HEROES OF FERELDAN


Chapter Eleven

CONCLUSION OF HIS FIRST QUEST

The fog seemed to thicken the deeper the four men and a hound travelled. Despite the open wilderness Artha was starting to feel claustrophobic and with Alistair breathing down his neck with constant warnings, the cold was beginning to set. They trekked through the thickets where it was difficult to determine where the ground merged with the wet swamps; Artha had to fish Daveth a couple of times when he took a sure step on what was supposed to be a patch of grass was actually thick moss covered static water.

He wondered if it were even possible for anyone to actually get this deep into the Wilds unscathed. Looking behind him he could faintly see the very top of the Tower of Ishal looming over the trees, at least they knew which way to turn back. But even that would soon be taken from them and the lofty tower vanished behind the veil of murky green.

Their feet began to crunch then crackle as the road morphed into that of old cobblestone bearing signs of wear, clearly most travelled—so Artha was fairly confident their guide was an honest one. Morrigan was mostly quiet throughout the whole journey, she was stoic and held herself with her head raised high. He couldn't however bring himself to engage in conversation with her because Ser Jory would jump at every sound of rustling around them and had them all fearing darkspawn.

It was probably by the eighth scare that really got everyone a little paranoid, and though she remained silent, Artha could see her smiling amusingly. But her pace began to slow, her steps, shortened with comfort.

In the distance beyond the mangroves was a shabby, humble looking cabin made of earth and wood. The house that stood on an island amidst the swamp seemed to lean against a tall remnant of wall by more pieces of timber, possibly to reinforce support. In front, just coming out of the house was an old woman, way older than his mother with white hair that still held some sheen and strangely looked more kempt than he was expecting from wildlings.

"Greetings, mother," she announced, her hands waved in an exaggerated flourish, and much to their surprise. "I bring before you four Grey Wardens who—"

"I see them, girl," the old woman shot quickly, and then to her new guests smirked. She studied the strangers intensely. "Mmn, much as I expected," she concluded.

Artha looked in surprise but Alistair merely looked sceptical, unamused by the riddles they were sure to receive. "Are we supposed to believe you were expecting us?" He sniggered. Artha was half a mind to pull the man back a bit, for as uncomfortable as they all were, they were technically guests by the elderly woman's leave.

Said woman simply chuckled back. "You are required to do nothing, least of all believe. Shut one's eyes tight or open one's arms wide…either way, one's a fool!"

Daveth was whispering something to Jory who then attempted to shush him. "Quiet, Daveth. If she really is a witch, do you want to make her mad?"

"There's a smart lad," she replied as though Jory had spoken aloud, which he hadn't. "Sadly irrelevant to the larger scheme of things, but it is not I who decides. Believe what you will."

He had heard of that before, Witch of the Wilds but only in passing. What they it actually was remained a mystery to him, but what was clear was that they were not of the Chantry's Circle. Artha, who up 'till now had remained in the background to silently assess their situation had garnered the witch's attention. Suddenly all eyes were on him and he could not help but feel a tad bit self-conscious.

"And what of you?" Morrigan's mother inquired. Her eyes, which glowed yellow like her daughter's, landed upon the youngest member. "Do you possess a different viewpoint or do you believe as others do?"

Artha was left motionless, a little disconcerted at her line of questioning. If the young lad was honest he was no longer sure what to believe and he had answered as such. He looked into her amber orbs as they studied him carefully or regarding some off distant thought. The woman simply smiled at this and patted him on the shoulder, her hand lingering only a tiny bit longer.

"A statement that possesses more wisdom than it implies," she said to him sagely. "Be always aware…or was it oblivious? I can never remember." The woman took another look at the company before her, then back on him again. "So much about you is uncertain…and yet I believe," she stopped herself mid stride and chuckled lightly to herself. "Do I? Why, it seems I do."

Behind him it seemed that Alistair had been holding his Fereldan steel just inches out of its scabbard for he then slid it back and laughed himself. Artha understood him though—he was a Templar trained man surrounded by apostate mages. "So this is a dreaded Witch of the Wilds?"

"Witch of the Wilds, eh? Morrigan must have told you that." She scoffed, glancing at her daughter who looked embarrassedly down at her bare feet. "She fancies such tales, though she would never admit it. Oh, how she dances under the moon." The old woman begins to laugh again.

Artha's eyes though, fixated on Morrigan as she hides her face, that he just knew held pink and blushing cheeks, beneath her raven hair. He found himself unintentionally slightly lowering his own head to glimpse hers more clearly. As for her mother, she sure did not look like a Witch of the Wilds, nothing too strange as to merit such comparisons to one so terrifying. The old crone certainly looked like most others her age that he'd seen around Highever. Her face was wrinkled as any other, eyes looking somewhat tired and though it was almost invisible, she stood with a slight hunch, just slightly, she sure was a tired woman, one who had seen many winters, marooned in the dark woods.

"They did not come to listen to your wild tales, Mother."

Sobering up the old woman straightened herself and walked inside her little house, when she emerged again she carried with her a small wooden box which was probably of her own making. "Before you begin barking, your precious seal wore off long ago. I have protected these."

Alistair looked like he was about to do just that and bark but then stopped himself. "You…oh. You protected them?" he responded, taken aback.

"And why not?" was her simple reply. "Take them to your Grey Wardens and tell them this Blight's threat is greater than they realise." Alistair accepted the box and looked inside to confirm they were indeed the Grey Warden treaties. Artha however seemed a little uneasy and inquired what she meant by her words. "Either the threat is more or they realise less!" her laughter boomed about the clearing. "Or perhaps the threat is nothing? Or perhaps they realise nothing! Oh do not mind me. You have what you came for."

Instinctively the dark haired young nobleman bowed his whole upper body slightly in thanks for the documents.

"Time for you to go, then." Said Morrigan then and crossed her arms over her breasts.

"Do not be ridiculous, girl. These are your guests."

The younger woman sighed, knowing what her mother wanted of her she offered to show the four men and their dog out of the woods, grabbing Artha by the wrist and forcefully directing them away from her territory with sighs of frustrations.

They soon left the more darker stretches of the Korcari Wilds and into more open spaces. By that point the glorious sun was slipping and in a few more hours it would sleep and the luminous moon would rise to take her place in the sky. They found the road again quite quickly after that, with the great Tower of Ostagar a mere distance away.

The young apostate who escorted them waited at the edge of the clearing to see them off. Artha, the smitten boy he was had looked back seeking to prolong their time together but to their bafflement, the witch was gone. Nothing left but the dark shadowy woods. With the young Highever lordling at the head and Alistair protecting their rear, the company made their way unabated up the dirt road to the encampment.

"Let's get back to Duncan quickly," said Alistair once they entered through the gates. It was high past evening when they walked through to the old ruined fortress, little seemed to have changed in their absence and they began to wonder just how long they had been out there. No one seemed to pay them much heed, just another group of soldiers coming back from patrol they'd guessed. Or if they saw the bands on their arms they knew better than to ask about Grey Warden business.

It was a queer thing; he did not know why but Artha was under the impression that he'd feel a great weight lifted once he'd gotten back but right now he felt…nothing. There was nothing but a vacuum that robbed him of breath, like he was waiting for something, waiting for a steep plunge.

They saw Duncan by his pyre as though he hadn't left it and Alistair led the company down to him. "If we wait too long, you won't be able to swing a dead cat without hitting a darkspawn," he somberly joked.

As they walked, or trudged through the camp, the three recruits walked in silence, even Fang who still wagged his tale, did so with less jump in his steps. Yet their spirits were not darkened by the events in the Wilds, not really—but they are changed, dragging behind them an unknown burden. They had seen the face of their enemy and in their hearts, all three of them, it was not fear of them, but anticipation for what was to come.

He could not speak for the others but for the young Cousland scion, he felt like he was thrust into one of Nan's stories which had been darkened black as the tainted Heavens. The last vestige of home had begun to shatter and he allowed one last thought to dwell on his brother in hopes that the Maker was merciful.

Once close to the large pyre Fang raced to the heat and curled himself in by the warmth. Artha laid his shield down by the fire and Duncan regarded it with some amusement. It was an old shield and who it belonged to he could not begin to guess, but it was sturdy. "So you returned from the Wilds. Have you been successful?"

The three of them bobbed their heads in unison and presented to them a vial each of the black blood they had painstakingly laboured to attain.

"Good. I've had the Circle mages preparing," Duncan continued, holding one of the vials to the light. "With this blood we can begin the Joining immediately."

They were all about to disperse again when Artha brought Morrigan and her mother to Duncan attention. Alistair attested to this saying, "There was a woman at the tower and her mother had the scrolls. They were both very…odd."

Duncan looked quizzical, stroking his beard in thought. "Were they wilder folk?"

Alistair drew in closer and told the older Warden that he did not think they were, Chasind. "They might be apostates."

The Warden-Commander looked sullenly at him. He had Alistair hand the treaties to him and attempted in his way to reprimand his weary charge, "I know you were once a Templar, Alistair, but Chantry business are not ours. We have the scrolls so let us focus on the Joining."

Alistair looked ready with a counter argument but he knew Duncan long enough to know he'd regret it later, so he agreed and silently apologised. Artha though was not yet finished, coming in closer to Duncan and requested they tell them what the ritual actually entailed. Both Daveth and Ser Jory also came close, eager to finally get some answers.

"I will not lie; we Grey Wardens pay a heavy price to become what we are." The Warden-Commander confessed, again his expression showed a mixture of both apologetic and an understanding of necessity like he expected them to have already known and accepted whatever the consequences were. "Fate may decree that you pay your price now rather than later."

They all remained quiet, speechless. Was he saying that the ritual could kill them?

The Warden seemed to have caught their uneasy stares because he adjusted his timbre. "As could any darkspawn you might face in battle. You would not have been chosen, however, if I did not think you all had a chance to survive."

There was nothing but cold silence hanging in the air between them, but it was Daveth that broke it. "Let's go then" he said. "I'm anxious to see this Joining now." Ser Jory agreed and Artha was left with naught but to follow in, he suspected that his path now lay out of his hands for some time now.

"Then let us begin." Duncan announced and instructed Alistair to escort them to the old temple.


DRAGON AGE—