Charlotte couldn't hear anything.
She was buried in darkness, struggling as if she had been wrapped in a hundred thick blankets and left drowning in their heaving surge. It was hot. She could remember screaming – was it her? – No, it was someone else. Something else.
There was pain, confusion. She was so hot. The blankets were all around her, she couldn't breathe properly. She tried to remember what had happened, but an unnamed mental resistance kept bucking her off. Her mind was a restless steed, refusing to be broken. The darkness and heat she rode in waves, caught somewhere between a deep sleep and consciousness.
Bits and pieces came back to her. The tower – they had been in the tower. Alistair shouting. The pouring rain. The air had smelled terrible – blood, smoke, decaying flesh. The Darkspawn were there, had somehow gotten in. The tower rose like a specter in the night, its corona disappearing into the cloudy sky.
They decided to fight their way through to the beacon. She could recall locking some of the darkspawn into rooms that had doors, running as fast as they could from floor to floor. There had been so many she lost count. A mage had helped them – Cassius? – he'd cast good shield spells and lit her daggers on fire.
The tower wound on forever, climbing in disorienting circles that made Charlotte's head spin. Alistair pinpointed the locations of darkspawn while Charlotte fought an increasing buzzing in her head. The hum and itch that was their call. Like her blood boiling, like thousands of bees screaming her name.
Finally, they reached the passage to the beacon. So many darkspawn had followed them. Alistair and she used fire bombs while Cassius cast an almighty wind spell that sent those nipping at their heels across the room. Alistair made it through – Cassius didn't. Alistair and Mastodon attempted to block one last door, and she ran ahead to light the signal for Teyrn Loghain and his men, certain she was already too late.
Once inside the final chamber, every muscle in her body burning with effort, Charlotte had glanced wildly around her, seeking the beacon. The top of the tower looked like the inside of a dragon; its dome extended into the sky, with vaulted arches that thinned and flared like bones in a dragon's wing. The windows between were green and blue, like scales, and dimly reflected the moonlight from outside, as well as the glittering flickers of a fire on the other end of the room.
In her haste, Charlotte had missed a hulking shape that was cast in shadow in front of the fire burning there, completely black against the flames' orange light. Charlotte froze, eyes widening with horror as she realized what it was. Slowly, the beast rose, unwrapping itself from its bent position. Charlotte heard a sickening crunch as the darkspawn wrenched its head to one side, then dropped something large and red to the floor, where it landed wetly on the stone. Slowly, the thing turned, jaws crunching on bone and flesh, sniffing loudly as it detected her presence.
The ogre was an unusual purple color, which struck her as odd. Its horns curled from its head to points that faced forward for an effective charge, like a bull; below were beady eyes that hovered too closely together over a short snout, its nostrils flaring as it sought her scent. Beneath the nose, a wide maw drooped at the corners, almost as if it were frowning, and was full of teeth as thick as a man's fingers, ending in jagged points. Drool poured copiously over the meat in its mouth and the hideous beast crudely wiped some of it away, gulping down its meal, as it studied Charlotte with dim interest.
Charlotte went cold all over.
As soon as the ogre charged, Charlotte streaked to the side, moving so quickly she couldn't consciously remember deciding to do it. Her body experienced a rush of power that told her to run, but the room was one big circle and the beacon – of course now she could see it – was there, waiting for her, behind the ogre's towering form. Charlotte screamed as the ogre roared at her again, part of her concentration still with the beacon, while the rest of her focused on trying not to die.
She fought for what had felt like hours, her throat raw from terror while she ran and ran around the room, avoiding the ogre's horns and enormous hands that struck with the power of boulders. She had climbed its back and lost a dagger in the thick flesh there as she was thrown almost all the way to the beacon. Finally, desperate and weeping, she had hurled her last bomb – one made of acid – into its face, finally gaining enough purchase as it howled in agony to severe its spine with all her remaining strength.
Tears streaming down her face, Charlotte had crawled and stumbled toward the fire burning on the edge of the chamber, reaching out one hand. There was no wood there, the flames fueled instead by the flesh of dead soldiers. One had his sword in his hand, the blade still outside the burning wreckage. With what energy she had left, Charlotte had extracted it from the pile of bodies, used the blade to catch some unnamed burning object, and thrown it into the mouth of the beacon.
The entire room lit as the fire reached the open claw at the top of the tower; Charlotte lay and stared at the fruits of her labor, relieved that she had done it, wishing that she could die or fall asleep. Alistair came tumbling after her, his face streaked with sweat and dirt, patently disbelieving of her defeat against the ogre while trying to help her to her feet.
"We must… talk to Duncan… about what supposedly "simple" jobs… he wants us to do in battle. For the future."
Charlotte had not even the energy to pretend to laugh.
"Alright then, let's-"
A sound like metal tearing. Alistair shouting. Fresh pain in her shoulder, and the sensation of falling like a leaf in autumn. Then, complete darkness.
"Calm yourself. Twas nothing but a bad dream."
Charlotte attempted to kick off the covers, but this triggered a twinge in her side not unlike a large splinter being driven into her lung. She fell back.
"You are far too overexcited. You must rest or mother will chastise me again for my poor healing magic. And, quite frankly, I feel I've borne enough of it for one day."
Charlotte groaned as her eyes rolled around in her head.
"I know you feel pain, but you must calm yourself before anything can be done for you. I cannot remove bandages while you squirm."
"What… Maker…"
"Honestly, Warden, you make my task most impossible."
The voice drawled; it was eloquent. Where was in Thedas was she?
Charlotte focused her vision, trying to gain a sense of calm. The waves she had been riding slowed; it reminded her of times she had swam in the Waking Sea with Fergus, the salt stinging her eyes and the ocean's sounds soothing her long after she would fall asleep in her bed, body satisfied and exhausted.
Her body certainly didn't feel like that now. The bed was lumpy and her feet were cold at its end; the rest of her burned from the heat of the fire that warmed the entire hut and the layer of blankets tucked over her. She longed to cast them off, but elected instead to take stock of injuries, cautious of further damage done by sudden movements.
"Am I… Am I badly hurt?"
The girl from the swamp came into focus. What was her name? She still had that beautiful chestnut hair. Yellow eyes looked on impassively; the sound of water dripping from a rag tinkled from the belly of a ceramic bowl. Charlotte noticed the lip of the bowl had a chip; surely the Witches of the Wilds would find such a fragile object impractical?
"Yes, you were." She answered in a clipped tone, one eyebrow raised as if she found the conversation amusing or tiresome, Charlotte could not tell which. "Mother has healed you rather well; the exact state of your wounds I cannot say, but if you do not tax yourself overmuch you will live."
When Charlotte did not reply, the girl spoke again. "I am Morrigan, lest you have forgotten. You are in the Wilds and I am changing the bandages on your wounds." She moved to clean a spot near Charlotte's ribs.
Charlotte looked about. The hut was tiny, but neatly cared for. Apart from the uncomfortably hot fire roaring in the hearth at the center of the opposite wall, there were bookshelves stacked with valuable-looking tomes bound in leather of rich reds and browns. One possessed a more sinister air, its spine dark green and peeling; near it, Charlotte was alarmed to note a man's skull on the shelf, with a candle melted into its crown, currently unlit. Around an erecting beam in the middle of the single chamber herbs had been hung on string wrapped around the wood. More herbs hung from the low beams in the ceiling, some of which Charlotte could recognize. With only room for one more lumpy cot, it was tight quarters indeed and for a moment Charlotte felt terribly homesick.
"You are suddenly quiet. Is there something on your mind?"
It was not the comfort Charlotte could have used, but there were more pressing matters. "What happened?"
The witch sighed and dropped the rag back into the bowl with a careless slop, clearly not enjoying the position of nursemaid. Bandages and a white salve were produced as the little wooden stool upon which she sat was scooted closer. She began to remove the old dressings from Charlotte's wounds.
"Everyone is dead; the battle was lost to the darkspawn."
Inhaling sharply against the pain from lurching forward in shock, Charlotte refused to accept it. "No!"
Morrigan smirked ever so slightly, then tutted and responded airily, "I am afraid it is so."
"But… how? We lit the beacon, did the army not charge- Ah!"
The witch ignored her discomfort and began replacing the bandage. Charlotte noted briefly that her wound did not appear serious; as the cloth wrapped there was secured tightly, the salve did its work and soothed her considerably. Some of the stifling heat ebbed away.
Morrigan regarded her with shrewd yellow eyes, "How does your memory fare? Do you remember Mother's rescue?"
Charlotte sifted through the smoke and shadows in her mind, trying to find the last moment she had recorded consciously. "I… No. I remember lighting the beacon. Then Alistair came-Alistair!" Charlotte lurched forward again, worried for her comrade, eyes wide and beseeching.
"Ah yes, the spikey-haired one who likes to talk. He lives."
Charlotte exhaled in relief, relaxing back on her pillows.
Morrigan rolled her eyes and rose to put away the bits of cloth and salve mixture. "I am not certain how that benefits anyone's circumstances, but if it pleases you." She poured the water from the bowl out a window and shut it with a clack. "Your hound also survived. He has been most intolerably anxious over you."
Charlotte chose to ignore her discourteous tone, now concerned for others. "What of the army? How did they lose?"
"The man who was to respond to your signal quit the field. The darkspawn won your battle. Those he abandoned were massacred."
Charlotte gulped. "And the King?"
Morrigan's eyes glittered in the firelight; her expression was unreadable. "Dead."
A sense of unreality stole over Charlotte; her stomach roiled at the news. "Dear Maker."
Ferelden was without a ruler. And the darkspawn had triumphed; the Blight had truly begun and under the worse possible circumstances Charlotte could imagine. The other Grey Wardens would-
The other Grey Wardens.
Slowly, careful not to move too quickly as she looked into Morrigan's aurulent gaze, Charlotte whispered her final question.
"They, like all the others, perished on the field. My Mother saw it herself– she said it were as if the darkspawn knew the Grey Wardens from the other men. Your commander died last and that is when she rescued you."
Dazed, Charlotte responded automatically, "Rescued?"
Morrigan smirked crookedly, her voice creamy with satisfaction. "Yes, she turned into a giant bird and plucked the three of you from atop the tower, one in each talon with your hound in her beak. Like an oversized rat, ha!" Chuckling to herself, Morrigan bent to a pot over the fire, stirring a large wooden spoon.
Crushing despair made tears prick at Charlotte's eyes. It was more than she could bear; staring blankly into the fire, Charlotte took stock. Everyone – dead. The one man who could answer her questions had been lost to the darkspawn. Now a Blight encroached and threatened all of Ferelden – and eventually, all of Thedas itself. And she and Alistair alone had the means to stop it.
Morrigan's haughty voice brought her out of her melancholy thoughts. "If you are quite finished asking questions, my mother asked to see you when you awoke." Morrigan raised an impatient eyebrow, tapping the wooden spoon against the edge of the pot to dispense of a film that may or may not have qualified as a meat stew.
It took a moment for her brain to continue working, but Charlotte realized what she had to do. "Yes," Charlotte swung gingerly around, throwing the blankets from her legs and sighing a little with relief at the cooler air on her skin. "Of course. Could you please hand me my clothes?"
Morrigan obligingly fetched her tunic and trousers; they, and her armor, were badly torn. Charlotte sighed inwardly; she would have to repair it or find an entirely new set. With Morrigan's assistance, she dressed with care, feeling the muscles that protested and making note of those that yawned with relief after disuse and healing, and those that sharply condemned movement. The latter splintered with discomfort underneath her swathes of bandages and she moved stiffly to the door, taking care not to disturb them. Suddenly, she remembered her manners. "Oh, thank you Morrigan for all your... assistance."
Morrigan stopped in surprise from stripping the bed. Her expression, once distant and cool, became perplexed.
"You are welcome. Mother did most of the work; I am no healer."
"Well, my thanks to you, all the same."
Charlotte opened the door and went out to see what little of the world she knew was left waiting for her.