A YEAR OF BLOOD TIES

Dragon 33, Drakonis

In and out. In and out.

The sound of Valena's breathing, as raspy and fragmented as it was, had become sweet music for Morrigan's ears.

She spent hours in the same, dark room with her daughter, witnessing every attack of vomit Valena was subject to and the pearl-like sweating on her skin. Each time her daughter closed her eyes, Morrigan was afraid it would be the last. Twice a day, she spoon-fed her the Wormwood decoction, waiting for her to fall in more restoring sleep. Despite the Wormwood, though, Valena's sleep was never quieter and her fever never decreased that much. Still, Morrigan was rewarded by the sound of that raspy breathing which meant her daughter was fighting for her life.

"Revered Seer?"

Morrigan ignored the whisper behind her, just like she had done over the course of those three days. Seer Cierra was probably going to ask her to return to her duties, at least for a while, and to remind her that the good people of Ayesleigh needed her assistance. Answering Cierra would have made no sense. She'd have to decline the request.

"I… Your son is crying and calling your name."

This time, Morrigan flinched. That was how Valena's illness had started, with her crying due to her pain. Was Kieran in pain, too? Caressing her daughter's forehead, she stood. Cierra was waiting for her near the door.

Upon seeing her in bright light, Cierra gasped. As if she'd seen a ghost. "Revered Seer, you need to rest. You—"

"I don't have time for this. Where is my son?" Morrigan snapped. "Is he burning with fever, too?"

For a moment, she regretted being so harsh with Cierra. That young woman had been the first to welcome here as she had stepped out of the Eluvian, and the first to acclaim her as The-One-Conquering-The-Silent-Mirror. Then, Cierra had trained her, taught her to communicate with spirits. She was now the Revered Seer of Ayesleigh, all thanks to that patient teacher. But right now, her children were the most precious thing.

Not daring to defy her, Cierra shook her head. "No. He is well. He just misses his mother, just like the people of the city do."

"They'll have to wait, Cierra," Morrigan said, in a tone that she hoped sounded final, then she left the room.

Kieran was sitting on the floor of the room next to Valena's. As he saw her, his dark eyes gleamed with joy and relief. He didn't stand and run to her, though—like any other child would. Kieran was a special child in every aspect, quieter than any of his age, at times even melancholy. Sometimes, the Seers noticed how deep in thoughts he was and asked what a young child like him could be worried for. Kieran always remained silent. He couldn't have replied in any coherent manner, of course, because he only babbled yet, but Morrigan suspected Urthemiel wouldn't allow him to anyway. Right now, however, he was just a one-year-old child who was missing his mama.

Kneeling in front of him, Morrigan held him to her chest and whispered in his ear. "I miss you too, sweety," she said. She took advantage of that hug to make sure his skin wasn't burning hot. As she felt his skin not burning with fever under her touch, she sighed. At least, he was safe. Maybe Urthemiel was protecting his vessel, but she wasn't going to take the risk and bring him into Valena's room.

Kieran babbled something. Undefined sounds that not even a mother could decipher. He seemed calmer, at least.

And now that she was holding her son, she realized how she had really missed having him around. Still, she had to take care of her Valena now. Something inside her mind her heart knew that there was no guarantee she'd survive that tenacious illness. The Wormwood, the only plant known to cure the Bad Air, wasn't really helping, simply keeping her afloat. Alive. One day, that might not be enough.

§§§

"How's little Valena?" Cierra asked as they were breaking their fast.

The more Morrigan drugged Valena, the less the Wormwood acted against her infection. Now, she needed to use double the dose for the cure to be effective. For the first time, she wondered if Valena was going to die without having a chance to meet her father. Her real father. She wasn't sure she'd ever see him again, or if she wanted to, but one day she'd have to tell her children about their birth. And if her daughter asked her to meet her dad, Morrigan would comply. But now, she could close her eyes forever without ever being held by him.

"Stable," Morrigan whispered, curtly. A cruel word, that one. A word used for those still alive, but not making any real recovery.

"Have you… tried contacting the spirits, Revered Seer?"

Morrigan exploded with anger. "Don't you think I did? My daughter's life is at stake. I'd give mine if I could."

She didn't want to tell Cierra how every spirit she had summoned had told her how [that] her daughter's blood was different… darkened, and how [that] there was nothing they could do. Unless she bargained with a tainted spirit, they couldn't help her.

Cierra opened her eyes wide, and grasped in response of Morrigan's anger. She dropped the remainder of her orange juice on the tablecloth, and the glass, too, fell crashing on the ground. "Yes, yes. Of course, Revered Seer."

What followed was several minutes of silence. Cierra was afraid to anger her again, Morrigan knew it. And Morrigan, to lash out at the poor girl once again.

"Do I have your permission to talk, Revered Seer?" Cierra asked in a feeble, almost trembling voice.

"You do."

"You know what your arrival meant for us. For the Seers and the city of Ayesleigh," the young seer started. Her eyes low, she was clumsily trying to clean the tablecloth. "No one ever had managed to activate the Silent Mirror, the door to the spirit world you came from. We were waiting for you. You are our Revered Seer, The-One-Conquering-The-Silent-Mirror. And it's my moral obligation to offer you all the help I can."

All the help? Did that mean there was more that could be done for Valena? Morrigan gestured for her to keep talking, silently holding her breath.

"There is..." Cierra began, taking a deep breath. She stopped for a few seconds. "It is a dangerous road, Revered Seer, but I believe She may save your child. Unlike the Seers, She dwells in dark rituals and consorts with wicked entities. We are forbidden to make contact with such creatures, which means there's nothing more the Seers can offer you." Her voice lowered again. "Search for the Witch of the Wilds in the Tellari Swamps. All I ask is that, if you don't wish me to be punished, you don't ever tell I was the one mentioning her."

Too shocked to speak in response, Morrigan pondered in silence. Mother had never told her about others like her, holding the same title. Did that mean that Mother was the one waiting for her to walk into the Coastal Forest? Even worse, was Mother responsible for her daughter's illness? It could be all a ruse, a trap. But nonetheless, that was perhaps the only path leading to Valena's salvation.

"If… if this saves my Valena," Morrigan finally managed to utter, "she'll know she owes you her life, Cierra."

The Tellari Swamps were, and at the same time weren't, like the Korcari Wilds. While the first smelled of the sea despite its name and was made alive by the sound of the waves crashing on the cliffs in the distance, the latter revolved around its swamps. Either way, water ruled in both areas—and in the same way, both areas were somehow janitor and guardian of a kind of power few were courageous enough to seek out, much less taste.

Her sleeping daughter in her arms, Morrigan was walking the main path of that unknown, yet familiar, forest. The Witch of the Wilds, Cierra had said. What did that mean? Was she about to meet one of her sisters? Or was that name, perhaps, just a way to call a woman known to practice magic and live in the woods?

"Well, well. What have we here? Who fares so deep into these Swamps of Mine?"

The feminine, tuneful voice took her by surprise. Morrigan turned, clutching Valena to her chest, half-waiting for the owner of the voice to be nowhere near her, to be merely an echo. Instead, she found herself face to face with a younger carbon copy of Mother. The kind of woman she perhaps had been during her youth. If that were the face and the body that had enchanted Lord Conobar and Osen the bard, Morrigan could not blame them. The woman Cierra had called the Witch of the Wilds reminded her of Mother so much that Morrigan wondered, in horror, if perhaps Mother herself had truly taken over one of the lifeless bodies of her daughters.

"Mother?" Morrigan whispered.

The other woman laughed. A clear, amused laugh that was nothing like Flemeth's—although Mother had sometimes laughed, and appreciated the right kind of humor, the sound coming from her throat had never been truly warm. "Not quite. More like 'sister', if you wish. Even so, that wouldn't be accurate either." Her smile slowly died on her lips as her gaze fell on Valena. She asked, her tone genuinely curious, "Is that what motherhood can turn a woman into? Into someone more prone to fear the worst for her , than carefully considering which danger is actually real, and which isn't?" She started walking towards Morrigan, her pace not nearly as elaborate as Mother's and much more practical.

Although this Witch of the Wilds spoke in riddles too, she also possessed some kind of… impulsive trait that didn't suit Mother, it seemed. Morrigan took a deep breath. She might not believe the woman's words, but she did know Mother enough that she wasn't the young apostate standing in front of her. "So it's true. I have… sisters," Morrigan said.

"You didn't come here for a family reunion, did you?" the Tellari Swamp Witch retorted. Before Morrigan could stop her, she touched Valena's forehead. "Your daughter doesn't have much time left. I can help her… provided you accept the bargain I propose to you."

"Wh—" Morrigan began.

"Are you really going to ask me what bargain? We both know you'd accept. Whatever it is. Except, perhaps, if I asked for your son. Which I will not. Even more, your son is not involved in the terms in the slightest."

Closing her mouth, Morrigan didn't reply. The woman—her sister, or the closest to a sister she had—was right. Asking meant losing precious time.

§§§

Yavana, so the Tellari Swamp Witch was named, in some weird manner reminded Morrigan of Lirene. Those two women could not be more different, but they had one important thing in common: They were both healers, and they both knew how precision was crucial when creating a healing potion. Morrigan noticed how Yavana poured one single drop, not more, not less, of dark red liquid into the quinine extract she had readied. Having studied with Lirene, Morrigan had become familiar with several ingredients, and yet that dark red liquid she hadn't seen, ever.

"What is that?" Morrigan asked.

"Quiet now. I have a patient to work on," Yavana curtly replied.

Yavana proceeded to massage Valena's hands, feet, and forehead with that decoction. She never said a word, completely focused on her task. Yavana was very much Flemeth's daughter, but her dedication to a patient was, once again, something Flemeth had always lacked. Even when she had taken care of Adrian and Alistair's wounds, she had done as much because she had had to—while to Yavana, a patient was clearly a personal mission. In the end, the Tellari Swamp Witch covered Valena with a blanket.

"A special kind of blood. Very close to the one that runs in your daughter's veins. Sure, the Seers could eventually have figured out that only quinine can heal a severe form of jungle fever. Even so, there's no way they could have access to that blood. One single drop of it made your daughter's body receptive to the quinine. Later, when she'll wake up and the fever will be lower, she'll have to drink one spoon of the same mixture. "

Valena's blood, Morrigan thought. The daughter of a Warden and a human. Grey Wardens are made, not born, that much was known, but what about a Warden's progeny? Did Valena share her father's resistance to the taint, at least in part, or the taint itself?

"Do you plan to feed my daughter darkspawn blood?" Morrigan wondered, amazed and not bothering to hide it. "That's poisonous. That's why Wardens don't always survive their Joining."

"Not just any darkspawn blood. What I used was the blood of a darkspawn… mixed with Warden's blood. It is still poisonous, but not the same as pure darkspawn blood. And not to your daughter, not in that little quantity," Yavana, calmly replied. Then, she sat in front of Morrigan, her fingers intertwined. "It's time to discuss payment. If I was lying, which I'm not, you'll find out soon enough, way before leaving the Swamp. So, I really have nothing to gain from tricking you."

"If Valena does not survive, I'll kill you," Morrigan threatened.

"Yes. Yes. I know," Yavana said, waving a hand to dismiss the subject. "Now, about that payment… I believe you're acquainted with Alistair Theirin. All I want in exchange for your daughter's life, is that you bring him to me. To these Swamps."

Morrigan blinked. "The man is a disgrace. He's brother to the late king, true, but nothing more. I doubt he'll sit on the throne, ever. What do you want with him?"

Yavana smiled. A predatory smile. "Blood is power, my dear sister. Candidate to the throne or not, Alistair Theirin is the key to the preservation of the world. Its lifeline, in a sense."