CHAPTER 8
..x..
A woman's distant cry made Alistair snap awake and sit up with a start, his injuries immediately protesting against the sudden movement. He moaned weakly, reaching for his burning side only to find blood-stained bandages were now wrapped around his middle. Through tired eyes, he inspected the rest of his body, seeing more of them covering most of his bare torso. Then he spotted another dressing around his thigh, also hinted crimson where the arrow hit. He was a mess, but at least whoever did the work allowed him to keep both his trousers and what little remained of his dignity.
The memories of what happened slowly dawned upon him despite the pounding headache. But they were blurred and incomplete, possibly due to how much blood he lost. Which left him wondering if perhaps that scream from before came from yet another one of his taint-induced nightmares.
Where am I? Alistair strained to observe his surroundings. It was nighttime and it was freezing. The light of a nearby campfire cut through the darkness, offering him some warmth while illuminating the small clearing that was bordered by a thicket of trees and the shores of a swampy pool.
The Korcari Wilds…? A puzzled look befell him and he spun his head, seeking to see more. He immediately knew exactly where he was when the rickety, old hut came into view. "Damn it…" he grunted, one hand coming to rest on his aching head. "Why… here?"
A soft whine drew his attention to the bandaged dog currently facing the hut's door, its ears flat against its head. It looked incredibly worried as it sat there, whining miserably, begging for whoever was inside to let it in. The image of chocolate locks and fearsome blue eyes crossed his mind at the sight of it. Only to be replaced by bloodied lips and her limp form. He scanned the camp again with growing concern, seeing no one else with him.
"Everil...?" he called, shakily pushing himself up to his feet and wincing upon taking a step to the woods. Then another pain-filled cry startled him, causing him to whirl around towards the hut.
"Everil!" Alistair ran to the door, ignoring his wounds as he burst through it. His gaze landed on the hag and girl from before, who were standing by her hunched form with a nearby fireplace to light up their decrepit home.
"Ah, you have awakened. Good." The old woman sent him a brief glance over the shoulder, then promptly returned to her task as a feeble whimper reached his ears.
"What are you doing to her!" He stalked towards them, but could only take a few steps before a broken arrow was flung at his feet.
"Saving her life!" the hag barked, pinning him with an irritated glare.
Alistair's shocked stare trailed up from the bloodied arrow to his companion, taking in her poor condition. Her eyes were half-lidded, but she was barely clinging to consciousness as she breathed in broken, quivering breaths. Dark hair stuck to her sweat-streaked face, framing her pale features. Red soaked through the armor on her chest, turning the regal blue of their gear a deep, dark purple. "Maker's breath…" was all he could say, limping a little closer to them.
"Did you know that simply plucking an arrow from one's body does more harm than good? It damages nerves and muscle, causing heavier bleeding. Oftentimes even death." The hag turned her back to him, taking hold of the last arrow still buried in Everil's back. "One must instead thrust it all the way through—" She forced the shaft in, the heart-wrenching scream that escaped his fellow Warden making him wince. "—and hope not to tear through any vital organs."
Still shaken, he made an attempt to help, only to be stopped by a hand gesture from the supposed witch. A snap was heard as she broke the arrow's tip, drawing another whimper from his agonizing companion. Then a sickening wet sound followed as the offending object was removed and discarded.
He gulped, staring helplessly. "How…? How is she?"
"An arrow pierced through one of her lungs, but fortunately for your friend, I know a thing or two about healing magic. She will live." She took a small bowl from the decrepit nightstand by the bed, handing it over to Morrigan. "Give her this and smear some on the wounds. After that—"
"Bandages. Yes, Mother. I heard you all three times you lectured me while patching up the other one."
"Well, I figured you were deaf, considering I had to fix them twice over because you cannot tie a simple knot."
Alistair ignored their banter, a hand over his bandaged stomach. Everything happened so fast. First, the king sends them on an errand. A task that wasn't even supposed to involve fighting. Then everything goes south in a blink of an eye, with them ending up having to fight for their lives at the top of the tower. He hoped at least it was all worth it. That they lit the signal in time.
The thought immediately reminded him of Duncan.
"Do you know what happened to the others?" He regarded the old woman, a hint of urgency painting his voice. "To the king… and the Grey Wardens?"
Her eerie yellow eyes went to him, the seemingly uncharacteristic pause telling him something wasn't right. She sauntered to the door, wiping bloody hands on her skirts. "Come. There is something I must tell you."
His anxious stare followed her out, then returned to Everil's now unconscious form. He hesitated, reluctant to leave his sister-in-arms alone.
"You should go with Mother." Morrigan adjusted the motionless woman, making her lean against her while careful fingers worked off the straps on the armor. "Unless you wish to remain and see your ailing companion's naked body. I shan't judge too harshly."
"O-Of course not! I... I would never…!" He flusteredly scratched the back of his head, then went for the door. "I… I'll just be outside."
She watched in mild amusement as he stumbled out the door, shutting it behind him. "I actually feel sorry for you..." she muttered while continuing to undress her, the woman's blood staining the once-white sheets of her bed.
.x.x.x.x.
The witch lowered herself onto a rocking chair by the fire, a wrinkled hand lazily bringing a pipe to her cracked lips. She summoned a small flame with a snap of her fingers, which she used to light it with a few puffs while watching him approach. Smoke drifted from her mouth and nose as she leaned back, gesturing to another wooden chair across from her. "Sit."
Alistair did as he was told, wincing slightly as every movement brought pain to his body. A chill ran down his spine as he stared at those piercing yellow eyes, the vague image of the dragon from the tower superimposing over those weazened features. He was compelled to know what she was but found himself too afraid to ask.
"Your order, your king, and his armies…" she began slowly, releasing another cloud of smoke "They have all perished against the darkspawn horde."
Those chilling words paralyzed him, temporarily stopping his heart as the world around him seemed to freeze along with it. "W-What...?"
"You heard me, boy." The chair rocked back and forth, creaking with the motion as her piercing eyes focused on the fire. "They were massacred. Every one of them."
"N-No… That's not true…" Alistair clung desperately to denial, unable to move from where he sat. "We lit the beacon... Loghain's soldiers surely would have—"
"This Loghain ignored your signal and fled the field, taking his men with him. No one came to help in the fight."
"NO!" He bolted to his feet, ignoring the sharp pain stabbing his side. He frantically searched the area, panicked eyes searching through the flickering shadows. "Where's my sword! They need me!"
"Sit. There is nothing you can do for them now." She drew in another puff, her sharp stare following him as he paced about like a caged animal.
"They can't be dead…! Duncan can't be dead! I… I have to go help them!" Alistair made for the edge of the woods, his distraught mind telling him to run. To go to his brothers. To fight and save anyone he could or die trying. Until something shot out from the darkness.
Bony fingers grabbed his arms and legs, yanking him off the ground as he released a startled cry. He struggled and fought, fear gripping his heart as what appeared to be wooden branches left scratches over his arms.
The old woman rose from the rocking chair and leisurely strolled over to him, the creaking limbs lowering him to her. She huffed smoke onto his face with a frigid glare, throwing him into a coughing fit. "You will do no such thing." He squirmed within her grasp. "I went through a great deal of trouble to save your sorry behind, young man. Do not undermine my efforts by rushing to your death like a fool."
Any movement he made just tightened her hold on him, stressing his joints to the breaking point. "Who... are you?" Alistair asked hoarsely, attempting to fight back the bitter tears threatening to spill from his eyes.
"I believe the better question here is... Who. Are. You?" Her cat-like eyes pierced through him, chilling him to the core. "You call yourself a Grey Warden, yet you've yet to realize that you and that girl are now Ferelden's only hope against the Blight."
The witch watched in mild fascination as his eyes slowly widened, the weight of her words visibly settling upon him. She folded an arm and rested her elbow over it, smugly bringing the pipe back to her lips. "Now that you have seen the situation you are in… Tell me… What will you do?"
"I… I don't know…" he rasped, uncertain. "Duncan… was our leader. Without him…"
"New leaders must rise up, more so now in these desperate times. But I suppose it remains to be seen if you two have what it takes to replace him." She scowled in disgust, seeing the anguish on him as he defeatedly hung his head.
Silence filled the air, save for the occasional crackle of the fire.
Her long, withered fingers took hold of his jaw, roughly forcing him to look at her. She tilted her head, inspecting his features as if he were some strange creature. He stubbornly tried to turn his hazel-browns away from her but was too worn out to struggle against her.
A dark, deep cackle rocked her shoulders at what she found. "Oh, but the resemblance is uncanny! Even that miserable look in your eyes is the same as his." She laughed again. "It seems 'tis as they say. The apple never falls far from the tree."
But her cryptic words didn't register with Alistair. He stopped listening a while ago, too engrossed in his own grief.
"Hmph..." She carelessly released him and turned her back to him, striding away while commanding the trees to set him back on his feet. "You are welcome to wallow in your own misery if you must. But do be a good lad and stay where you are. Do not make me chase after you or I will make sure you regret it."
Alistair sank to his knees, quivering hands covering his eyes as he bared his teeth. Large tears rolled freely down his face, dripping to the ground as he wailed like a lost child. Bjorn approached him, nuzzling his head with a gentle whine. But the Grey Warden remained motionless, sobbing brokenly with only the hound to keep him company.
.x.x.x.x.
"How is she, Morrigan?" asked a male voice, riddled with worry.
"Her wounds have healed and she is resting. She is more resilient than she appears." The female was nonchalant. Disinterested.
He hesitated. "Can I sit there?"
"Do as you wish... I care not."
The sound of a door closing joined someone's footsteps as they drew closer.
Everil barely recognized the voices through the fog as their conversation stirred her consciousness. And she became aware of just how hurt she was. Pain stabbed at her back and dryness scraped at her throat as memories of the battle slowly flooded her brain. A whimper escaped her, the pounding headache making her wish she'd stayed asleep.
"Everil?"
"Mm...?" Her eyes slowly opened, her face scrunching up as the man's features gradually came into focus. "A… Alistair?"
He released a breath of relief. "Hey..."
Everil sat up ever so slowly, groaning as the lingering ache spread throughout. "Where are we? How long was I out?"
"A couple of days. We're in the Wilds... Morrigan and her mother saved our lives."
She frowned, a hand on her aching temple, her mind too fuzzy. "How in the… How did they manage to get us out of the tower?"
"Yeah, I'm not sure I want to know that part..." He sighed.
"Where's Bjorn?" she asked, noticing they were missing one more party member.
He gave her a half-smile. "Outside waiting for you."
"Ah, good…" she breathed out with deep relief before inspecting herself. The armor was gone, replaced by a worn robe that was hinted with blood in places. She craned her head towards her companion, also looking him over. He was sitting on a wooden chair, no hauberk or plates, bandages visible through the open collar of his gambeson. "Are you all right?" she voiced worriedly.
Alistair let out a wry chuckle. "Heh… I should be the one asking you that."
Her eyebrows shot up as she blinked. "Was it that bad?"
"Yeah… I was afraid you'd die on me."
In a different scenario, she may have been flattered by his concern for her, but the haunted look in his eyes told her there was more to it.
She smiled weakly. "Well, I'm awake now. Thanks for worrying about me."
"Sure…" he responded with a nod, eyes downcast.
Yes. Something was definitely wrong. And after what happened to them, she was hesitating to ask.
He didn't seem all too eager to tell her either.
"Alistair, tell me what happened..." she prompted weakly. "Did we win the battle?"
He let out a drawn-out breath, shaking his head wearily while preparing himself to speak. Yet he only managed a few words before his voice faded away. "No… Everyone... They…"
It didn't take her long to figure out what he meant. "But... The signal—"
"Loghain never charged. The king, his soldiers, and the other Wardens were overwhelmed and left to die." Alistair's voice was drenched in a mixture of grief and anger. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees as he tightly clasped his hands together. "We… We are the only Grey Wardens left."
The news chilled her as she stared at him. Her eyes then gradually shifted to her hands as they gripped the furs covering her legs. It all sounded surreal to her. That last battle was meant to end it all, instead…
Her mind went straight to her brother.
No… Fergus is resourceful… I won't believe him dead until I know for certain…
But King Cailan, a kind man her family once served loyally, and someone she'd considered a friend, was now gone. All those soldiers—many of them with families—now lay dead after attempting to protect their nation. And the Grey Wardens...
Everil quickly turned to him, seeing that his eyes remained downcast and his shoulders were slumped. As if the weight of it all was pressing down upon him. She knew that look. Felt it after having lost everything to Howe. Her relationship with Duncan had been brief, and she didn't have the opportunity to meet the other Wardens. But by the way Alistair had spoken of them on their way to Ostagar, they'd probably been like family to him.
A family murdered by betrayal, much like her own.
She reached out, resting a gentle hand on his forearm. "I'm sorry…"
Her soft words drew his anguished gaze to hers and he slowly placed a hand over hers, giving it a weak squeeze. "Thanks…"
"Ah, you have awakened!"
Both turned startled looks to the woman at the door.
"Mother shall be pleased." Morrigan walked towards the pair, stopping by the foot of the bed before folding her arms over her chest.
Everil gave her a small smile. "Thank you for helping us, Morrigan."
"You are welcome..." She awkwardly turned her gaze away. "Although Mother did most of the work. I am no healer."
"I see… Then perhaps I should go thank her, as well."
"That would be wise…"
Licking her dry lips, Everil pushed the covers off her and swung bruised legs over the edge of the bed. She winced upon standing, a hand shooting to her arm as a dull ache spread down her back.
Alistair stood, worriedly grasping her shoulder. "Are you sure you're well enough to move around? Maybe we should wait a little longer."
She shook her head. "Well or not, we don't have time to sit around. Without an army to hold them back, the darkspawn will spread further north. We must find a way to stop the Blight." Her attention went to Morrigan. "Where's my armor?"
"Over by the window." She pointed with her finger. "'Tis clean and we did a bit of mending to it. So it should be fine to wear."
Alistair took a step back, making room for her to walk around him while his eyes followed her. It seemed that unlike him, the news didn't throw her into an emotional stupor. She was pushing through with renewed strength, determined to do what they had to do. He realized she was better suited to lead them through their impossible task than he ever would. With his decision made, he rubbed the back of his neck and headed for the door. "I'll be waiting outside..."
The witch watched the interaction between the two before he left the hut. She arched a brow at her. "Are you not the junior member of the order?"
"I am. What of it?" Everil shot her a questioning glance before stripping, unfazed by her presence.
"I merely find it curious that you seem to be the one making the decisions."
She shrugged and turned away. "Alistair and I are the only ones left. I don't think rank has any meaning right now."
"I see…"
.x.x.x.x.
It was past noon by the time she stepped out of the hut, now clad in all of her Grey Warden gear. The first one to greet her was her hound, wagging his stubby tail uncontrollably. Everil noticed the bandages around his middle, but they didn't seem to face him. She smiled at him, reaching down to scratch the back of his ear. "Hi boy. I'm glad you're all right."
Bjorn whined at her, nuzzling her open palm. Then he barked, drawing a chuckle from his mistress. "Yes, yes. I know. I'm sorry I worried you."
"'Twas about time you woke up, girl," the old woman cackled as she stood by the pond further down. "Both these fellows were so depressed they made the swamp appear cheerful in comparison."
Alistair was standing by the hag, fully geared and waiting for her.
She walked up to them, her hound in toe. "You have my gratitude for saving our lives."
"My... Always so civil. You are welcome. Though I did not do it out of the kindness of my heart." She folded her arms and motioned to Alistair. "I'm sure your fellow Warden here has already informed you of what happened."
"He has… But before we discuss what's next, I don't believe you ever told us your name."
"Names are pretty but useless." The hag waved a dismissive hand. "The Chasind folk call me Flemeth. I suppose that will do."
"Flemeth?" Alistair breathed in consternation. "The Flemeth? From the legends? Daveth was right… You're the Witch of the Wilds, aren't you?"
She shot him a dirty look. "What's that supposed to mean? I know a little magic and it has served you both well."
Everil was fascinated. "If you are really Flemeth, then that means you must be very old and very powerful."
"Power and age are relative. It depends on who you ask. Compared to you two? Yes, on both accounts." Flemeth proudly lifted her chin. "But it is not I you should be concerned with. The real threat lies at the heart of the Blight itself."
Alistair's eyes hardened. "The Archdemon..."
"Loghain is a possible threat now too…" Everil added while folding her arms. "I still don't understand what he was hoping to gain by leaving the king for dead."
"The throne? He's the queen's father… Still… I don't see how he would get away with murder."
Flemeth scoffed. "You speak as if he were the first king to gain his throne that way. Grow up, boy!"
He aimed an indignant glare at the witch. "If Arl Eamon found out what he's done, he would never stand for it. The Landsmeet would never stand for it. There would be civil war!"
"Arl Eamon? The Arl of Redcliffe?" Everil questioned curiously.
"Yes. I know him. He's a good man, respected in the Landsmeet—" An idea then occurred to him. "Of course! We could go to Redcliffe and appeal to him for help!"
She gave him a skeptical look. "Would he really believe us over Teyrn Loghain?"
"I'm sure he would. And he wasn't at Ostagar so he still has all his soldiers. He's also Cailan's uncle, so he will have a personal motivation to bring Loghain to justice for what he did," he answered with conviction, then his confident look turned into doubt. "Still…. There's no way he can defeat the Blight on his own. We'll need more help."
"Hmm…" Everil tapped her chin with a finger, tilting her head. "What about the treaties Flemeth gave us?"
"Now, there's a smart lass," Flemeth complemented with an amused smile.
"That's right! The Grey Warden treaties!" Alistair's face brightened at the suggestion. "We can use the scrolls to demand aid from the dwarves, elves, mages, and other places. They're obligated to help us during a Blight!"
Flemeth cackled at the two. "I may be old, but this Arl Eamon, dwarves, elves, and whoever else…. This sounds like an army to me."
Alistair turned tentative eyes towards his comrade. "So you think we can do this? Go to all these places and build an army?"
She was a little surprised by his question. Even though she'd read every possible book about them, she still had limited knowledge of how Grey Wardens truly worked. And so far, it seemed that without him she would have been relatively lost. Yet he didn't seem to notice having just now put their plan together himself, instead, questioning his own judgment.
Regardless, Everil offered him an encouraging smile. "And why not? Is that not what Grey Wardens do?"
"Yes. Right," he affirmed with renewed motivation. "Then it's settled! We have a plan."
Flemeth regarded them both. "So you are ready to take on this task? To be Grey Wardens once more?"
Everil nodded. "As ready as we will ever be."
"Good," the witch said sharply before glancing towards her hut. "Before you go, there is still one more thing I can offer you."
"Mother dear, the stew is bubbling." As if on cue, Morrigan walked out the door and headed towards them. "Shall we have two guests for supper? Or none?"
"The Grey Wardens will take some for the road. And you will be leaving with them."
"Such a shame—What?"
"You heard me, girl. Last I checked you had ears," Flemeth laughed.
"But Mother… This is not how I—"
"I think that's a great idea," Everil agreed, offering the mage a friendly smile. If they were setting out on their own, they might as well pick up extra hands. That, and by how the stew smelled from where they stood, she imagined the woman's food would most definitely be better than Alistair's had been during their trip to Ostagar.
She glared at both her mother and the Warden. "Have I no say in this?"
"They need you, Morrigan." Flemeth somberly addressed her, her rigid tone coinciding with the reality of their situation. "Alone these two must unite Ferelden against the Blight. Without you, they will surely fail and all will be destroyed... Even I."
"I… understand…"
"Besides… You've been itching to get out of the Wilds for years now. Now's your chance." Flemeth then turned sharp eyes to the other two. "And you, Grey Wardens. I give you that wish I value above all else in this world. I do this because you must succeed. Do not make me regret this decision."
Everil nodded confidently. "She won't come to harm with us."
But Alistair wasn't as inviting as she was to the idea. He regarded the witches cautiously, doubt in his tone. "Not to look a gift horse in the mouth... But wouldn't that add to our problems? Outside of the Wilds, she's an apostate."
Flemeth gave him the evil eye, making both Wardens tense on their feet. "If you do not want help from us illegal mages, young man, then perhaps I should have left you in that tower."
He gulped. "Point. Taken."
"Very well…" Morrigan sighed pitifully. "Allow me to get my things if you please."
Upon saying their goodbyes, they were on their way. Morrigan had suggested they head north to the nearest village, Lothering, in order to purchase any supplies they needed. Thus she led them through the Wilds, guiding them out of the traitorous wilderness. The trip was quiet for the most part, with each traveler immersed in his or her own thoughts.
Alistair watched his fellow Warden from the rear, the silence allowing him to listen to her elaborate breathing despite her efforts to hide her discomfort. She was hurt worse than he in that tower, and it would probably take some time for her to fully heal. Still, by what he witnessed thus far, she was obviously the hardheaded type. Even if he were to suggest taking a break for her sake, she would probably brush him off and keep walking. Her commitment to their cause was admirable. Especially when she was but a junior in their order. That unwavering willingness to fulfill her duty made him see another reason why Duncan was so determined to recruit her.
The thought of the man he'd once looked up to caused his chest to tighten uncomfortably. He half expected to see him emerge from the woods, covered in darkspawn blood and telling them everything would be fine. That the others were at camp, waiting for them. A knot formed in his throat and his hands closed into fists. There was a good chance that he'd probably never be able to find his body. By now the darkspawn would have torn it to pieces and scattered it across Ostagar, as both a warning and a promise to those who dared to cross their path. But although their evil sickened him, someone else was the focus of his ire.
He had never hated anyone before, but Loghain had earned the privilege of being the first. If the desire to stop the Blight didn't push him through the worst of times, the thought of his blade running the man through surely would. If only he could see him face to face now, then perhaps killing him would take away all of the anger and pain currently threatening to suffocate him. But he'd just have to hope that he'll get the chance soon enough.
.x.x.x.x.
Night fell upon them when they were still a few miles from the village. They were far enough from the Korcari Wilds to be relatively safe from darkspawn but were still too far from Lothering. Everil's body told her rest was necessary, and she imagined Alistair and her hound needed the same. Thus it was decided they would spend the night in the wilderness.
After poking at the coals of their campfire, Everil rose and regarded her party. "Anyone else hungry?"
Her hound's head perked up and he let out a bark. Morrigan waved dismissively from her spot by the fire, stashing some herbs she found into her bag.
She then glanced towards the third, whose saddened eyes were focused on the flickering flames. "Alistair?"
He didn't answer, seemingly lost in thought. They had not spoken since leaving Flemeth's hut, but she hadn't forced it. She knew exactly how he felt.
Morrigan glanced irritably at him. "Your companion has asked you a question."
A frustrated breath left him and he stood, then stalked towards the woods, ignoring their confused looks.
"Such a child…" Morrigan muttered, shifting her gaze to the other Warden. "Does he always act this way? If so, then I question what your order saw in him."
"He just needs some time. He did just lose all his friends." Everil sighed, folding her arms. "Care to join me in the hunt then? You know these woods far better than I."
"If I must." She rose to her feet, then walked past her. "Though I have only crossed these parts twice."
They went in the opposite direction from Alistair, followed by the hound as he sniffed the ground. Everil glanced at the strange woman beside her, her pale skin almost glowing under the light of the moon as it filtered down through the canopy of the trees. She was an apostate raised outside of the Circle's walls and the daughter of a fabled witch. But although there was an unnatural aura about her, Morrigan appeared to be perfectly human. Yet she wondered how much of that was true. If perhaps this girl was not actually Flemeth's flesh and blood.
Her curiosity eventually got the best of her. "So you have never actually traveled far from home?"
Morrigan gave her a brief glance. "I left it on occasion, but only as far as Lothering. I did intend to travel someday, but I suppose 'tis always hard to leave one's home."
"It is..." she quietly agreed. "So this is truly what you wanted? Your mother was not forcing this upon you?"
"What I wanted was… To see mountains. To witness the ocean and step into its waters..." She gazed up at the moon as they walked, speaking as if she were picturing the images in her head. "To see the wonders of a city without having to imagine them in my mind. So yes… I suppose this is what I wanted."
"I see… I'm glad you will at least have that chance. Though it's a shame it's not under better circumstances."
Rustling ahead made them pause in their steps as a hare hopped out of the bushes. Bjorn growled at it, only to be shushed by his mistress.
Everil reached back to draw her weapon. "Great… I don't have a bow."
"I have something better," Morrigan whispered back with a smirk. "Just refrain from running away in fear, Warden."
Suddenly the witch's body began to glow, making Everil back away in surprise. Her bright form morphed and shrank before her very eyes. And then a hawk shot forth, aiming at the defenseless hare. The animal squeaked as razor-sharp talons pierced its skin, then the bird twisted, breaking its neck in one swift motion. The hawk's form then lit up once more, and in a second, Morrigan's body replaced it, one hand holding the lifeless hare by the ears.
"Maker…" was all Everil could say.
Smiling wickedly, Morrigan slowly approached her and handed her their meal. "You may at least close your mouth while you stare."
"S-Sorry… I didn't expect you to just suddenly… Was that magic?"
"Of course it was," Morrigan replied as she began to make her way back to her.
"I… I have never heard of such a thing."
"Tis not unheard of in the remote corners of the world, despite what the zealots in the Chantry would have you believe. Such magic is oft' passed down as carefully guarded lore from generation to generation. By mages like my mother."
The Warden trekked after her, eyeing her in silent wonder. "I think such traditions should be preserved."
"Oh? You do not believe as the Chantry does?" Morrigan's brows went up in mild interest. "That I could be some abomination to be put to the torch?"
"No. I think being able to turn into animals seems quite useful." She smiled up at her, lifting the hare for emphasis.
"My…" she chuckled. "That is a most practical answer. More so than any man has ever said to me before. How refreshing."
"I'm pleased to hear it. Though next time you do that perhaps you could give me a little more warning. I think I nearly died of a scare back there."
Her smile broadened. "I shall keep that in mind."
Morrigan's surprise was genuine. Throughout Ferelden's history, anyone who witnessed her mother's powers either fled or tried to slay her. And it was those very fools who managed to survive her ire that spread the legends around the Witch of the Wilds. Tales that spoke of the hag that dragged children out from their homes in the middle of the night, taking them away to be devoured while their screams echoed throughout the woods. They also spoke of evil women who ate the hearts of men, having lured them with their beauty and used their bodies until they were nothing but soulless shells. There may have been some truth to some of those tales, she could not be sure, since her lifespan was but a fraction of the mother's. But Flemeth often spoke bitterly of some when warning her young daughter of the ignorance of men. Perhaps journeying with this Grey Warden, however, would bring her a different viewpoint.
.x.x.x.x.
After leaving the woods, they traveled along the Imperial Highway as it took them to the less dangerous woods of Ferelden's most settled farmlands—the Hinterlands. The wide road circled the entire country, passing through or by many towns from their location in the south, all the way to The Coastlands in the north. It was ancient, built by the Tevinter Imperium during the time in which they ruled all of Thedas, in order to facilitate their expansion and trade. As the most convenient way of travel, it was used mostly by caravans and merchants carrying their wares from town to town. Unfortunately, that meant it also drew unwanted attention from undesirables seeking to make easy coin and prey upon those journeying unprepared. Still, it was much safer than venturing through the land around it and the clear direction it offered made it easier to avoid getting lost along the way.
The afternoon sun hung over them before they entered a covered part of the highway, the street raised over stone as it crossed through a wide depression in the terrain. A high roof hovered over their heads, held up by thick pillars made of rock over which some weeds crawled. They were nearing the outskirts of the village when they encountered a group of men standing ahead. Wagons, crates, and several bodies surrounded them as they chatted merrily to each other, some sitting leisurely on their apparent loot, while others rummaged through the corpses. All were dressed in rugged, hardened leather, covered in dirt from head to toe and splattered in blood. Everil eyed them cautiously, already expecting trouble as she led her companions through the only path they could take.
"Ah, more travelers!" One of the men rose from his spot on a crate, dirty boots walking over a dead body as he advanced towards them. The others gathered behind him, spreading out and blocking their way through.
"Wait, boss," another spoke as she and her party came to a stop before them. "Look at their armor… These be Grey Wardens."
Their boss shrugged his shoulders. "So? What of it? The tax applies to everyone, Hog."
"You're in our way. What tax are you talking about?" Everil crossed her arms, pinning the man with a glare.
"Oh! So the pretty one is the leader…" A wicked grin spread over his filthy face. "We're collecting coin to fix the highway. As you can see, it's in poor shape." He gestured to the objects scattered about and to the dead travelers to whom they once belonged.
"Fools…" Morrigan glowered at them from the rear. "They dare block our advance? I say teach them a lesson."
Alistair quietly watched the exchange, standing near his fellow Warden with a hand on the hilt of his blade.
"So you're tax collectors…" Everil's tone was as frigid as a winter's night. "Is that what you told these people before you killed them?"
"They were already dead when we got here. The darkspawn got to 'em first. The poor sods…" The leader sighed and shook his head in mock sympathy. "That's why we're collecting the money. To clean up their mess."
Her irritation grew tenfold. "As your friend said, we are Grey Wardens. I have seen with my very eyes the carnage darkspawn leave in their wake and this is not their doing. I will give you one last chance to answer honestly. Did you kill these people?"
His men fidgeted uncomfortably, but he seemed unaffected by her piercing stare. "Yes, we did. What's it to you?"
She lashed out, punching him across the face and knocking him flat on his rear. Shocked, he spat blood, the inside of his cheek burning where teeth had pierced flesh.
"You bitch!" One of them reached for a dagger.
In one fluid motion, Alistair drew his sword and pressed the tip of the blade to the man's throat. Then his eyes narrowed threateningly. "I wouldn't do that if I were you."
He gulped, the Warden's sword gracing his Adam's apple as he slowly lowered his hand.
"These people were fleeing from the Blight! They had enough to fear without bandits preying upon them!" Everil stared down their boss as if he were nothing but dirt under her shoe. "Get up and get out of here. Leave everything you stole. If I ever see you around here again, I will end you."
"Heh…" he scoffed and slowly stood, wiping red off his chin. "Fine… Have it your way." He produced a pouch from under his leathers, dropping it to the ground.
"But… boss!" another one of his men spoke up.
"Shut up! These are the same people that killed King Cailan! This isn't worth the risk!"
Her eyes went wide. "Killed… King Cailan?"
"I didn't see it at first, but you fit the description." He rubbed his sore face, then stalked past her party. "Come on, you idiots. Nothing here's worth losing my life to the likes of 'em."
They watched them leave with perplexed stares before Everil stepped over to the pouch of coin he dropped. She went on a knee to pick it up and opened it, counting in it only a handful of coppers. Bastards… she thought angrily. This is what they killed these poor people for? They barely had enough to get by…
"Great…" Alistair huffed, sheathing his blade. "We should be careful in Lothering. I'll bet that's where they heard that rumor."
"Ah, so you have finally decided to rejoin us." Morrigan smirked mockingly at him. "Falling on your blade in grief proved to be too much trouble, I take it?"
As they argued, Everil moved to inspect the corpses, shoulders tense as she rummaged through their belongings. It didn't feel right taking what the bandits killed them for, but they had little choice. She managed to find a few more coppers, then iron rings that weren't really worth much. A breath escaped her as she stashed her findings, fearing that none of it would be enough to get what they needed.
Alistair shot Morrigan an indignant scowl. "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?"
"Before or after I stopped laughing?"
"Right… Very creepy. Forget I asked."
After taking a couple of cloaks from the dead, Everil rose to her feet and frowned at the witch. "Let him be, Morrigan."
"But how can I?" She pointedly gestured towards him. "He's standing right there! With huge, sad eyes like those of a brainless calf on its way to slaughter."
He glared at her, increasingly annoyed. "Is this the part where we're shocked to discover how you've never had a friend your entire life?"
Morrigan folded her arms and shrugged. "I can be friendly when I desire. Alas, wanting to be more intelligent does not make it so."
"At any rate… I agree with Alistair," Everil interjected, trying to change the subject while also handing one of the cloaks to him. "We should cover our armor as a precaution and watch ourselves. We will purchase what we need today and leave first thing tomorrow."
"Good idea." He gave a short nod and threw the dirty cloak over his shoulders, the black fabric blocking most of his gear from view. And as they resumed their walk, Everil did the same with hers. She looked towards the small houses bunched together below the raised wall of the highway, gentle plumes of smoke rising from their chimneys.