Chapter Thirteen: Attempted Murder and Odd Comforts: Pt Two

'Tis a great pity your attempt to drown Alistair failed.' Morrigan poked at her small fire with a long stick and Mahahlia shifted uneasily on her tree stump and stifled a sigh of irritation. She really didn't want to talk about what had happened earlier today. Morrigan however, sharp eyed as a hawk, was keen to exploit the situation for all the amusement it could yield. 'Perhaps,' she mused with infuriating slowness, 'it was not the water that failed, but rather your nerve?'

'It was an accident,' Mahahlia tugged at the chewed braid dangling past her chin. 'He fell in.'

'So you do not want him dead then?' Morrigan's eyes glittered gold as the flames dancing in their reflective depths. Mahahlia met that haunting regard head on. 'It was not your intention to sneak upon the armoured fool at the waterside and cause him to lose his footing?' Morrigan clucked her tongue. 'Such a shame; I had thought the plan quite cunning of you.'

'If I kill the shemlen it will be with my blades.' Mahahlia pointed out archly, raising her chin unconsciously and squaring her shoulders. 'I will not hide behind artifice and subterfuge.'

Morrigan favoured her with a drolly amused look, 'So you think you could best him in fair combat, do you? How interesting.'

Mahahlia allowed just the tiniest of dark smiles to quirk her lips in answer to the equally wicked slant to Morrigan's own. 'I did not say it would be a fair fight.'

Morrigan's eyes glimmered, 'Good. I have found this foolish notion of honour in conflict to be a very male preoccupation of the mind. A woman's mind is a far sharper instrument, not to be blunted by such silly ideas.'

Mahahlia kicked her legs and turned her gaze outward across the dusk to where Alistair sat sulking by the fire across from Leliana. 'Honour has its place.' She said softly. Morrigan did not comment and for a short time the two women sat in surprisingly companionable silence. Of the three shemlen she travelled with Morrigan was by far the easiest for her to deal with. In fact Morrigan was quite easy to get along with; all one needed was a thick skin.

'You were raised in the Wilds?' Mahahlia was surprised to hear herself speak. Morrigan once again speared her with a cool, quizzical regard. 'That is where you have always lived?'

'With my mother, yes,' the woman conceded warily after a moment.

Mahahlia nodded, 'I spent most of my time in the Brecilian. I like the woods best.'

'The Wilds were all I knew,' Morrigan hitched one shoulder, 'For many years at least. I had no need of human companionship; when if I wished to speak I could speak with the trees and if I wanted company I could run with the wolves.'

Mahahlia's attention fastened on the witch. 'Yes.' She said almost eagerly. 'I wish I could be as you are and become a bird, or a wolf at will.'

The apostate mage almost, almost allowed a smile to grow upon her haughty features. However when she spoke her tone was cool and not a little smug. 'Alas you cannot,' she said, 'for you are not a mage.'

'The mages of my clan could not shapeshift either.' Mahahlia pointed out. She had been fascinated by this power ever since Morrigan had first demonstrated it on the road. Alistair had been horrified, Leliana shocked, when the witch had become a spider larger than Lethallin and proceeded to paralyse and devour a Blight wolf, but Mahahlia had been enthralled. Her very obvious interest and enthusiasm had helped to endear Mahahlia somewhat to the prickly mage; perhaps because of the obvious discomfort shown by the other two shemlen.

'It is a rare and difficult art to master.' Morrigan agreed warming to her narrative and the opportunity to boast. 'I learned the talent from Flemeth, but where she gained her skills……well, that is another story.' The witch turned back to the fire, enigmatic to the last.

Mahahlia slipped from her perch, 'It is late now.' Careful not to give in too easily to the obvious hook and bait, for that was not the way to win Morrigan over, Mahahlia tucked her braid behind her ear and made to leave the witch's solitary camp. 'Goodnight Morrigan.'

'And to you Warden,' the witch watched her go, golden eyes shining like a fox's in the night. Then Morrigan turned away and reminded herself of her purpose here, and that it would not do to think of the elf as anything other than a tool to meet an ends. Still, the elf had more promise than Alistair and her company was at least mildly diverting – especially when the elf terrorised the hapless templar. Yes Morrigan smiled, as distasteful as this journey's conclusion was likely to be the witch supposed at least the journey itself would be entertaining.

******

The moonlight did not offer much in the way of illumination and the water was perishing cold, yet Mahahlia did not let that stop her. The crash of the river falling into the rock pool became a background chorus to her chattering teeth as she dived below the waters surface once more. It had to be here somewhere and she would find it or drown trying.

Lounging in the long grass by the poolside Lethallin kept a weather eye on his mistress and one ear cocked for approaching danger. Still it would take much to get him into that water again. Once to fish his mistress and the metal clad human out of the river had been quite enough for him. Barking a lazy sigh the mabari hunkered down for a long wait. A guilty conscience was not something the mabari knew much about, but he hoped that his mistress wouldn't indulge in it too often – it all seemed like a lot of trouble over nothing.

Oh well. At least it was more interesting than the kennels he had known as a pup.

******

Two days after the drowning incident Alistair's head had stopped hurting and Leliana had removed the stitches. Still Alistair and Mahahlia had yet to say a word to one another and the itch between the almost-templar's shoulder blades where Morrigan's eyes bored into him with silent laughter was beginning to burn. Grinding his teeth Alistair went about breaking camp with unnecessary roughness. He didn't know what was worse, that Mahahlia had ambushed him, made him almost drown and then punched him in the face when he didn't stay drowned, or the fact that she wouldn't even look at him now.

More than that, however, he'd lost his runic worry stone. It was a stupid thing to be upset about, but that little stone had been a gift from Duncan, ferreted out of the pocket of the first Darkspawn Alistair had killed as a fully blooded and oath bound grey warden. He'd carried it with him ever since. Now that silly little white disk was at the bottom of that river, or swept miles down stream. The fact that the whole thing had most likely been an accident only meant that Alistair felt guilty about feeling upset, which only made him feel worse. And that hardly seemed fair, especially as Alistair was the one that had nearly drowned. He was still brooding over these various injustices when a deliberately obtrusive shadow fell over him from behind. Instantly Alistair froze like a hare caught in a snare.

'Shemlen?'

It didn't seem possible but Mahahlia almost sounded, well, contrite. Slowly and not a little warily Alistair turned around where he crouched beside the collapsed canvas of his tent and peered up at the elf, shading his eyes from the morning sun curving around her slender silhouette. He didn't say anything, as that seemed the wisest course of action. Plus with the sun in his eyes he couldn't see if the elven warden was armed or not.

'Here.' Instinctively Alistair recoiled a little when the elf thrust something towards him clasped in her two hands. Then he frowned and stared.

'What is that?'

Held out to him in Mahahlia's two hands was some sort of statuette, carved from a perfectly black and almost glassy stone, the figurine was about four inches tall and vaguely feminine in form. There were strange runes carved into the base of the statue that instantly reminded Alistair of the runes, long worn away by his nervous thumbs, that had once graced either side of his runic stone. Impulsively he reached out and took the statue from Mahahlia's hands.

'Where did you find this?'

'Amid the bandits' loot on the aquaduct outside Lothering,' Mahahlia shrugged casually and plopped down on the grass beside Alistair, folding her legs underneath her. 'It is odd and curious and so I took it.'

'This is……well it's all demon-y, isn't it?' Considering he was sworn to rid Ferelden of the Darkspawn and other evil things it might be seen as a bit strange that Alistair had a secret (or not so secret) fascination in all things occult and, well, demon-y, but he did and was suddenly quite envious that Mahahlia had found this figurine while rooting through the bandits yield. 'Look – she's got horns and everything.'

Reluctantly Alistair started to hand the statuette back, but Mahahlia shoved it back once more into his hands and jumped to her feet. 'You can have it shemlen. It will fit in your pack better than mine.' She did not look at him but Alistair could still hear her unspoken apology in the slight discomfiture with which the elf held herself. For the first time in a long while Alistair's spirits started to lift a little.

'Really?' He asked. 'I can keep this; you don't mind?' He knew he probably sounded very unmanly but he couldn't help it. He clasped the statue a little more firmly in his hands and grinned. 'You know I could get used to this.'

Mahahlia gave him a long level look. 'Get used to what shemlen; almost drowning? Or maybe being punched by an elf?' She asked, with a completely straight face that nevertheless seemed to hint clearly that she was laughing at him behind her eyes.

Alistair played along, glad to have the tension broken, and affected a scowl. 'The gift giving part, not the drowning me first part.' He stated firmly, quickly shoving the statuette away in his pack for safe keeping. 'Although I'm getting used to the being punched by an elf part too,' He added a trifle sourly, in what he hoped was a tone too low for her to hear. Alas he had forgotten that elven ears weren't just large and pointy for nothing more than show.

'Really?' There was definitely teasing menace in Mahahlia's tone now. 'Then perhaps I should add variety and start kicking you too?'

'Err, no, no,' Alistair didn't know if she was joking or not, it was always hard to tell with her. Just in case he scooted back at bit, out of the range of her feet. 'That's alright.'

'Hmm,' Mahahlia gave him a laughing look and turned away. 'Oh, and this is yours too, shemlen.'

Too quick for Alistair's sun blinded eyes to catch, Mahahlia drew back her arm and something hard and small bounced off the very centre of Alistair's forehead. 'Ow! Hey what was that for?' Yelping and immediately rubbing at the spot where she had hit him it took Alistair a moment to realise just what it was she had thrown at him.

Sitting in the grass in front of him was a small, worn, white stone, no larger than a pebble. Alistair blinked in surprise. 'This is – but how did you…..?' He looked up only to find Mahahlia had already retreated to the other side of the camp. Grinning even more moronically than usual Alistair snatched up the runic worry stone in his fist and quickly tucked it safely away; maybe almost drowning was worth it, after all? Especially if it meant he got to see a little more of the elf's friendlier side.