26 Haring, 9:30 Dragon, Outer Brecilian Forest
The elves knew who Morrigan was, of course. From the moment a squad of archers appeared out of the forest to challenge the party, they knew.
The guards focused on Alaric, who greeted them politely in Elvish, identified himself as a Warden, and asked to speak to the clan's leaders. When the Warden party entered the camp, Alaric attracted most of the attention. For Morrigan there was silence, glances out of the corner of widened eyes, and faces gone slightly pale.
The daughter of Asha'bellanar.
They tended to whisper around her, and drop into their fragments of Elvish vocabulary, as if to conceal their thoughts. Useless. Flemeth had not neglected that piece of her education; her Elvish was better than Alaric's.
What is she doing here?
Don't speak to her. Don't even look at her. If she has so much as a fraction of her mother's power . . .
Or her mother's cruelty.
Morrigan gave no sign that she understood. Unless, perhaps, her back went stiff with resentment.
Then she looked around her at the Dalish camp, and forgot her anger. The place seemed in good order, but there was a strong sense of trouble all around. She saw a surprising number of hunters, all sitting or lounging about as if they had nothing pressing to do. Near the Keeper's aravel, a makeshift hospital had been set up, more than a dozen elves lying in blood and pain upon their beds.
Mithra, the leader of the archers guarding the western approach, led the Warden party into the heart of the camp. There they found two mages conferring in low tones, a young woman and an older man. At sight of the party, the man turned to watch their approach.
"Hmm," he mused, leaning on one of the most elaborate wooden staves Morrigan had ever seen. "I see we have guests. Who are these strangers, Mithra? I have no time and no patience to spend on outsiders today."
"This one claims to be a Grey Warden, and wishes to speak with the clan," said Mithra, her voice and stance showing profound respect. "I thought it best to leave the decision to you."
"That was wise of you. Ma serannas, Mithra. You may return to your post."
The archer murmured a polite farewell and departed, throwing a quick glance over her shoulder at Morrigan as she went.
The ancient one peered at Alaric, the vallaslin on his face lending him a watchful look, like a bird of prey. "I am Zathrian, the Keeper of this clan, its guide and preserver of the ancient lore. Who might you be?"
Alaric bowed. "Aneth ara, Zathrian. I am Alaric Amell, formerly of the Circle of Magi, now a Grey Warden. I am pleased to meet you, and I thank you for receiving our party in your camp."
"Manners? From a shemlen?" Zathrian cocked his head, his eyes narrowed in surprise. "Interesting. What might be your mission here? Have you come to spread news of the Blight? If so, you need not have come so far in the harshness of winter. I have long since sensed its corruption in the south."
Watching the Keeper, Morrigan began to feel uneasy, as if there was something about him that was misplaced, out of alignment.
What is it? He is clearly a powerful and deeply learned mage . . .
"I would have taken the clan north by now," Zathrian continued, "had we the ability to move. Sadly, as you can see, we do not."
"So their first response to trouble is to flee?" rumbled the Sten.
"The Dalish have long survived by avoiding trouble," Leliana reproved him gently. "Given their history, it is a natural response."
"To survive is not enough," said the qunari.
The Keeper ignored this byplay. "If you are here regarding the treaty we signed centuries ago, I must warn you that we may not be able to live up to the promise we made."
Very cautiously, very slowly, Morrigan extended her mage-sight. Her fingers moved slightly on her staff, calling up a tiny spell.
Zathrian saw it at once, his eyes flickering as he gave Morrigan a glance and then dismissed her. "This will require some explanation," he said to Alaric, reaching out to take the Warden by one elbow and turn him toward the hospital. "Please, come with me."
Just like that, Alaric was maneuvered away for a private conversation, his companions left behind. Morrigan nodded to herself.
That elf is not at all what he seems to be.
While the others stood by to wait, or went to find out what the Dalish camp could offer by way of supplies, Morrigan turned to the female mage. Who also knew perfectly well who Morrigan was, as her uneasy glance told at once.
"I am Morrigan, if you wish to know at whom you are staring."
The elf-woman nodded, knuckles going white as she gripped her staff. "I am Lanaya, First to this clan."
"I do not bite." Morrigan paused, as if reconsidering. "Well. I will not bite you. I am not my mother."
Lanaya shivered slightly. "No, but you are a Witch of the Wilds. All of your family are dangerous."
"Indeed?" Morrigan cocked her head, relaxing slightly. "What do you know of my family?"
"Zathrian has told me many stories of your mother and your sisters. I think he knows your mother personally. He speaks as if he has visited her more than once."
"Interesting. I have never seen your Keeper before, although I was at hand on several occasions when my mother met with members of the People. Just how old is he?"
Lanaya hesitated. "That is not . . ."
"Not the business of a shemlen. I know."
"Ir abelas, Morrigan." The elf-woman made a visible effort to relax and unbend. "I don't mean to be rude. My people have great respect for Asha'bellanar. It's just that the respect is mixed with a great deal of fear."
Morrigan nodded. "I understand you very well. You are right to fear my mother . . . but in truth, I think she looks upon your people with friendship. At least as much friendship as she holds for anyone."
"If I may ask, why are you here? Did she send you as an emissary?"
"Certainly not! I trust my mother has no idea where I am. If she even lives."
Lanaya gaped. "You believe Asha'bellanar has died?"
"In truth?" Morrigan thought about it for a moment, and then shook her head. "No, I doubt it. I hope only that she has discovered larger concerns than pursuing me. I have lived enough of my life under her shadow. For now, I accompany the Grey Warden, and assist him as I am able. The Blight threatens all of us."
"Good. I know Zathrian has been worried about the Blight for months. I wish we could help."
Morrigan looked around, and found a convenient stone upon which to sit. "Why can you not?"
"Because of the werewolves."
"Werewolves," Morrigan repeated, her voice flat with disbelief.
"They ambushed us when we came to our usual range in the Forest. Terrible, vicious creatures."
"They ambushed you? That speaks of far greater intelligence than werewolves normally display."
"I know. I asked Zathrian about it, but he remains silent. Perhaps he will tell your Warden more." Lanaya leaned on her staff, her voice lowered to grant her some privacy. "Morrigan, I have another question, about your Warden."
"He is not my Warden," Morrigan said coldly.
The elf-woman's expression shifted, not quite venturing into amusement, as if she had heard something familiar in Morrigan's voice. "Be that as it may. He claims to have been part of the Circle of Magi before he became a Warden. He is a mage?"
"A very accomplished one."
"Yet he wears heavy mail, and bears a dar'misaan blade."
Morrigan nodded. "Yes. He prefers weapons of such a style. This one, he recovered from a cult's hiding place high in the Frostback Mountains. 'Tis named Spellweaver, if he and I read the runes on the blade aright."
"Then . . ."
"Knowledge in exchange for knowledge, Lanaya," Morrigan said sharply. "I will tell you about the Warden, if you will promise to answer the question I asked earlier."
Lanaya frowned, and then nodded reluctantly. "All right. I don't see what harm it could do, and it's not as if you're a stranger to the People."
"Then the answer is yes, Alaric has rediscovered part of the dirth'ena enasalin. The knowledge that leads to victory."
"Is he part of the Chantry's order of Knight-Enchanters?" Lanaya asked, distaste showing in her face.
"No. As best he is able, he has gone to elven sources for this knowledge, or worked it out from first principles. He owes nothing to the Chantry for it."
Lanaya's eyes went wide with wonder. "That a human should seek to master such an art! Do you think he would be willing to teach it to others?"
"I imagine so. He has taught me the rudiments of it. We may not have time to linger among you for lessons, with the Blight in full career." Morrigan gave the elf-woman a cat's small smile. "I am surprised that you would accept such knowledge from a shemlen."
Lanaya frowned. "Very few of us have any reason to love humans. I least of all! Yet I would never refuse knowledge, at least from any clean source. If a human can return some of our lost wisdom to us, no one would be more pleased than I."
"Hmm. I have come to know Alaric well, as we have travelled together. I think that if the Dalish have any true friends among humans, he might be one of them." Morrigan narrowed her eyes. "Now. You owe me an answer."
"So I do." Lanaya looked down, her eyes shadowed. "I can't be certain, Morrigan. Zathrian has been the Keeper of this clan since before living memory. Some of our eldest have told me stories of him that came down from their parents and grandparents. So . . . well over a century, at least."
Morrigan nodded, her suspicions confirmed. "How do you explain this enormous longevity?"
"I can't," Lanaya admitted. "Certainly he has not revealed anything to me about it. Among the People, the rumor is that Zathrian has recovered some of the magic of ancient Arlathan. He has become ageless, as our ancestors once were."
"Thank you," said Morrigan, rising from her seat. "If your Keeper will permit, I would be pleased to discuss our respective arcane traditions while we are here. I am sure Alaric will wish it as well."
Finally, Alaric emerged from the hospital tent, exchanging a few final words with the Keeper before seeking out his companions. He found Morrigan sitting on a fallen log, Garm sprawled on the ground at her feet, Alistair and Zevran tending to their gear nearby.
"So, what's the word?" Alistair asked.
Alaric glanced around, and found no Dalish close enough to listen. "If we want this clan's help to rally the Dalish against the Blight, we need to solve their problem first."
"So. A werewolf hunt," Zevran said, with some relish. "Not my usual fare, but I am willing to try anything once."
"Once may be all you get," Alistair objected. "Werewolves are nasty, if all the old Fereldan legends are true."
Alaric lowered his voice still further. "We need to find the werewolves, yes. I'm not convinced that just slaughtering the whole pack of them is going to be the best move."
Morrigan nodded. "Zathrian was not entirely honest with you, was he?"
"I suspect not." Alaric gave her a sharp glance. "Why, what have you found out?"
"That our ever-so-wise, ever-so-noble Keeper is almost certainly a blood mage."
Alistair recoiled slightly, his breath hissing through his teeth, his hand going to the hilt of his sword for reassurance.
"I saw something about him," Alaric agreed. "I couldn't tell if it was blood magic, though."
Morrigan shrugged. "When a mage calls up demons, even if they do not turn upon him and make of him an abomination, the act marks him. I cannot say whether Zathrian has done it often. That he has done it, there can be no doubt. Then there is his longevity. The elves believe he has recovered the agelessness of their forebears. Certainly he has served this clan as its Keeper for at least a century, and possibly far longer."
"Which could involve a bargain with demons or powerful spirits." Alaric nodded slowly. "Well, blood mage or not, Zathrian doesn't think much of shemlen intelligence. He was shading the truth of every word he said to me, like a Carta salesman on the make. He probably thought he was being clever and careful, manipulating me into thinking of the werewolves as mindless beasts and his people their innocent victims."
"Well . . . that is how it looks," Alistair said. "If you show me a bunch of Dalish elves, a lot of them torn up, and a pack of werewolves, I know which side I suspect of starting the fight."
"I agree. Maybe all this is as it appears." Alaric took a deep breath. "On the other hand, if that's so, it will be the first time that's happened since before I left the Circle. Let's just keep our eyes open, when we go into the deep Forest."
Morrigan looked up and caught his gaze.
I always keep my eyes open, foolish man.
He must have heard her. He gave her a slight nod, one corner of his lips quirking up into a wry smile.
Only later, when they were miles deep into the trackless Brecilian Forest, did she think back to that moment. Then she groaned silently to herself.
We begin to know one another so well that we have no need to speak.
Blood and damnation! I want this man out of my head.