CHAPTER 7

..x..

An axe split a log in half, the pieces dropping to the ground. Its wielder gathered them up and tossed them on a nearby pile before another took its place. The bearded man rubbed the sweat from his forehead, red hair glistening under the sun. A series of giggles brought his gaze to a little girl running after one of their chickens, her blonde pigtails bouncing in the wind. "Marie, be careful now," he said to her from where he stood.

"Yes, Papa!" the child chimed, trying to grab the bird but it jumped, frantically flapping its wings. Dirt covered her gray dress and her freckled cheeks, but she didn't seem at all fazed by it.

He smiled at her antics and resumed his task.

Marie chased the animal through the dirt roads of their small village as people walking by sent her curious glances. She giggled and hurried past them, ignoring the smiles and the shaking heads she received. The chicken scrambled to the woodline, fleeing into the cover of the bushes. But Marie was close behind.

"Gotcha!" she proclaimed upon finally catching it and brought it to her chest. Grinning widely, she gently stroked its head and cooed at it, slightly calming the panicking bird.

A rustle ahead drew her curious blue eyes, but she couldn't see much past the shadow of the trees. More noises came, beckoning her to follow them as she slowly made her way towards them. The chicken clucked while she walked a few steps and pushed through the greenery, wandering further away from her village. A tall bush moving ahead caused her to pause, her face scrunching up curiously. "Hello?" she called timidly.

The branches kept shaking as if alive, the sound growing louder. More insistent. And then jagged blades burst through the dirt. Monsters emerged from the very earth, permanent grins stained with grime and dripping with drool. They cackled as they stalked from their holes, their soulless stares set upon her.

Marie fearfully backed away, turned to flee and ran, nearly tripping over her own feet in her panic. The darkspawn roared and gave chase, their numbers growing as more of them poured out from the deep. Their evil laughter scratched at her ears as she frantically left the woods and returned to her village.

"Papa!" she called, drawing surprised looks from the other townsfolk.

The evil creatures came after her, rampaging through the brush and coming for them with weapons raised. Marie didn't stop, running as fast as her short legs could take her, seeking her father's protection as screams erupted all around her. The darkspawn cut down a man before he could run, then killed a woman soon after. More fell along their path, their blood soaking the dirt as the monsters carved their way through.

She panted for breath, trying not to hear the suffering and fear. Trying not to listen. She had to get home to her papa. He would save her. He would protect her from these mean things. But just as her hut came to view, a hurlock reached her. She squealed when its blade graced her shoulder and she fell to the ground, letting go of the bird she'd been holding on to the entire time. The chicken tried to scamper away, but the same sword that cut her split the animal in half. It screeched and Marie stared at it in horror, seeing its blood splurt and pool beneath it.

The hurlock laughed hoarsely down at her and lifted its blade once more, aiming for her.

"Marie!" Her father blocked its attack, driving it away from her. His axe then met the monster's head and he slashed at it in a frightened frenzy, hitting it over and over until the creature moved no more. Then he spun and quickly reached for her, lifting her into his arms.

"Close your eyes, pup! Don't look!" he commanded and Marie did as she was told, shutting her eyes tight while clinging to him. They ran to the other side of the village as some darkspawn chased after them, the rest butchering others attempting to escape.

The sound of a snapping bowstring was then heard, and her father jolted with a cry when an arrow hit him in the back. He staggered but kept going, seeing the forest ahead. Just a little longer. They could hide in the thicket. Lose them somehow and go to Denerim. Find help and—

An arrow pierced his throat.

He gargled and fell, dropping her along with him. She screamed, seeing him on his hands and knees as blood poured from his mouth.

"Papa!" she crawled to him, grabbing handfuls of his tunic. "Papa!"

He weakly pushed her off him. "R-Run…Mar—"

A sword descended upon him and the sickening sound of crunching bone came when it hacked into the back of his neck. Marie cowered as he crumpled to the ground, wheezing laboriously. She witnessed as the blade was plucked from him and then brought down again to finish the job as his horrified stare remained on her.

The girl quivered, frozen in place as a dark shadow crept over her. Her wide eyes went up to the monster, meeting its soulless ones. It brought up its blood-stained sword and swung.

Then everything went black.

.x.x.x.x.

Footsteps echoed in the castle passages as a servant crossed through on quick feet, her short blond hair bobbing over elven ears. A bundle of fresh linen was held securely in her arms as she approached a set of double doors at the end of the hall. She knocked and waited for a response while anxiously gazing about. The queen's handmaid opened them and regarded her sternly, her silky black hair tied into a bun, pointed ears visible. She was clad in a violet velvet dress, a fine garb only the head maid of the household could wear in spite of her race.

The servant discreetly handed her the bundle. "For Her Majesty, Lady Erlina."

"Good work. Now go on to the kitchens and remember what I said. Not a word about this to anyone. Not even Teyrn Loghain."

"Yes, my lady." She bowed and stepped away as the doors closed shut.

"Is that what I was expecting, Erlina?" Queen Anora rose from her copper bathtub, unashamed by her nudity before her as she gathered a towel and dried herself. The sweet scent of lavender filled the room, emanating from the warm waters she'd used to bathe. Her royal chambers were spacious and lavishly decorated with furs, fine textiles, and elegant wooden furniture. A patio and two windows surveyed a vast garden from high above, providing warm sunlight while a gentle breeze lifted the crimson curtains.

"Yes, Your Majesty." Erlina sauntered over to the bed and laid the sheets atop it before taking the robe lying next to them. She brought it to her and held it up as the queen slid both arms into the sleeves. The maid's gentle fingers then pulled her long, golden hair from under the fabric, letting it cascade down her back. After securing the sash about her narrow waist, the maid returned to their package, drawing a scroll that had been hidden within. She bowed and offered it to her.

Anora gently took it and opened it with a solemn look before scanning the document. And her expression slowly soured at the news within. She went to the ornate chair by the window, her shoulders tense as she sat. "Andraste's mercy…"

The elf frowned worriedly. "Is something wrong, Your Highness?"

"The situation in Ferelden is... far worse than I expected." Anora slowly lowered the scroll, a soft breath escaping her. "The Blight has spread to The Hinterlands in the south and much of the farmland has been destroyed… Most have fled and are heading this way, but many of our farmers and their families have already been killed by the horde." She sighed once more, giving her head a despondent shake. "In Crestwood, further north… The darkspawn somehow managed to destroy the dam and flooded the village. My scouts don't yet know how many perished, but they fear it may have been nearly everyone."

The horrified Erlina put a hand to her chest. "North...? I thought the Blight was coming from the south. Has it spread that far?"

"Cailan said darkspawn can come from anywhere underground. No place is safe during a Blight." She crumpled the parchment, so tightly her knuckles turned white. "There were hundreds of people in that village… and they were taking in hundreds more refugees—likely survivors seeking shelter in the northern lands. My people are dying and my father has done nothing to stop it..."

"Your Highness..." Erlina took a tentative step towards her. "What of the Grey Wardens? Are they truly as bad as they say?"

Anora was conflicted at the mention of the order, her gaze shifting to the gardens outside her window. "Father told me that, by his reports, there may only be two of them left. And he has ordered their execution under claims that they murdered my husband."

"I heard they killed some of Teyrn Howe's men at The Pearl some days ago..." the elf told her, nervously fidgeting with her fingers. "Declared your father a traitor and a liar…"

"Of course they would—" Her head snapped to her. "Wait. What were the Grey Wardens doing in Denerim?"

"No one knows... When we asked the innkeeper, he said he didn't realize who they were until they left. They only stayed a single night."

"Whatever it was, it must have been important enough to risk discovery and capture by our city guard. Which is probably why they killed Howe's soldiers..." She paused for a moment while pensively bringing a finger to her chin, then sent her a firm look. "I wish to know what they were after. Send our spies to seek out this information, but make sure my father does not learn of it. We must keep secrecy for now."

"Yes, Your Majesty." Erlina bowed her head and retreated from the room to do her bidding.

A troubled sigh escaped the queen as she gazed out the window once more, admiring the deceptively peaceful view of her garden. There was little she could do for her country with her father acting ruler. She may yet hold the crown, but all the decisions were made by men. And although she had been the one pulling Cailan's strings before his passing, her father was an entirely different animal. He would listen to no one but himself at a time like this. Cailan… you may have been a fool, but you were right about one thing. Ferelden needs help. And if not from Orlais, then from the Maker himself.

.x.x.x.x.

It was the break of dawn but the Dalish camp was already bustling with activity as the elves returned to their daily duties. The air was fresh with the morning's dew and the scent of pine as the birds chirped and fluttered through the trees. Galloping halla could be heard prancing nearby, accompanied by the idle conversations and morning greetings from their handlers.

Bjorn was lying on her sleeping furs as he watched his mistress fasten the leather straps of her armor and adjust the metal breastplate over her chest. Everil then took a knee to finish up her boots. Footsteps near her tent made her glance towards the flaps, seeing someone's silhouette behind the entrance.

"Warden Everil?" Wynne's familiar voice called to her.

"Come in," she replied.

The flap opened and the old mage stepped in, letting it fall back down behind her. Everil rose to speak with her. "What is it, Wynne? Is there something you need to talk about before we head out?"

She anxiously glanced down at her feet. "I... I came to apologize to you."

"Apologize for what?"

"For speaking such nonsense about you and Alistair… I should have seen how the two of you support and rely on each other. It was not my place to judge you."

Everil placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder. "It's quite all right… You were only looking out for us."

"For what it's worth… I hope the two of you can remain together after this is over."

"Yes… I guess we'll see what happens…" Everil offered her a gentle smile. "One step at a time, right?"

"Of course…" Wynne returned the smile with one of her own.

"Come on. We should go collect the others," said the Warden before gesturing for the entrance. They walked out together, her hound following behind them as they headed towards where the new Keeper and Alistair were talking. She was also a mage, but much younger than Zathrian, with swirling patterns over her fair skin. Her beautiful blonde hair was tied into two braids, her robes carrying the colors of the forest itself.

"Here she comes." Alistair turned to Everil, grinning widely. "I was just thanking Keeper Lanaya for letting us spend the night here."

"And you are welcome to visit any time you wish," Lanaya added with a friendly dip of her head. "Your assistance in our time of need will always be remembered, Grey Wardens. Know that you may call upon us when our help is needed against the Blight."

"Thank you. We will be honored to have you fighting at our side," she politely replied. Smiling warmly, the Keeper returned to her duties, leaving the Wardens and their party to gather at the center of their smaller camp.

"All right, we should plan our next destination," Everil said, folding her arms. "We still have to use the treaty with the Dwarves and continue searching for the Urn of Sacred Ashes. It will be a long journey from here, so we must stop somewhere in between to replenish any supplies and purchase what we need. Thoughts?"

"Both Orzammar and this Haven village are located in the Frostback Mountains, so there's a pretty cold trip ahead of us. Redcliffe's merchants should have some cold-weather gear we can wear to protect ourselves," Alistair offered.

"My, but the toadstool has a brain in that head of his, after all," Morrigan commented dryly, standing a distance from the group.

"Also..." He sent her a brief glare and continued. "I'm sure Bann Teagan and the arlessa will want to know what we've learned about the Urn. They'll be pleased to hear that it might actually exist and that we may be close to saving the arl."

"Woah… That sounds like some influential people you have dealings with," Zevran uttered in quiet amusement. "No wonder that Teyrn Loghain wants you dead."

"That is another matter..." Leliana added with a frown. "Although close by, we should probably avoid Denerim until things have calmed down. I'm sure the townsfolk will leave us alone after your display at The Pearl, but the soldiers might not."

"You're right," Alistair agreed.

"Hmm… Redcliffe is on the way to the Frostback Mountains..." Everil traced the route in her head as she tapped her cheek with a finger. Then she gazed at them and nodded. "All right, it's decided. We will go there first, stock up, and move on to Orzammar."

With a plan in mind, the group gathered their gear and mounted their horses. They said their goodbyes to the Dalish elves and made their way out of the forest, slowly leaving the tall, lush pine trees behind and venturing back into the Fereldan plains.

Everyone was silent as they journeyed across the desolate road, the only sound that of their galloping horses and the occasional breeze rustling the grassland. Everil stared ahead in contemplation while leading them southwest through the King's Highway and in Redcliffe's direction.

They were close now. Incredibly close. They only needed to use the last treaty and they would have most of the resources to challenge the archdemon and its darkspawn. The memory of its raging flames and its jagged fangs haunted her, its mighty roar still in her head. Eventually, they would fight that mythical beast, a being possibly almost as old as the Maker himself. She couldn't imagine what it would be like to fight a dragon, much less one harnessing the power of a relentless army.

There were very few dragons in Ferelden, after having been hunted to near extinction by warriors of old. Therefore, she and her family had never seen one in person, only read about them in books and legends. The creatures were said to be great, mighty beasts, capable of single-handedly leveling cities and small armies. All dragons could also use elements such as fire and electricity, making them more destructive and so powerful that the Tevinter Imperium worshiped them as gods.

A chill ran down her spine and she found herself hoping that those tales were nothing but an exaggeration. That the terrifying dragon in her dreams would be just that—a nightmare she could wake up from and defeat through sheer will.

They were halfway to Redcliffe when the sun began to set, so the group was forced to seek out a spot to camp. They veered off the main road and began to search, aiming for a place with water nearby.

"You seem awfully uncomfortable, Sten. What's the matter?" Leliana looked up at the qunari, who was riding his horse some distance next to her.

"The forest was refreshing, now everything smells of wet dogs again," he replied dryly, curling his nose. "I do not like that smell."

Bjorn whined from his spot upon the rump of Everil's horse, riding with her ahead of the group.

"But that's the best part of Ferelden!" Alistair said with a proud grin, traveling on the other side of the former sister. "It gives us character."

"How so?" Sten stoically asked.

"Our mabari hounds are known and feared for their might in battle. They're a symbol of our strength and resilience as a country. That's why we love our dogs so much," he repeated the same words Arl Eamon once told him, recalling all the paintings at the castle, and how he often asked about them as a child. He smiled, continuing on. "I mean, you have seen our little four-legged companion fight, right? I think he's a good example."

"I have..." Sten replied, glancing towards the animal.

Leliana giggled. "I wouldn't exactly call him little, but Bjorn is quite strong."

The hound responded with a bark.

"And smart too!" Alistair added.

There was another agreeable bark, and a few of them chuckled in amusement at the dog's attempt at conversation.

"Yes, smart..." Morrigan interjected bitterly. "Unlike some people…"

The group turned to her, Alistair arching a brow. "Is it just me or have you been bitchier than usual lately?"

"I tire of listening to your moronic voices. Yours especially."

"If you hate it here so much then why don't you just leave? I'm sure none of us would miss you," he retorted moodily.

Leliana tried to intervene. "Uhm… I don't think—"

"Yes, you do. All of you may not say it, but you think it," Alistair cut her off, still glaring daggers at the witch. "All she ever does is insult us. And she's always off on her own, acting all high and mighty like we're nothing but dirt under her feet."

Morrigan arrogantly lifted her nose at him. "'Tis only you I regard that way, Alistair. You are a weak, pathetic, little man. Groveling for the affection of others like a worthless mutt."

At that, Bjorn whined and sent her a hurt look.

"You're just saying that because you don't understand feelings, Morrigan. You're just some heartless shrew who's never known what it's like to have real friends," he replied coldly, fed up by her insults. "At least I'll have people who cared about me in the end. Unlike you, who I wager will just end up a crazy, lonely hag like your mother."

A dark expression dawned over her at his words, but she found herself frustratingly speechless. How dare he compare her to her? How dare he speak in ignorance? She climbed off before her horse could stop, then stalked into the woods, her hands blazing. The rest of the party watched her go, some visibly concerned.

Alistair breathed out the nose, feeling a subtle pang of guilt he couldn't justify. He craned his head to the others, seeing Leliana and Wynne's shocked stares. While Zevran was snickered nearby, having been entertained by their spat. "What?" he challenged and averted his stare. "I've had to travel with her for longer than you guys have. And trust me when I say that two months of dealing with her is plenty long."

"Well… I guess we'll be camping here," Everil sighed, tiredly dismounting. Why the two of them were constantly at each other's throats was beyond her, but it was getting old. "I'll go talk to her... The rest of you can just start setting up your tents."

.x.x.x.x.

As the others began unpacking, she followed the same path the witch had taken. She had taken notice of the woman's change in behavior. But she'd simply assumed that perhaps it was just one of those days in which she and Alistair couldn't stand each other.

When she found her, she was casting spells upon an unfortunate tree stump that just so happened to be in her path. She set it on fire, then froze it solid, locking the ashes in the ice. Feeling her presence, Morrigan lowered her arms, shoulders rising and falling as she released soft puffs of air. "I know not what you see in that man..." she groused, briefly glancing over one shoulder at her. "He is infuriating."

Everil took a few tentative steps towards her. "I know you two don't get along, but I have a feeling that Alistair is not the real reason you're upset this time."

A pause followed as she remained silent for a moment, staring off into the distance. Then she spoke, just loud enough for her to hear. "Do you remember the tales I told you of my mother?"

"Yes…" Everil approached her, coming to stand beside her. "Of course I do."

"Those legends oft' spoke of many witches… not just the one."

"I recall hearing about that. How Flemeth's daughters would drag away misbehaving children to their doom. But I thought those were only stories to scare little ones into obedience."

Morrigan swallowed and her troubled voice came once more. "I have found that... part of that story is true."

"Which part?"

"Flemeth has had many daughters, but I have never seen any of them. I now know why… 'Tis because all those witches from the tales are all Flemeth."

"What?" Everil breathed in disbelief.

She cast a disturbed look upon her. "Her grimoire explained the process in great detail. Each time her body withers, Flemeth raises a daughter. And when the time is right, she takes over her. 'Tis source of her immortality… How she has lived for so long."

"But... if that's the case, then why risk your life by sending you with us?"

"I cannot say... Perhaps she thought this journey would make me more powerful." She shook her head and put on an obstinate expression. "It matters not. I do not intend to sit idly by like an empty sack waiting to be filled."

Everil knitted her brows. "What will you do?"

"There is only one possible response to this. If I am to live, then Flemeth needs to die." Morrigan released a breath, an almost imperceptible sadness over her eyes. "But I cannot get close to her... The moment I do so, she may very well try to possess my body right then and there… However, you might be able to help me."

The Warden stiffened, almost too afraid to ask. "What do you need me to do?"

"You will have to battle her and slay her yourself. 'Tis the only way."

Oh, great… Everil gulped at her answer. That would certainly be easier said than done…

Many warriors have tried to slay the Witch of the Wilds in times past, only to fall under her incredible power. And although most thought of those fables as mere tales, there was always a kernel of truth in those songs sung by the bards. Still, despite her reservations, Morrigan was asking for her help and she couldn't just leave her alone in this. Especially not after all she'd done to aid them since they met—willingly or no. She took in a breath. "Very well… I'll help you. How do you suggest we proceed?"

Morrigan was a bit surprised by her response. She hadn't expected her to simply agree, especially considering the danger she would be walking into. "I shall remain in Redcliffe village while you and the others head south to the Wilds and engage her there. The further I am from the fight, the better it shall be. I also would like for you to obtain her true grimoire. She has it locked in a chest within our hut."

"Why do you need the book?"

"Even if you slay Flemeth, there is a possibility that she will not stay dead. If I have her grimoire and she manages to find me…" She nervously licked her lips. "Then... I could use it to at least make a more worthy attempt at surviving her ire."

"All right..." She nodded confidently. "I won't allow Flemeth to possess you. You have my word on that."

"I…" Morrigan's usually frigid stare softened at her oath. "You have my thanks…"

Everil grinned slightly at her. "Hey... What are friends for?"

The witch gradually returned the smile with a newfound appreciation for the girl. She knew herself to be a cold person with little desire to let anyone in. It was safer that way. Away from the dangers of the heart and the burdens emotional attachments often brought. But for her… For this Grey Warden... She may be willing to make an exception.