Chapter 6: The Coming Storm
The darkness swallowed everything, the ground, the sky, and everything else that walked the Maker's world.
She stood on the peak unable to look away, it was a shadow, but unlike any shadow she had ever known, and at its heart was a sound, a roar…it was terrifying, the sound of some hungry animal that was not only destroying all around it, but took pleasure in that destruction.
Took pleasure…and hungered for more.
She tried to run, to escape the darkness, but there was nowhere to flee to…
Hope faded…and then she felt it…
She was no longer alone.
A figure reached down for her, she took his hand in hers. His hands were smaller than hers, but had warmth, strength, a power that rejuvenated her.
His voice bolstered her strength, and gave her the courage to stand…to stand and fight on.
"On your feet sister", this stranger ordered, "we are not dead yet."
The peak collapsed beneath them, they both fell into the darkness, but she did not scream, or fear.
She still held his hand in hers.
IOI
Leliana awoke.
The Chantry sister blinked her blue eyes, running her hand through her short red hair.
The same dream…the same vision the last two weeks, only this time a new element.
The stranger, the one who gave her strength to fight on.
Leliana rose from her bunk, the sun had yet to rise; rain splattered the windows of the Lothering Chantry. Yet, she did not remain inside.
She needed to see it, to make sure that she had not dreamed what she had found yesterday.
She slipped on her cloak and headed out into the garden, she made quickly for the far wall, to the place where the dead rosebush lay…
The not entirely dead rosebush.
There it was, the sister smiled despite the cold driving rain, a sign of hope in the darkness.
The rose was there, in full bloom…winter was nearly upon them and yet the flower still bloomed defiantly against the cold and the darkness.
Sister Leliana nodded; surely this flower could not exist without aid, without divine intervention.
She understood the meaning of the dream now…the vision, it surely must have been Maker sent.
I hear oh Maker, she thought respectfully, and I shall obey.
The sister headed back into the chantry, she made for the old wine cellar here, she had not been down here in almost two years…
She had not been down here since Silas had left with Dorothea, since Sketch had fled to Gwaren looking to take ship to Rivain.
It was time; much as it had been the night she had escaped from the Arl of Denerim's estate, much as it had been when she had faced her mentor on the coast.
We are the same.
The red-head pushed such thoughts from her mind that… was the past.
There was a loose stone behind the far wine rack, she slid it back, revealing a small cubby hole, she reached inside past the cobwebs and dust.
She drew out her old things, the tools of the life she had abandoned two years ago.
Her leather vest and skirt needed to be oiled, two of the studs needed to be replaced. Her quiver was still fully loaded, she inspected each of the arrows carefully, they seemed good and ready to see use again. Her longbow needed a new string, but that was easy enough to come by here in Lothering.
Then she drew out her blades, her short sword and daggers, the blades had seen much use in her service. Many times he had shed blood in the service of her wealthy patrons, and her Mistress's pleasure.
Her eyes narrowed painfully, she was not that woman anymore, she was no longer the cruel, arrogant creature that prowled the palaces of the Orlesian Nobility.
She would fight anew, but not for the pleasure or greed of others.
Her blades would not be used for such cruel pursuits now, now…they would strike with the righteous fury of the Maker, in defense of the world he had built.
She drew the sword from its sheath, she twirled the blade, its weight was still perfect, but its mistress had lost a step or two in the last year.
She would need to remedy that.
Soon the stranger would come; soon it would be time to take up her weapons again.
She would do it again, gladly.
It was the Maker's will.
IOI
Alim gasped, he bolted upright in the bed, and was rewarded with a fresh wave of pain from his bandaged abdomen.
"Shit," he hissed as he leaned back, part of him was surprised that he was still alive. He was lying in a bed, naked except for his smalls; his wounds had been cleaned and dressed.
How had he gotten here, the elf wondered, the last thing he remembered was the tower…?
The darkspawn swarming over them like locusts.
"Ah…your eyes finally open, Mother will be pleased."
Alim gasped, he pulled the covers up to his neck, the young girl chuckled at his modesty, she smiled playfully at him with her amber eyes.
"M…Mor…Morrigan?" he asked weakly.
"Ah you remember me, how pleasant," the young witch chuckled, tending to something boiling in a large cook pot.
"Where am I?" he asked her.
"Back in the wilds of course," she replied matter of factly, "I have just finished binding your wounds, you are welcome by the way. Tell me, how does your memory fair?"
The elf's head swam; he remembered the battle…the fight through the tower…
"I…I remember being overwhelmed by darkspawn," the elf replied.
"Mother saved you and your friend, though it was a close call," Morrigan said blandly, "The man who was to respond to your signal quit the field; the darkspawn won your battle. Those abandoned were all massacred."
Alim's eyes widened.
"Massacred," he gasped, "all of them? The King… the Grey Wardens…none of them escaped?"
"None that I could see," the witch replied with a shrug, "Your friend…he is not taking it…"
Alim leapt from the bed, his brown eyes flashed with rage.
"THAT BASTARD!" he growled.
Though the storm had ended last night, thunder rumbled overhead. Morrigan glanced up and smiled, the elf was truly more powerful than even he realized.
He made for his robes, dressing quickly, Morrigan pretended to ignore him, but watched him carefully. Most elves she had met were cowed sheep, Alim was not one of those…she found both him and the power he wielded… intriguing.
Far more than the dimwitted fool that had accompanied him.
Alim threw on his robes and long coat; he was pleased to see that his hat remained as well, along with his staff.
"Mother asked to see you when you awoke," Morrigan offered, "she and …the other warden," she said with distaste," are outside by the fire."
Alim pulled his hat down covering his large ears, he was furious at Loghain, enraged, but the matter of courtesy still needed to be tended to, this beautiful woman had helped him.
"Thank you Morrigan," he said with a slight bow, "For helping me."
"I…you…you are welcome," the witch stammered, she had not expected his words, "but it is Mother's work that saved you, I am no healer."
"Never the less, you have my thanks," the elf replied, he headed out the door looking for the elder witch and Alistair.
They had much to discuss.
IOI
Alim strode out of the witch's hut, he saw Alistair staring across the swamp before them, he seemed…lost.
"See here is your fellow Grey Warden," the old woman called out from her rocking chair, you worry too much young man."
Alistair nearly hugged the elf when he saw him, and might have if Alim had not pushed him back with his staff.
The elf mage was furious.
"What is the quickest way out of the wilds," he asked the witch.
The older woman smiled at him.
"And where do you intend to go?" she asked.
"After Loghain," the elf growled, "that treacherous bastard will pay for what he has done."
"I think you have greater worries than this Loghain dear boy," the witch cackled, "the horde is still out there after all."
The mention of the horde brought Alistair back from his stupor; Duncan's words about stopping the darkspawn rang in his ears.
"She is right Lim," he replied, "We have a duty to perform, with Duncan," Alistair winced he…he still could not believe that Duncan was gone that they were all gone.
"And how are we supposed to do that Alistair," Alim growled, "it is not like I have a spare army laying around, how 'bout you?"
"We cannot just ignore this," Alistair said hotly, "We are still Grey Wardens, you are still a Grey Warden!"
"Very good lad," the witch smiled, "anger is a much better emotion than despair, it will keep you sharp. Give you the power to do what must be done."
"Who are you tell us what to do," Alim advanced on her, anger shining in his eyes, "You saved us sure, but why should we care what you say?"
The witch smiled, Alim could sense the magic within her, powerful magic, old magic.
He realized that he might have just made a mistake.
Fortunately the witch did not take offense, she simply answered his question.
"Names are pretty but useless things," she shrugged, "I have had so many over the years, the chasind folk call me Flemeth, I suppose that will do here."
Flemeth.
Alim knew the name of course; it was a name that was old even when Ferelden was still young.
Flemeth, the witch of the wilds, the mother of all witches, and a monster of myth.
"Daveth was right," Alistair gasped, "you are truly the witch of the wilds."
"I know a bit of magic and it has served you both well has it not?" the witch replied.
Alim backed down, now he understood what he was facing, the time for tact had come.
"My apologies then old one," he said with a bow, "I meant no disrespect."
Flemeth cackled, "Again with the manners," the witch laughed, "oh the minstrel will find you so intriguing, provided you do not kill each other first of course."
Alim fell silent, again with the mention of a minstrel, what minstrel he wondered?
"And as far as gathering an army," the witch smiled, "I believe I provided you with that on your last visit, yes?"
Alistair's eyes widened.
"Of course, the treaties," he exclaimed, "the Grey wardens can ask for help from dwarves, elves, mages, and other places, they are obligated to help us during a Blight!"
"Well that certainly sounds like an army to old Flemeth," the witch sneered at Alim, "Do you not agree Master elf?"
Alim grunted, the treaties were still stored in his pack, he had forgotten to return them to Duncan before the battle, now…it seemed that they would have a chance to use them.
Provided they lived that long.
It would be difficult, who knew what Loghain would tell the Landsmeet, never the less it had to be attempted. It would be foolish to try and convince the nobles of Ferelden what Loghain had done. He was still a hero in the eyes of the people, not to mention the Father of Cailan's wife Queen Anora…
Correction, Alim thought, he is the Father of Cailan's widow, a woman that would need a strong hand to help her govern…
Was that what this was all about, had Loghain wanted the throne and planned to rule through his daughter?
It was not a bad plan, but the problem with Ferelden politics was that the Landsmeet could decide not to support a King's decision. The wealthy landowners of Ferelden might not support Loghain in his bid for the throne. If that happened a civil war might erupt, and where would that leave a country under the threat of a Blight?
It was unlikely that Ferelden would be able to stand under such conditions.
The elf sighed, it seemed like they had little choice.
"It is a possibility," he admitted, "It seems like we have little choice."
"We…never do," Flemeth admitted.
Alistair gave him this grateful look, it…it looked like the Templar was about to start crying, Alim hoped he would not do that. He would do his duty, if for no other reason to get his hands on a certain treacherous noble man.
"You have our thanks Flemeth," the elf nodded, "And not to sound ungrateful, but…is there any other help you can offer us, we have a long road ahead."
"As a matter of fact dear boy," The witch smiled, "I do have one more thing I can offer you."
Morrigan emerged from her Mother's hut; Flemeth looked at her daughter, before returning her regard to Alistair and Alim.
The Witch of the Wild's smiled broadly.