across the sky. Disappointment in himself for folding compelled Nathaniel to find work. Irate with Caoilainn's indulgence in Alistair's insecurities, and keen to distract himself, Nathaniel went into the yard to direct the training of the Wardens already practicing. Stubborn pride urged proof of commitment to the order.
Watching Nate leave, Caoilainn didn't call after him. He needs to come to terms. The nib of her quill resumed its mission against the parchment.
With my resignation, Nathaniel Howe will be my successor as Warden Commander.
Caoilainn Theirin
Warden Commander- Ferelden