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Chapter 5: The Weight Of Living

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The air in the witches' hut was stuffy and smelled of medical herbs, mud and mildew - though Alistair hardly registered any of that. Kneeling next to Lenya's bed, Alistair stared numbly down at her unconscious form. Again and again, his view blurred with unspent tears, stinging within his eyes until they rolled hotly over his cheeks.

This couldn't be real.

Even two days after waking up from what should have been his certain death, it still felt like a nightmare he couldn't wake up from. The battle of Ostagar had been lost. The Wardens were dead. Junan, Benson... Duncan. They were all gone. She - Lenya - and he were all that were left of the Fereldan Wardens now. Alistair covered his mouth with his hand to stifle the sound of the whimper escaping his throat and let his head sink onto the rough straw mattress. For two days now, he had spent every waking moment by her side, needing the comfort of the knowledge of not being alone. Her taint scratched at the back of his head. Its intensity has become less volatile ever since her Joining, though it was far more subdued right now than he would have liked.

Given her multitudinous injuries that had far outweighed his own, it was a miracle that she was still alive. Blinking away new tears, Alistair looked at her sleeping form again. Blood still matted her blond, long hair, like it had the first time he'd seen her. Several bandages covered her pale skin; they were wrapped and secured around her shoulder, arms, abdomen and one leg - the places where the arrows of the darkspawn had hit their mark and nearly killed her.

Alistair took her hand into both of his. Her skin was hot to the touch, far more than seemed normal. Startled, he let her hand drop back down and moved his palm up to touch her forehead, which was equally hot. She was burning up, and her breathing seemed more labored than usual. Oh no. No, no, no . She couldn't die - not after everything that had happened. He would be all alone, the only one left. Panic rose and tore through the fog of grief clouding his mind. He had to get help, even it meant searching for the sour-faced witch with the permanent scowl etched onto her expression. In this, at least, she was so very similar to his fellow Warden.

His head swam as he hurried to stand up, protesting the hasty motion. Alistair held onto the wood of the bed's simple footboard to stabilize himself and waited for the dizzy spell to pass. As soon as he was able, he rushed toward the door, ignoring his own half-healed wounds and rumpled appearance.

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Outside of the hut, all was quiet - too quiet. Only the soft cawing of a raven was heard now and then, its sound tearing through the Wild's unnatural stillness. The perpetual fog-dimmed daylight was muted further by the thick, dark clouds overhead. It would be raining soon, like it had when - Alistair shook his head, willing the thought away. At least for the moment. He had to get help, had to see that Lenya would get better - or else he would be all alone again.

Like he was right now in the Wilds, since neither of the two witches were anywhere to be seen. Alistair limped past the hut to each of the building's sides, hoping to find, well, any of his unlikely saviors, but to no avail.

Just as he was about to give up and return to the hut, a jet black raven landed behind him with an angry caw. Turning around to face the animal, he took a quick step back as it grew and formed into something more bigger and human-shaped - until the witch stood in front of him. Fully clothed in her odd leather robe, she - Morrigan - scowled at him.

"Ah," she said with a sneer, her posture as aloof as her words. "So you have finally decided to rejoin us, instead of whimpering at the elf's side? Falling on your blade in grief seemed like too much trouble, I take it?"

Alistair's eyes narrowed. For all her apparent beauty, this woman was a cold, cruel snake. Fitting for an apostate who lived in such a bleak environment, he supposed, but he couldn't stand her misplaced callousness, especially not now. He set his jaw as he glared at her. "Is my being upset so hard to understand? Have you never lost someone important to you? … Just what would you do if your mother died?"

Morrigan scoffed curtly . "Before or after I stopped laughing?"

The hand of his unharmed arm balled into a fist at his side. "Right. Forget I asked."

"Already done, fool." She started moving away.

"Wait -" he started, finally remembering the reason why he had come out here in the first place. "Lenya... she - she is - she has -" Maker, he couldn't stop trembling all the sudden.

Turning back to him, Morrigan crossed her arms. "Can. You. Speak. In. A. Complete. Sentence?"

She was goading him, again. Though the ire caused by her audacity helped him stop shaking and focus on the here and now, and his words."My fellow Warden..." Alistair paused to swallow, his throat too tight. "She has a fever, I think."

"Great..." Morrigan sighed. "... Mother said this could happen." The witch stalked away, toward one weathered wooden barrel in front of the stone hut, and retrieved the vial placed on top of it. "She left me this brew in case it happened in her absence."

Alistair eyed the strangely colored concoction in her hands with distrust. He had a bad feeling about letting Lenya drink... that , yet he did not have much choice in the matter. "Will this... help her?"

"There is not much mother can't heal. She has plucked you both from the top of the tower and treated your wounds, has she not?" Morrigan regarded him with scorn. "'Tis the question why, for you do not seem worth the trouble." With that, she opened the wooden door to the hut and slammed it shut in his face. For a moment, he remained rooted on the spot, staring blankly at the moldy wood of the door in front of him.

"Ah, children. So full of life," a deep, resonating voice cackled behind him, halting his hand on the door handle. What was it with these witches and their penchant to appear out of the blue? Creepy, that. "Leave her be, Warden. Following Morrigan inside would be ill-advised now, and undo all my work."

"But why?" he asked, his voice nearly a whisper. A new wave of grief rolled over him from the depths of his being, so intense that he momentarily forgot how to breathe. He shook, and the rapid heartbeat in his ears was all he could hear. A sound which should have been impossible after the darkspawn ambush. He should have been dead on top of the tower, like all the others were, down on the battlefield. "Why me?"

Alistair noticed her stepping closer, but did not turn around to the old witch. "Why did you not save the other Wardens?" Tears shot into his eyes, blinding his sight. Blinking them away rapidly, he whirled round to her at last. "Why not... Duncan ?"

The witch cocked her head. Her golden eyes, hidden behind black face paint, regarded him for a long moment. "Guilt, bah. Such a pesky thing, isn't? If I didn't know it was the cause for your words just now, I'd think you would rather have died with the rest of your brethren."

I should have... "B-but I am a nobody. Duncan... -"

"You are a Warden," she cut him off, shrugging. The feather pauldrons of her ebony robe rustled from the motion. "And the one I could save, along with your fellow Grey Warden. Whoever your Duncan was, he was beyond my reach."

"Duncan is..." Alistair swallowed, frowning at her. "... was our leader and -"

"'Tis a moot point, young man. Do not be ungrateful for your life. I have saved it and that of your beloved elf as well." The old witch laughed out. "We cannot have all the Wardens die in the time of a Blight, no?"

"My... beloved... what ? She is not -" Alistair drove an erratic hand through his rumpled hair. "Why does everyone keep saying this? I barely know her."

"Details, details." She heaved one shoulder to another shrug. "You will get to know her in the months to come. So bottle your grief, Warden. Or better yet, turn it into anger. It will help you survive while fighting this Blight."

Alistair blinked. "Fighting the Blight? Me?"

With a shake of her head, she clicked her tongue. "You can't expect me to do all the work, now can you?"

"I -" Alistair was still reeling at the implications of her words. Even if he were willing to do his part, he was just one Warden and... - "Lenya! Will she be okay?" He hated how pathetic and whiny he sounded to his own ears. "If… we are to -" His voice shook. "Maker, I can't do this on my own."

"Hah, you worry too much, young man. We shall discuss this further as soon your fellow Warden has awoken, and I have fixed both of your remaining injuries. Can't have you stumbling half-wounded toward your destined path, after all."

Before he could reply to her weird 'destiny' remark, the door to the hut opened, and Morrigan appeared in its frame. Alistair's eyes widened as his gaze fell upon her half-gloved hands. They were partly tinted crimson. Blood . Heedless of him, she threw the older witch a sardonic smile. "Mother. 'Tis so nice of you to honor me with your presence after all. 'Twould have been much nicer had you have appeared beforethe elf's arrow wound reopened." She stalked over to an open barrel filled with rainwater to wash her hands. "I cleaned and re-bandaged it for now, but, dearest mother, it would be kind of you to not vanish just so while our guests remain."

"Bah, spare me your sarcasm, Morrigan. I have my own preparations to make." The old witch waved her off. "This is why I always told you to pay more attention to healing magic." She laughed out. "Who knows? It may save someone someday. Or yourself. Or... both ."

"How entirely unhelpful, Mother. I do begin to wonder if the Wardens are even worth all the effort." Morrigan spun on her heels with a huff. "'Tis a waste of my time, at least."

Alistair followed her and stepped into her way. "Lenya… what did you do to her?"

Having no choice but to acknowledge him now, her expression morphed into a scowl. "Have you not been listening? Shall I speak more slowly for your feeble mind?"

Bestowing her with the same kind of glare the witch showed him, Alistair pushed past her and limped into the hut.

"Especially in his case, 'tis futile," he heard Morrigan scoff as he closed the door behind him. Leaning his head on the wood, he closed his eyes and released a trembling breath. The silence inside of the hut was broken only by the hum of the taint scratching at the back of his skull. It was the one thing which kept him from sinking too far into his grief. If she -

"Please don't die," he heard himself whisper without meaning to. Reopening his eyes, he looked over to where she lay. Dark red dots blotted the blanket which covered her abdomen and chest. Alistair limped over to her bed and sat down on the ground next to it. Relief flooded him as he noticed her more gradual breathing, though it was short-lived.

"Lenya, I barely even know you." His eyes clouded over with tears again as he looked at her. "And I'm aware you didn't want to be a Warden, b-but you are all I have left now. Please... please don't leave me alone. I-I don't want to be alone aga-" The sobs punched through his throat, stopping his words and ripping through his muscles, bones and guts. He pressed his forehead against the mattress and cried, lost to the world.

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She felt wonderful – free, actually.

Dots of warm sunlight found their way through even the thickest branches of the trees and danced upon her face. Lenya turned to Tamlen, a wicked grin playing on her features.

"I bet I can outrun you..." The grin bloomed wider on her face.

Tamlen kept walking, the dry, wooden carpet of the forest crackling beneath his feet. "Lenya, we are here to hunt," he answered flatly. To give his words more weight, he pointed to the longbow he was holding.

Lenya feigned a pout . "Ah, always the voice of reason. How very boring."

"No , I'm not, and you know it ... but just think about what will happen if we fail again. I'm not in the mood for another hours-long lecture from Favrel or our Keeper about clan responsibilities." He shot her a wry look.

Lenya grimaced. "Okay, that's a good reason, I admit. They really do talk way too much. It's like listening to water running down a creek after a while, if you ignore the actual words coming out of their mouths."

"I might try that next time, it might make it more tolerable." Tamlen laughed. "Still I have no desire for a repeat. The Keeper is still mad at me for sneaking into her aravel."

She grinned and patted her friend playfully on the back."Thanks for covering for me, by the wa y."

"It was my pleasure. Though that means you owe me ." Tamlen nodded. "So let's hunt normally today. No games."

"Normally, huh?" Lenya contemplated the thought for a second before a mischievous smile graced her features. "Yes, alright. And now – " she dashed forward, leaving a puzzled Tamlen behind – " ... you have to hunt me, slowpoke." The sound of crackling dry wood mixed with her boisterous laughter as the Dalish ran away from him.

"Hmm, apparently I have to..." Tamlen's voice distorted into something cold and calculating. The once friendly, light-filled forest shifted into a dark and eerie thicket. The green, leafy trees had withered away, leaving gnarled branches in their wake. She attempted to run, yet her feet refused to move. "... hunt you." Tamlen appeared suddenly in front of her, his bow drawn - the arrow pointed directly at her. Lenya cried out in surprise, her lips quivering.

"Fear?" Nightmare Tamlen tilted his head, bearing his teeth to reveal l ong fangs. His lips curled into a wicked, menacing grin. "That's so unlike you, Lenya. But I like it."

"N-no, T-tamlen," she stuttered, blinking repeatedly. She wanted to stop him, wanted to defend herself, but she found herself paralyzed.

"And now you'll die, like you should have in the cave. Like I did, when you left me behind to save yourself." With a mad laugh, he loosened his grip and let the arrow fly.

Lenya cried out as the arrow pierced her flesh – and suddenly, she was awake. She blinked, confused by her surroundings as she found herself sitting upright in someone's bed.

"Ah, your eyes finally open. Mother will be pleased," said a voice next to her.

Blinking away the last vestiges of her nightmare, Lenya recognized the face it belonged to as familiar. It was the witch they had met before... before ... It didn't make any sense. "Where am I?" she asked, her voice rough with disuse.

"In the Wilds," the human replied, shrugging. "Safe. Far away from the battlefield the darkspawn have ravaged. 'Tis what is important, yes?"

"I..." Lenya's eyebrows drew together. Looking down at herself, she noticed how her bare torso was bandaged, but the wounds that should have been there were... gone. "I know you," she managed. "Morrigan, right?"

"Oh, so you do remember my name? 'Tis beyond flattering, really," the witch replied with a roll of her golden eyes. "Especially given I tended to your wounds the past two weeks."

"Two weeks?" Lenya gasped. "I was - but how? I remember being on top of that tower and -" I should be dead.

"From which Mother plucked you and your dim-witted friend by turning into a giant bird, yes."

"How? What happened? Help me understand, Morrigan!"

"Let me be brief, then." The witch looked as if she was grasping at the last straws of her patience. Her fingers dug into her leather-clad arms folded over her chest. "The man who should have answered to the signal has fled the field. The darkspawn have won your battle. Those he abandoned were all massacred. Your... friend has veered between denial and grief ever since Mother told him."

"You mean... Alistair?" So he had survived as well. While Lenya was still grappling with what she had been told, this fact seemed like consolation, something to hold on to. However annoying the human was, he didn't deserve to die. It was good that he hadn't. "Why did your mother save us?"

"You best ask her that herself." Morrigan scoffed. "She rarely tells me her plans." She pointed toward a large chest on the other side of the room. "In there, you will find clothes and armor Mother has prepared for you. You better clean yourself up and get dressed. She wants to speak to you before you set off on your way again." With that, the witch turned to leave.

"Morrigan... wait!" Lenya could see how her back stiffened as she stopped. "Thank you for your help."

The tension left her shoulders as quickly as it had come. The witch turned to look at her, a hint of confusion marring her expression. "I... You are welcome. Though Mother did most of the work. I am no healer."

Nodding numbly, Lenya watched her go. With the door closed, silence returned, accompanied by a bout of panic slowly rising within her chest as Morrigan's words settled in. She had never been fond of the Wardens, nor wanted to belong to their shitty little club in the first place, but every one of them being dead? That was far beyond anything Lenya could have imagined happening.

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Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

Her hands shook and the washcloth fell back into the bucket. She had to get out of here and then... find her clan. They must have moved further north by now, away from Ferelden. Which seemed to be the most sensible action, given how the darkspawn horde roamed free and unstopped after the disaster that had been Ostagar. Inhaling deeply to stabilize herself, Lenya tried to find the silver lining in this utter mess.

Well, for one, she was alive, despite the impossibility of it. Her sickness was... gone, replaced by, ugh, more taint, but gone nonetheless. The Wardens were dead and so were everyone who knew she was a Warden herself. She could just... leave . Nod, smile, express gratitude to Asha'bellanar for saving her life, and then leave. She could do this.

On the downside, she probably had to kill the Warden shem, or at least knock him over the head, since he had survived with her. Huh, suddenly the fact wasn't that comforting anymore.

Breathing out, Lenya rushed to slip into the provided clothing and her old boots - only to stop in her tracks at the sight of the armor parts lain out for her. Either Asha'belannar had a particular sense of humor or a penchant to collect shiny things. Given the tale of her turning into a giant bird, the latter seemed more feasible. For Lenya's plan to escape to her clan, which required hiding her unwillingly acquired new identity, said armor parts were quite a hindrance. Or rather the griffon emblazoned on the chestpiece and the telltale blue-grey color of it was.

Creators, couldn't the witch have waved her hands and repaired her old armor, instead of collecting bits from... yes, where exactly? Lenya let the chestpiece fall back on the ground as it dawned on her. Oh no,no . This was just gross. At least she had the decency to clean them after...- Lenya grimaced and decided to forgo the armor in favor of grabbing her weapon belt. Pleased to find her weapons, complete and intact, sheathed within, she put it on and walked to the door.

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Stepping out of it, Lenya suddenly remembered why she'd called this shemlen a puppy before. He rushed toward her at an excitable speed that rivaled an eager baby animal. "Oh, you are alive. Thank the Maker."

Lenya backed away from his exuberant attempt to hug her until her back hit the rough stone of the hut behind her. "Yes. But you won't be for long anymore, if you continue this, shem."

Her words did the trick, seeming to remind him that they were loose acquaintances instead of best friends. And even 'acquaintance' was a fairly generous description of their relationship. It was more 'I fought at his side once'. He stepped back, his arms falling to his side. Unlike herself, he was all armored up in Asha'belannar's found parts. Maybe it was his way to honor his fallen comrades . Lenya wasn't here to judge, but to... escape . "Sorry," he said, his tone so dejected it felt like a kick in her guts. "But.. they are dead. The Grey Wardens, Duncan, even the King. They are all dead! And without Morrigan's mother, we would be dead on top of that tower, too."

"Do not speak of me as if I am not present, lad," the old witch said from behind them.

"I didn't mean... but what do I should call you? I never got your name."

"Names are pretty, but useless." She waved him off. "You can call me Flemeth, if you must. For I doubt you can even pronounce the name your Dalish friend gave me." The witch feigned a thinking pose. "Or was it my Dalish friends who did that? Hah, I can never remember."

Flemeth directed her attention toward the Dalish and her distinctive lack of armor. "I see you have refused my gift? Is this your way to thank me for my generous help?"

"I simply prefer my armor not be ripped away from dead bodies, Asha'belannar !"

"Pah, they don't need it any longer." The old witch chuckled. "And it would do you good to be less choosy in your situation. Especially when dealing with the Blight in the months to come."

Lenya stared at her. "With the... what now? No!"

"Huuuh," Flemeth drawled the word and clicked her tongue. "Curious. Since when is it no longer the Grey Wardens' duty to unite the lands against the Blight, I wonder?"

"Since they all died at Ostagar!" Lenya could feel the raw power thrum underneath Flemeth's deceivingly frail appearance, but closed in on her nonetheless. "Have you not being paying attention? Besides..." She pointed at the shemlen next to her. "... he is the real Grey Warden here, not I!"

"All the Grey Wardens in Ferelden are gone, except for us. I have lost everyone!" Creators, his eyes. She had to look away, unable to stand the sadness within. "For the love of the Maker..." His voice cracked as a sob crept up his throat. "Don't back out on me now!"

"Ugh, is he crying again ?" Lenya turned her head to see Morrigan scowling at the human. "'Twas foolish of me to ever think the Grey Wardens were great warriors. Obviously those legends are nothing but fairy tales." Not caring to wait for a retort or reply from him, she continued to stack up wood in a neat pile for a fire.

"Look..." She glanced back at her fellow Warden and immediately regretted it. He still looked like a puppy someone had kicked too many times. "Emma ir abelas , what happened is shitty. Really shitty." She hardened her gaze, trying not to let herself to get influenced by the raw hurt in his eyes. "But what do you expect me to do, huh? I had been a Warden for a day when this mess happened . It nearly cost my life. Again . I never wanted to have any part in it to begin with. So excuse me if I refuse to nod and smile to whatever idiotic, suicidal things you have cooked up, shem. Go back home to your family and let me do the same."

"I can't!" The stifled sobs wracked silently against his chest. "They are all dead!"

Well, shit . So much for reasoning with the oversized human puppy. Lenya caught herself searching for a hand-sized rock on the ground to smack over his head. She could still make a run for it, although he'd already managed to make her feel bad about this idea. Damn this human!

"If your trouble lies within how to approach this huge task ahead of you," Flemeth raised her voice again after being a silent listener for a while. "I can assure you, you aren't on your own in uniting Ferelden and battling the Blight." She turned toward Alistair. "You remember the documents I kept safe for you, yes?"

He exhaled roughly and his expression lightened up a bit. "Yes, of course. The treaties. We can demand help from the elves, the mages, dwarves and other places. They are obligated to help us during a Blight."

"Oh, now that sounds more like having an army than being on your own." Asha'belannar smiled knowingly at them both. "Much better, yes?"

"Well yes," Lenya agreed, snorting. "Except I don't have these papers."

"Um, I have," the Warden shem said. "I forgot to give them back to Dun-" He cleared his throat to keep the tears at bay. "... well, I have them."

"How... nice ." She glared at him for ruining her chance to still get out of this. "Maybe you should go and share them with the other Wardens then?"

"Searching for the other Wardens would mean leaving Ferelden behind, and I can't do that. Besides, Cailan has already contacted them. They'll come if they can, but I expect Loghain has already taken steps to stop them. We must assume they won't arrive in time." He looked at her. "It is really up to us."

"Us?" Lenya bristled, making herself stand on the tips of her toes, and poked his armored chest. "There is no 'us' , shem! There is only an 'I told you so' in regard to that Loghain shemlen. There is me finding my clan and forgetting all of this ever happened."

"Oh, right, very mature, Lenya!" The human closed in on her until he towered over her with his sheer mass and height. "Run away until all your problems are no more, because that will work out so well for you." With a scoff, he raised his voice further. "Until the archdemon appears and swallows everything you ever knew and loved. If you even care -"

"Enough!" Flemeth's sudden outburst stopped them both in their tracks, and, well, her from launching herself at her fellow Warden. Still tense, her hands balled into fists, she continued to glare at him. "If you both don't stop bickering, I will drown you in this very swamp." Lenya felt the air crackle with powerful energy around her, causing her hair stand on end. "And you, elf." She winced as Asha'belannar addressed her, shifting her gaze from Alistair to the witch. "Do you truly believe you could outrun this Blight? That your clan can? For a time, perhaps, yes, but this Blight won't stop at Ferelden's borders. What will you do then? Where will you run, girl?"

Her first impulse was to reply in defiance, but Lenya found her mouth moving without words leaving it. Bare under her piercing stare, she had no answer. She looked down, feeling herself faltering and loathing this weakness. "I don't want to be dragged into this!" she snapped at first, but her voice cracked like her ire, altered into quiet frustration and guilt. "You should have simply left me on top of that tower!" Next to her, Lenya heard the damn puppy suck in a breath and felt him backing away.

"Perhaps," the old witch agreed. "'Twould have been easier for you, girl. Simply perishing without leaving your mark on this world. Without the weight of living and surviving where others died in your stead. But you also know, girl, that easy was never an option for you, especially after -"

"H-how?" she cut into her words. The witch couldn't possibly know that. Stepping closer, she stared into her wrinkled face, into those unfathomable golden eyes behind coal face paint. "Just who... are you?"

Flemeth cackled, seemingly amused by the question. "Oh, you gave me a name, remember? Asha'belannar - the woman of many years. 'Tis fitting, I think." Her eyes lit up with mirth. " As such, I had enough time to worry about the fate of this world, even if it has forsaken me. So I nudge and prod at it, when needed. You have profited from it as well, have you not?" Again a cryptic non-answer, though Lenya didn't expect she would get a honest one out of the witch anyway.

"Is that why you saved us?"

"Ah, young man," she chided him, "I already told you that we can't have all the Grey Wardens dying. Someone has to deal with the real threat behind it all while the fools bicker over politics and power."

"The archdemon..." the puppy said, understanding dawning on him.

"Ugh." She made a face. "I will regret asking... but what exactly is this archdemon?"

"Oh my," Flemeth laughed. "What do they teach you in the Wardens these days?"

Lenya glared up at her. "I was a Warden exactly for a day when the battle happened. And I would have never become one if I had been given a choice."

"Ah yes, choice is a wonderful thing, isn't it? Sadly as rare as to find two of the same stockings." The humor vanished from her expression. "Let me enlighten you then, girl. An archdemon is one of the old Tevinter gods, once sent by the Maker to slumber deep beneath the surface. They only resurface during a Blight. When one does resurface, the old god gets tainted by the darkspawn, making it an archdemon. It unites the horde, creating an army of death and destruction. History tells us that this creature is exceptionally powerful and immortal... and only fools ignore history."

"And to end the Blight we must defeat this archdemon. Only a Grey Warden can do it," Alistair added, frowning. "Not that I like the idea, exactly..."

Creators, she had to ask. To hide her discomfort and the newly reawakened impulse to flee, Lenya escaped into sarcasm. "Thank you. I feel much better with that knowledge under my belt."

"I am nothing if not helpful," Asha'belannar cackled with a smugness Lenya found intolerable. "Especially if it helps you to understand why running away would only postpone the inevitable."

"So I should fight an immortal god instead?" This was halla shit, absolute stinking halla shit.

"Think step by step, girl," the witch chided. "The treaties are there for a reason. Find allies through them first, build an army and then fight your immortal god. In doing so, you can protect your clan."

Lenya glowered at her, despising the lack of choice she was once again being given. But even more she hated the truth in Flemeth's words. Sure, she could still run away, search for her clan and play the oblivious fool once she'd found them, live in ignorant bliss once more. For a time, at least. The crux of knowledge was always that, once it had been acquired, ignorance would no longer work as a shield against the uncomfortable truth. No matter from which angle she looked at it, the old witch was right. Running away would only postpone the inevitable and, in the end, would certainly come back and bite her in the ass. Maybe it would even cost not just Taml-...

"Fine, let's do this!" Lenya blurted so suddenly that both of their heads turned to her. " Ugh," she added as they stared at her in unison.

"What?" the puppy said, while Asha'bellanar next to him only looked disgustingly smug.

She loathed them with every fiber of her being right now. Lenya crossed her arms in defiance and lifted her chin up. "I won't repeat myself."

"Nor do you need to, girl," Flemeth said, all too pleased. "There have been too many words already; now is the time to act." Her golden gaze flitted over to Morrigan, who busied herself in stirring a large cooking pot placed on the now lit and crackling fireplace. "And, as my appreciation for the conclusion reached, let me give you one last thing to ease your burdens on your long way." She laughed. "I believe you will find it - her - quite useful."

Lenya was the first to grasp the meaning of her words. "You mean -"

"Yes," the witch said with a nod, smirking at her. "So you better go back inside and collect the remaining gear, as you will leave immediately. With her as your guide and loudmouthed companion to aid you in your task. I am certain you both will get along just fine, hah."

"Er, well…" her fellow Warden started to object, but was interrupted by Flemeth addressing her daughter. "Morrigan, would you be so kind as to come over here?"

"Kind, mother?" she scoffed in reply as she walked over. " I did not realize we offered such. Whyever would I do so now?"

"Because you will be leaving with the Grey Wardens."

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Change Notes:

Quite a few changes here. I put way more emphasis on Alistair's grief than in the first version. Also there are far more interactions with Flemeth overall, because I love to write her and it made sense for her to speak up. Lenya was difficult to handle in this chapter because she stayed very uncooperative to the fight the blight idea till the very end. It was planned differently, but ofc that girl does what she wants, heh. Hence why I had to cut off the chapter rather abruptly. The only part I have taken over from the old version is the dream sequence with Tamlen, since it mirrored her survivor guilt with Alistair's own quite nicely. Reviews are much appreciated.